Poems and Essays By the late William Caldwell Roscoe. (Edited with a Prefatory Memoir, by his Brother-in-law, Richard Holt Hutton) |
 |
 |
|
|
|
 | Poems and Essays |  |
MINOR POEMS.
[Clouds and mists and vapours dim]
Clouds and mists and vapours dim,
Wrap no more the ethereal sky,
But below the horizon's rim
Dip your wreathed forms and fly:
Let no revellers' voices dare
Start the undisturbed air.
Wrap no more the ethereal sky,
But below the horizon's rim
Dip your wreathed forms and fly:
Let no revellers' voices dare
Start the undisturbed air.
Lo! the Moon full-orbed is wheeled
Toward the occidental gate,
Guardians of her lucent field
Two immortals hold their state:
Breathing on the charmed air
Reverence sits and Silence fair,
Toward the occidental gate,
Guardians of her lucent field
Two immortals hold their state:
Breathing on the charmed air
Reverence sits and Silence fair,
Side by side, in strictest union,
Linked together on their chair,
Holding with their eyes communion,
Lover-like, a sainted pair,
Stretching forth their silver hands
O'er the seas and silent lands.
Linked together on their chair,
Holding with their eyes communion,
Lover-like, a sainted pair,
Stretching forth their silver hands
O'er the seas and silent lands.
1844.
4
THE FALSE FONTANLEE.
I
Alas, that knight of noble birthShould ever fall from fitting worth!
Alas, that guilty treachery
Should stain the blood of Fontanlee!
II
The king hath lent a listening ear,And blacker grew his face to hear:
“By Cross,” he cried, “if thou speak right,
The Fontanlee is a traitor knight!”
III
Outstepped Sir Robert of Fontanlee,A young knight and a fair to see;
Outstepped Sir Stephen of Fontanlee,
Sir Robert's second brother was he;
Outstepped Sir John of Fontanlee,
He was the youngest of these three.
IV
There are three gloves on the oaken boards,And three white hands on their hilted swords:
“On horse or foot, by day or night,
We stand to do our father right.”
V
The Baron Tranmere hath bent his knee,And gathered him up the gages three:
5
And ye know not how false your father is.
VI
Put on, put on your armour bright;And God in heaven help the right!”
“God help the right!” the sons replied;
And straightway on their armour did.
VII
The Baron Tranmere hath mounted his horse,And ridden him down the battle-course;
The young Sir Robert lifted his eyes,
Looked fairly up in the open skies:
VIII
“If my father was true in deed and in word,Fight, O God, with my righteous sword;
If my father was false in deed or in word,
Let me lie at length on the battle-sward!”
IX
The Baron Tranmere hath turned his horse,And ridden him down the battle-course;
Sir Robert's vizor is crushed and marred,
And he lies his length on the battle-sward.
X
Sir Stephen was an angry blade—I scarce may speak the words he said:
“Though Heaven itself were false,” cried he,
“True is my father of Fontanlee!
6
XI
And, brother, as Heaven goes with the wrong,If this lying baron should lay me along,
Strike another blow for our good renown.”
“Doubt me not,” said the young knight John.
XII
The Baron Tranmere hath turned his horse,And ridden him down the battle-course;
In bold Sir Stephen's best life-blood
His spear's point is wet to the wood.
XIII
The young knight John hath bent his kneeAnd speaks his soul right solemnly:
“Whatever seemeth good to thee,
The same, O Lord, attend on me.
XIV
What though my brothers lie along,My father's faith is firm and strong:
Perchance thy deeply-hid intent
Doth need some nobler instrument.
XV
Let faithless hearts give heed to fear,I will not falter in my prayer:
If ever guilty treachery
Did stain the blood of Fontanlee,—
7
XVI
As such an ‘if’ doth stain my lips,Though truth lie hidden in eclipse,—
Let yonder lance-head pierce my breast,
And my soul seek its endless rest.”
XVII
Never a whit did young John yield,When the lance ran through his painted shield;
Never a whit debased his crest,
When the lance ran into his tender breast.
XVIII
“What is this? what is this, thou young Sir John,That runs so fast from thine armour down?”
“Oh, this is my heart's blood, I feel,
And it wets me through from the waist to the heel.”
XIX
Sights of sadness many a oneA man may meet beneath the sun;
But a sadder sight did never man see
Than lies in the Hall of Fontanlee.
XX
There are three corses manly and fair,Each in its armour, and each on its bier;
There are three squires weeping and wan,
Every one with his head on his hand,
8
XXI
Every one with his hand on his knee,At the foot of his master silently
Sitting, and weeping bitterly
For the broken honour of Fontanlee.
XXII
Who is this at their sides that stands?“Lift, O squires, your heads from your hands;
Tell me who these dead men be
That lie in the Hall of the Fontanlee.”
XXIII
“This is Sir Robert of Fontanlee,A young knight and a fair to see;
This is Sir Stephen of Fontanlee,
Sir Robert's second brother was he;
This is Sir John of Fontanlee,
He was the youngest of those three.
XXIV
For their father's truth did theyFreely give their lives away,
And till he doth home return,
Sadly here we sit and mourn.”
XXV
These sad words they having said,Every one down sank his head;
Till, in accents strangely spoken,
At their sides was silence broken.
9
XXVI
“I do bring you news from far,False was the Fontanlee in war!
Unbend your bright swords from my breast,
I that do speak do know it best.”
Wide he flung his mantle free;
Lo, it was the Fontanlee!
XXVII
Then the squires like stricken menSank into their seats again,
And their cheeks in wet tears steeping
Fresh and faster fell a weeping.
XXVIII
He with footsteps soft and slowRound to his sons' heads did go;
Sadly he looked on every one,
And stooped and kissed the youngest, John.
XXIX
Then his weary head down bending,“Heart,” said he, “too much offending,
Break, and let me only be
Blotted out of memory.”
XXX
Thrice with crimson cheek he stood,And thrice he swallowed the salt blood;
Then outpoured the torrent red;
The false Fontanlee lay dead.
1845.
10
F. M.
Beauty, not orient, but sweet as nightfall
In starry June;
Not resplendent, but no less delightful
Than airy music played in tune.
In starry June;
Not resplendent, but no less delightful
Than airy music played in tune.
Motion, not fanciful, but no less graceful
Than wind-blown tree;
And a voice, whereat amazeful
Listening we lend our souls to thee.
Than wind-blown tree;
And a voice, whereat amazeful
Listening we lend our souls to thee.
Feeling, not passionate, but smoothly centred
In thy breast;
Not an angel hither ventured,
But a maiden heaven addressed.
In thy breast;
Not an angel hither ventured,
But a maiden heaven addressed.
1845.
11
AD PYRRHAM.
What slender youth, with sweets besprent,
And crowned with rosy flowers,
Pyrrha, sues thy coy consent
Within the pleasant bowers?
And crowned with rosy flowers,
Pyrrha, sues thy coy consent
Within the pleasant bowers?
For whom dost thou with simple art
Bind up thy yellow hair?
Ah! oft will he deplore the heart
He trusted to thy care,
Bind up thy yellow hair?
Ah! oft will he deplore the heart
He trusted to thy care,
And the changed gods, but late so kind;
And stand amazed to see,
Poor novice, how the cloudy wind
Stirs up the bristling sea!
And stand amazed to see,
Poor novice, how the cloudy wind
Stirs up the bristling sea!
Who now, too much believing boy,
Enjoys thy golden charms,
Expects a heart without alloy,
And ever open arms;
Enjoys thy golden charms,
Expects a heart without alloy,
And ever open arms;
Expects,—nor knows the treacherous air;—
Oh, hapless men are they,
On whom, an unattempted fair,
Thou shinest to betray.
Oh, hapless men are they,
On whom, an unattempted fair,
Thou shinest to betray.
12
The sacred wall can show for me,
By votive slab expressed,
How I to th' saving God of Sea
Have hung my dripping vest.
By votive slab expressed,
How I to th' saving God of Sea
Have hung my dripping vest.
1844.
13
TO LAURA R.,
CROWNED WITH PRIMROSES.
So Flora looks when, flowret-crowned,
She leads the scented Spring;
So Psyche floats above the ground,
Upborne by Cupid's wing.
She leads the scented Spring;
So Psyche floats above the ground,
Upborne by Cupid's wing.
The Oread on the mountain side,
The Naiad in her well,
The Nereid underneath the tide,
The Dryad in the dell,
The Naiad in her well,
The Nereid underneath the tide,
The Dryad in the dell,
Though well they may, with changing grace,
Delay the jealous hours,
About such tresses never placed
So choice a wreath of flowers.
Delay the jealous hours,
About such tresses never placed
So choice a wreath of flowers.
The pale-eyed blooms thyself did pull
Best emblem thee, sweet child;
As modest and as beautiful,
As tender and as wild.
Best emblem thee, sweet child;
As modest and as beautiful,
As tender and as wild.
November 1842.
14
ARIADNE.
Flushed Ariadne, laid
Upon her bridal bed,
Stretched forth at morn her half-awakened hand,
But found no lover's breast,
Where warmly it might rest,
And still, half-slumbering, by his breath be fanned;
She found the spot desert and cold,—
No sleeping lover couched where he had done of old.
Upon her bridal bed,
Stretched forth at morn her half-awakened hand,
But found no lover's breast,
Where warmly it might rest,
And still, half-slumbering, by his breath be fanned;
She found the spot desert and cold,—
No sleeping lover couched where he had done of old.
Whereat, in half-surprise,
She oped her orbed eyes,
Gathering her thoughts from the domain of sleep;
And dazzled by the bright
And streaked rays of light
That through the cavern's silver chinks did peep,
Fancies she sees him as of yore,
And blames her sleepy hand that troubled her so sore.
She oped her orbed eyes,
Gathering her thoughts from the domain of sleep;
And dazzled by the bright
And streaked rays of light
That through the cavern's silver chinks did peep,
Fancies she sees him as of yore,
And blames her sleepy hand that troubled her so sore.
But when indeed she spied
He lay not by her side,
She sprang upon her feet with throbbing breast;
And pacing the cold floor
She oped the cavern door,
Through which the eager light exulting pressed,
And spreading wide on every side
Left no unlighted nook throughout the cavern wide.
He lay not by her side,
She sprang upon her feet with throbbing breast;
And pacing the cold floor
She oped the cavern door,
Through which the eager light exulting pressed,
And spreading wide on every side
Left no unlighted nook throughout the cavern wide.
15
But all within its round
He was not to be found;
In growing fear she fled from out the cave;
It opened on the sand,
And far away from land
Her lover's keel was cutting the blue wave;
At which sad sight she swooned away,
And on the yellow sand all helpless long she lay.
He was not to be found;
In growing fear she fled from out the cave;
It opened on the sand,
And far away from land
Her lover's keel was cutting the blue wave;
At which sad sight she swooned away,
And on the yellow sand all helpless long she lay.
Her pale lips lie apart,
Nor beats her broken heart;
Her light smock floating doth lay bare her beauties;
Her white limbs, all astray,
In tangled disarray
Lie helplessly, nor heed their bounden duties.
In heavy masses, all unbound,
Her golden glittering hair lies heaped upon the ground.
Nor beats her broken heart;
Her light smock floating doth lay bare her beauties;
Her white limbs, all astray,
In tangled disarray
Lie helplessly, nor heed their bounden duties.
In heavy masses, all unbound,
Her golden glittering hair lies heaped upon the ground.
Old Ocean, all aghast
At the sad scene that passed,
On crested waves stole sadly to the shore,
And sighing made his way
To where the maiden lay,
And kissed her cold feet in affliction sore;
Whereat she started from her trance,
And rising, gazed around with sad and troubled glance.
At the sad scene that passed,
On crested waves stole sadly to the shore,
And sighing made his way
To where the maiden lay,
And kissed her cold feet in affliction sore;
Whereat she started from her trance,
And rising, gazed around with sad and troubled glance.
But soon rushed back again
The torrent of her pain,
Her lover's vessel was in sight no longer;
Dreaming he may be found,
She roams the isle around,
And ever as she roams her grief grows stronger;
Until the doubt is dreadful truth,
That he hath fled the isle, and left her without ruth.
The torrent of her pain,
16
Dreaming he may be found,
She roams the isle around,
And ever as she roams her grief grows stronger;
Until the doubt is dreadful truth,
That he hath fled the isle, and left her without ruth.
Then, yielding to despair,
She tears her yellow hair,
And beats her bursting breast in hopeless sorrow;
Thinks of her native land,
Curses the desert strand,
And fain from frenzy would she comfort borrow.
Then sinking into milder grief,
In shedding floods of tears she seeks a sad relief.
She tears her yellow hair,
And beats her bursting breast in hopeless sorrow;
Thinks of her native land,
Curses the desert strand,
And fain from frenzy would she comfort borrow.
Then sinking into milder grief,
In shedding floods of tears she seeks a sad relief.
The birds and beasts are all
Melted at her sad call;
But Philomela, from a neighbouring bush
Adding her grief to hers,
Such plaintive numbers pours,
Bids from her throat such thrilling notes to gush,
And from her soul such woes she calls,
That drowned in liquid music down she dying falls.
Melted at her sad call;
But Philomela, from a neighbouring bush
Adding her grief to hers,
Such plaintive numbers pours,
Bids from her throat such thrilling notes to gush,
And from her soul such woes she calls,
That drowned in liquid music down she dying falls.
Sad Ariadne's grief
Found in the song relief,
And half in listening she forgot her woes;
But when she saw her slain
By her excess of pain,
Envying the bird that thus her grief could close,
She hied her homewards to her cave,
And rather slew herself than would her sorrows brave.
Found in the song relief,
And half in listening she forgot her woes;
17
By her excess of pain,
Envying the bird that thus her grief could close,
She hied her homewards to her cave,
And rather slew herself than would her sorrows brave.
1843.
18
A NIGHTINGALE IN EASTBURY WOODS.
Queen of clear song!
Thou, in the evening's hour,
Hid the thick brakes among,
What time the blue-eyed May doth shower
Blossoms upon awakening Spring,
Weavest thy tangled web of tune.
Still, still as death!
Peace from the corner of the crescent moon
Hath stooped to earth, and hovering holds her breath,
Fearing to mar thy pauses.
Still, O still!
Echo forgets her art,
Leaned listening from some hollow-ivied tree,
Knowing her second part
Would jar upon thy single harmony.
Thou, in the evening's hour,
Hid the thick brakes among,
What time the blue-eyed May doth shower
Blossoms upon awakening Spring,
Weavest thy tangled web of tune.
Still, still as death!
Peace from the corner of the crescent moon
Hath stooped to earth, and hovering holds her breath,
Fearing to mar thy pauses.
Still, O still!
Echo forgets her art,
Leaned listening from some hollow-ivied tree,
Knowing her second part
Would jar upon thy single harmony.
Thou, swoll'n with song,
Suitest thy numbers to the listener's ear,
Charming the varied throng.
Suitest thy numbers to the listener's ear,
Charming the varied throng.
Thou to the lover tellest tales of love
When, sick with changing fears,
He walks the accustomed grove,
Taking his soul with sweeter lays
Than Sappho tongued with fire,
Or mild Eurydice in happier days
Hymning to Orpheus' lyre.
When, sick with changing fears,
He walks the accustomed grove,
Taking his soul with sweeter lays
Than Sappho tongued with fire,
Or mild Eurydice in happier days
Hymning to Orpheus' lyre.
19
The mourner with wan cheeks, bent o'er the hoary stones,
Weeps at thy sweetly sorrow-soothing art,
Arousing old love-tones
In his dejected heart.
But most the poet,
Wooing the Muse among the dewy shades,
Weaves, of the fragments of thy wild-wood song,
More airy palaces
Than do to earth belong.
Weeps at thy sweetly sorrow-soothing art,
Arousing old love-tones
In his dejected heart.
But most the poet,
Wooing the Muse among the dewy shades,
Weaves, of the fragments of thy wild-wood song,
More airy palaces
Than do to earth belong.
I none of these:
Stretched on the gray trunk of some fallen tree,
In perfect silence of this Sabbath eve,
Learn wondrous things of thee.
Thou bidst me leave
The cankering cares and low desires that feed
On my immortal soul,
Seeking my meed
In Duty's goal.
Stretched on the gray trunk of some fallen tree,
In perfect silence of this Sabbath eve,
Learn wondrous things of thee.
Thou bidst me leave
The cankering cares and low desires that feed
On my immortal soul,
Seeking my meed
In Duty's goal.
To me thy lay
Seems like the expiration of pent love,
Breaking restraint away,
Scaling the eternal bowers above,
Nectar-bedewed;
Taking the willing ear of God
With simple gratitude.
Seems like the expiration of pent love,
Breaking restraint away,
Scaling the eternal bowers above,
Nectar-bedewed;
Taking the willing ear of God
With simple gratitude.
20
Teach me, O Nightingale,
The fervour of thy tale.
I, filled with holy peace, would fain
Breathe my faint thanks up to the God of light,
Mounting on thy celestial strain,
O tuned child of Night!
The fervour of thy tale.
I, filled with holy peace, would fain
Breathe my faint thanks up to the God of light,
Mounting on thy celestial strain,
O tuned child of Night!
1843.
21
AFTER THE HUNGARIAN WAR.
“The shadows of our martyrs pass before my eyes.”
THE LIVING.
Sleep, dead Hungarians, sleep in peace!Would we might sleep so! Your release,
By shameful halter or the sword,
Was soft compassion of the Lord.
You do not break your hearts, or shed
Bitter tears;
Your sons are not in exile led;
You eat no begged, no stranger bread:
Would we, too, pressed our biers!
THE DEAD.
Living Hungarians, watch and pray!And wait the breaking of the day.
The Lord yet liveth. Baneful night
Lies thick on justice and on right;
But the day-spring, slow yet sure,
Lies behind.
Wait! In the Lord's appointed hour,
High o'er these shades his sun shall tower,
And strike the oppressor blind.
22
THE LIVING.
O dead! we hear your voice and wait:The Lord yet liveth, and is great!
We will take patience in one hand,
And in the right a sword. O Land!
Ancestral, honourable, grave,
Abide the wrong!
Thy children, thrust from forth thy door,
Shall repossess the ancient floor.
How long, O Lord, how long?
1851.
23
OPPORTUNITY.
O Opportunity, thou gull o' the world!
That, being present, winnest but disdain,
So small thou seem'st; but once behind us whirled,
A grim phantasma, shadowest all the plain.
That, being present, winnest but disdain,
So small thou seem'st; but once behind us whirled,
A grim phantasma, shadowest all the plain.
Thou Parthian! that shoot'st thine arrows back,
Meeting our front with terror-feigning doles;
But often, turning on thy flying track,
With memory-winged shafts dost wound our souls.
Meeting our front with terror-feigning doles;
But often, turning on thy flying track,
With memory-winged shafts dost wound our souls.
Thou air! which breathing we do scarce perceive,
And think it little to enjoy the light;
But when the unvalued sun hath taken leave,
Darkly thou showest in the expanse of night.
And think it little to enjoy the light;
But when the unvalued sun hath taken leave,
Darkly thou showest in the expanse of night.
Thou all men's torment, no man's comforter,—
Lost Opportunity! that shut'st the door
On all unworked intentions, and dost stir
Their fretting ghosts to plague our heart's deep core.
Lost Opportunity! that shut'st the door
On all unworked intentions, and dost stir
Their fretting ghosts to plague our heart's deep core.
Thou sword of sharp Remorse, and sting of Time!
Passionate empoisoner of mortal tears!
Thou blaster of fresh Hope's recurring prime!
Crutch of Despair, and sustenance of fears!
Passionate empoisoner of mortal tears!
Thou blaster of fresh Hope's recurring prime!
Crutch of Despair, and sustenance of fears!
24
But oh, to those that have the wit to use thee,
Thou glorious angel, clasped with golden wings,
Whereon he climbing that did rightly choose thee
Sees wondrous sights of unexpected things.
Thou glorious angel, clasped with golden wings,
Whereon he climbing that did rightly choose thee
Sees wondrous sights of unexpected things.
Thou instrument of never-dying fame
To those that snatch thy often-offered hilt;
To those that on the door can read thy name,
Thou residence of glory ready-built.
To those that snatch thy often-offered hilt;
To those that on the door can read thy name,
Thou residence of glory ready-built.
Used Opportunity! thou torch of Act,
And planted ladder to a high desire;
Thou one thing needful, making nothing lacked;
Thou spark unto a laid, unlighted, fire.
And planted ladder to a high desire;
Thou one thing needful, making nothing lacked;
Thou spark unto a laid, unlighted, fire.
Thou double-faced god and double-souled!
They that look on thy front find thee most true;
But most remorseless, pitiless, and cold,
Who on thy backward visage bend their view.
They that look on thy front find thee most true;
But most remorseless, pitiless, and cold,
Who on thy backward visage bend their view.
1846.
25
LINES AFTER MY FATHER'S DEATH.
Another Sabbath-day
Now wraps the meads in mist;
Another sun's declined autumnal ray
Now shines upon these pastures hoar and gray,
That long thy steps have missed.
Now wraps the meads in mist;
Another sun's declined autumnal ray
Now shines upon these pastures hoar and gray,
That long thy steps have missed.
26
Chilled with the year's decline;
I pluck the crimson bloom with reverent tear,
And scatter it on thine autumnal bier,
With this unpolished rhyme.
I pluck the crimson bloom with reverent tear,
And scatter it on thine autumnal bier,
With this unpolished rhyme.
Thou, like the autumnal rose,
Careless of storms unkind,
Flungest thy fragrance on the world around;
Now, plucked by God, a lasting home hast found,
Sheltered from winter's wind.
Careless of storms unkind,
Flungest thy fragrance on the world around;
Now, plucked by God, a lasting home hast found,
Sheltered from winter's wind.
November 1843.
27
TO THE PLANET VENUS,
SHINING ON A WREATH OF FLOWERS HUNG OVER A LADY'S NAME CARVED ON A BEECH-TREE.
Again i' th' year's slow flight
I stand beneath this tree,
Where once I carved, apart from common sight,
With reverent handicraft thy name, O Emilie,
And now renew the rite.
I stand beneath this tree,
Where once I carved, apart from common sight,
With reverent handicraft thy name, O Emilie,
And now renew the rite.
For since she may not hear,
Nor I lay bare, my passion,
Or breathe one love-word in her listening ear,
I'll carve my love on trees, in ancient lover's fashion,
And woo some favouring sphere.
Nor I lay bare, my passion,
Or breathe one love-word in her listening ear,
I'll carve my love on trees, in ancient lover's fashion,
And woo some favouring sphere.
Lo, golden Aphrodite
Appears to pay her duty;
See where she rises wrapped in robes of light,
And, like some crimson spot dyeing the cheek of beauty,
Flushes the face of night!
Appears to pay her duty;
See where she rises wrapped in robes of light,
And, like some crimson spot dyeing the cheek of beauty,
Flushes the face of night!
O amorous child of Even,
The sky is all too cold;
Turn earthward, Queen, thy burning eye from heaven;
Quit the pale crowd of stars;—no love-tales there are told,
Or changing love-signs given.
The sky is all too cold;
28
Quit the pale crowd of stars;—no love-tales there are told,
Or changing love-signs given.
But I can breathe a tale
More passionately true
Than ever flashed a maiden's cheek with pale;
O Planet Queen, delay thy course across the blue;—
O, furl thy flickering sail!
More passionately true
Than ever flashed a maiden's cheek with pale;
O Planet Queen, delay thy course across the blue;—
O, furl thy flickering sail!
She hears and gives a sign,
Pouring in golden rain
Mysterious glory on my flowery shrine;
The enwreathed blossoms bent lift their blue heads again,
Tasting her breath divine.
Pouring in golden rain
Mysterious glory on my flowery shrine;
The enwreathed blossoms bent lift their blue heads again,
Tasting her breath divine.
So shall my love, though now
Signless and dull it lies,
Fearing to shade with care that ivory brow,
Read once again love-tokens in her responsive eyes,
And breathe no common vow.
Signless and dull it lies,
Fearing to shade with care that ivory brow,
Read once again love-tokens in her responsive eyes,
And breathe no common vow.
29
[Rarely to our mortal eyes]
Rarely to our mortal eyes
Comes perfect Beauty from the skies;
But in some poet's, painter's breast,
Loves rather her white feet to rest;
There sits, and bids his trembling art
Reveal the secret of his heart.
Comes perfect Beauty from the skies;
But in some poet's, painter's breast,
Loves rather her white feet to rest;
There sits, and bids his trembling art
Reveal the secret of his heart.
Now only, in the rolling years,
To outward vision she appears;
Treads in our halls, touches our hands,
And moves to music in our bands:
All hearts, like ever-mounting tides,
Are upward drawn where she abides.
To outward vision she appears;
Treads in our halls, touches our hands,
And moves to music in our bands:
All hearts, like ever-mounting tides,
Are upward drawn where she abides.
Her eyes are twin stars Lucifer
In a quivering atmosphere;
And those cheeks they overshine,
Understained with crimson wine,
Are like torches to our hearts,
Burning up their inmost parts.
In a quivering atmosphere;
And those cheeks they overshine,
Understained with crimson wine,
Are like torches to our hearts,
Burning up their inmost parts.
Her mouth, O carved miracle,
Is a caverned oracle,
Which more potent whispers fill
Than the old Apollian hill;
And a dear delicious death
Hides in her honey-poisoned breath.
Is a caverned oracle,
Which more potent whispers fill
Than the old Apollian hill;
And a dear delicious death
Hides in her honey-poisoned breath.
30
Within her tresses, like a grove,
Walks the young enraptured Love;
And his shining face discovers
Often to the eyes of lovers,
Who, struck to find their god so near,
Turn white and red with sudden fear.
Walks the young enraptured Love;
And his shining face discovers
Often to the eyes of lovers,
Who, struck to find their god so near,
Turn white and red with sudden fear.
She moves like clouds on windy night,
A floating posture of delight;
As if the Music clasping charms
Conveyed her in its airy arms;—
An angel treading transient things,
But needing not the aid of wings.
A floating posture of delight;
As if the Music clasping charms
Conveyed her in its airy arms;—
An angel treading transient things,
But needing not the aid of wings.
Within this mansion doth Delight
Dwell, like the Darkness in the Night;
And from the windows looking forth
Of all her aspect, radiant Mirth
Shines like the clustered stars in heaven
When no moon burns or mists are driven.
Dwell, like the Darkness in the Night;
And from the windows looking forth
Of all her aspect, radiant Mirth
Shines like the clustered stars in heaven
When no moon burns or mists are driven.
1846.
31
TO THE MARCH SUN.
THROWING GORSE BLOSSOMS INTO THE AIR AS A SACRIFICE.
Kingly Prophet! laying down
At foot of Night thy gilded crown,
And thy glittering forehead fair
Wrapping round with clouded hair,
Hang a moment in the skies,
And accept our sacrifice.
In the air,
Lo, we fling
Golden bloom and blossoming.
At foot of Night thy gilded crown,
And thy glittering forehead fair
Wrapping round with clouded hair,
Hang a moment in the skies,
And accept our sacrifice.
In the air,
Lo, we fling
Golden bloom and blossoming.
Kingly bridegroom! wake the bride
From her slumbers at thy side;
From her dreams bid Earth arise,
And assume her freshest guise.
For a wreath around her hair,
Knitted sunbeams let her wear.
For her tire,
Lo, we fling
Golden bloom and blossoming.
From her slumbers at thy side;
From her dreams bid Earth arise,
And assume her freshest guise.
For a wreath around her hair,
Knitted sunbeams let her wear.
For her tire,
Lo, we fling
Golden bloom and blossoming.
Kingly father! lay a bed
For thy daughter's new-born head;
And that the infantine Spring,
On her first awakening,
May unfold her azure lights
On a scene of fresh delights,
On her crib,
Lo, we fling
Golden bloom and blossoming.
For thy daughter's new-born head;
And that the infantine Spring,
On her first awakening,
32
On a scene of fresh delights,
On her crib,
Lo, we fling
Golden bloom and blossoming.
1844.
33
A DREAM AND NO DREAM.
I dreamt last night,—indeed, 'tis true,—
That I walked hand in hand with you;
And as we talked in gentle wise,
I read your favour in your eyes.
That I walked hand in hand with you;
And as we talked in gentle wise,
I read your favour in your eyes.
And when I trembling dared inquire
How far you felt my bosom's fire,
A faultering whisper broke from you—
You loved me much;—indeed, 'tis true.
How far you felt my bosom's fire,
A faultering whisper broke from you—
You loved me much;—indeed, 'tis true.
Despairing lover, now awake!
A flattering hint from visions take;
And dare at last,—ah, would 'twere true!—
To think she loves as much as you.
A flattering hint from visions take;
And dare at last,—ah, would 'twere true!—
To think she loves as much as you.
While these I wrote, oppressed with care,
My mistress stole behind my chair;
With blushing cheeks she read them through,
And whispered me, “Indeed, 'tis true.”
My mistress stole behind my chair;
With blushing cheeks she read them through,
And whispered me, “Indeed, 'tis true.”
34
VENIT.
When my dear love too long delays,
And makes the moments years,
I break my heart a thousand ways,
And drown my cheeks in tears.
And makes the moments years,
I break my heart a thousand ways,
And drown my cheeks in tears.
But when I hear his hasty step,
And see those darling eyes,
I tremble, and would fain escape
In exquisite surprise.
And see those darling eyes,
I tremble, and would fain escape
In exquisite surprise.
My heart, like an imprisoned bird,
Beats wildly at the wires,
And all my vision is obscured
With thronging sweet desires.
Beats wildly at the wires,
And all my vision is obscured
With thronging sweet desires.
He takes me in those loving arms,
And sucks the sweetest kiss,
And I forget my fond alarms
In unimagined bliss.
And sucks the sweetest kiss,
And I forget my fond alarms
In unimagined bliss.
35
[When I asked her, “Wilt thou kiss me?’]
When I asked her, “Wilt thou kiss me?’
Naught she said, but hung her cheek so;
As if she were thinking, thinking
Whether she might do't or no.
Naught she said, but hung her cheek so;
As if she were thinking, thinking
Whether she might do't or no.
Then her fair kind face upturning,
One sweet touch I there did win;
As if she were thinking, thinking
Such small graces are no sin.
One sweet touch I there did win;
As if she were thinking, thinking
Such small graces are no sin.
She therein lost no composure,
Nor ashamed did she seem;
Truly chaste may grant such favour,
And therein lose no esteem.
Nor ashamed did she seem;
Truly chaste may grant such favour,
And therein lose no esteem.
36
THE GOLDEN DAYS.
Dark-eyed Helen, when I loved thee
In the green year's early prime;
When I loved thee and approved thee,
In the sunny April time;
In the green year's early prime;
When I loved thee and approved thee,
In the sunny April time;
Swiftly the delightful season
Over our young heads did pass;
Much of love we then did reason,
Or read the Poets in the grass.
Over our young heads did pass;
Much of love we then did reason,
Or read the Poets in the grass.
I remember, that sweet Easter,
How the cuckoo overhead
Perched, and, singing, never ceased her
Ill-betiding note of dread.
How the cuckoo overhead
Perched, and, singing, never ceased her
Ill-betiding note of dread.
I remember how we laughed then
That the bird should waste her throat,
Yet our strained ears had not quaffed then
Philomel's enchanting note.
That the bird should waste her throat,
Yet our strained ears had not quaffed then
Philomel's enchanting note.
Nor any love's still-burning ember
Have here these idle verses sung;—
But only that we might remember
The golden days when we were young.
Have here these idle verses sung;—
But only that we might remember
The golden days when we were young.
37
Oh, golden days, untouched by sorrow,
Fair, fair, you shine from where I stand,
The tenant of a bitter morrow,
And dweller in a different land.
Fair, fair, you shine from where I stand,
The tenant of a bitter morrow,
And dweller in a different land.
38
LOVE'S CREED.
Sitting once with my beloved,
When our inmost hearts were moved
With love and joy,
She leaned her head upon my breast,
And, “Oh,” she said, “a girl so blest!—
Darling boy!
When our inmost hearts were moved
With love and joy,
She leaned her head upon my breast,
And, “Oh,” she said, “a girl so blest!—
Darling boy!
Since first the rolling world went round,
Upon its face was never found
As this of thine.
Love never was so richly heaped
On any heart, none e'er so steeped
In joy divine.”
Upon its face was never found
As this of thine.
Love never was so richly heaped
On any heart, none e'er so steeped
In joy divine.”
“Ah, child,” I said, “since Love first laid
His kingly finger on a maid,
And bowed her tongue
The sacred secret to disclose,
How, deep among her virgin snows,
His waters sprung,
His kingly finger on a maid,
And bowed her tongue
The sacred secret to disclose,
How, deep among her virgin snows,
His waters sprung,
None worthy to sustain his power,
But felt in his fresh morning-hour
A bliss supreme;—
But felt as if she stood alone,
Clothed in a joy none else could own,—
A heavenly dream!”
But felt in his fresh morning-hour
A bliss supreme;—
But felt as if she stood alone,
Clothed in a joy none else could own,—
A heavenly dream!”
39
But she, “There are degrees in this,—
Degrees in love, degrees in bliss,
As I can show.
Some more, some less of heaven may prove;
But only I have thee to love,
And this I know.
Degrees in love, degrees in bliss,
As I can show.
Some more, some less of heaven may prove;
But only I have thee to love,
And this I know.
When you enfold me in your arms,
Secure of love, secure from harms,
As now you do,—
You may go search Time's kingdom over,
A peace you never shall discover,
So full, so true.”
Secure of love, secure from harms,
As now you do,—
You may go search Time's kingdom over,
A peace you never shall discover,
So full, so true.”
I smiled, and bending down did close
Eyes that in fond remonstrance rose
With kisses sweet.
I said, “No girl that ever pressed
Into a lover's happy breast
Since heart first beat,
Eyes that in fond remonstrance rose
With kisses sweet.
I said, “No girl that ever pressed
Into a lover's happy breast
Since heart first beat,
But did esteem herself the first;
And thought no babe was ever nursed
In such sweet rest.”
Yet still she would not be denied,
But shook her shining head and cried,
“None e'er so blest!”
And thought no babe was ever nursed
In such sweet rest.”
Yet still she would not be denied,
But shook her shining head and cried,
“None e'er so blest!”
40
[On many an English lady's face]
On many an English lady's face
Fair Fortune grants these eyes to gaze;
Not fair alone in form or hue,
But gracious, guileless, tender, true.
I do not say you shall not find
A fairer face or loftier mind;
But none where Love's deep fervour lies
More deep in secret-keeping eyes;
None where fair Truth from more sincere
Unstained windows gazes clear,
Or consecrated Duty made
Eyes more abashed, yet less afraid;
Where pain so quietly hath hid
Beneath an unrevealing lid;
Or quick-accepted comfort smiled
With all the freshness of a child.
None whence shyer, sweeter laughter
Shot, the soft voice following after;
Nowhere hath Pity bidden rise
Tenderer tears in truer eyes.
Fair Fortune grants these eyes to gaze;
Not fair alone in form or hue,
But gracious, guileless, tender, true.
I do not say you shall not find
A fairer face or loftier mind;
But none where Love's deep fervour lies
More deep in secret-keeping eyes;
None where fair Truth from more sincere
Unstained windows gazes clear,
Or consecrated Duty made
Eyes more abashed, yet less afraid;
Where pain so quietly hath hid
Beneath an unrevealing lid;
Or quick-accepted comfort smiled
With all the freshness of a child.
None whence shyer, sweeter laughter
Shot, the soft voice following after;
Nowhere hath Pity bidden rise
Tenderer tears in truer eyes.
Fountain of my contentment, the swift years,
Joy-bringers hitherto, bring also tears;
Short are the respites unto mortals given,
To stand on earth, yet touch the gates of heaven.
Joy-bringers hitherto, bring also tears;
Short are the respites unto mortals given,
To stand on earth, yet touch the gates of heaven.
Dolgûog, 1856.
41
EXCUSE.
Blame me not, love, that I do wear
An ever-changing hue;
You are my sunshine, and I bear
My lights and shades from you.
An ever-changing hue;
You are my sunshine, and I bear
My lights and shades from you.
Do not your lover, love, upbraid
To show a hasty mind;
The heaven itself is not more staid,
So you continue kind.
To show a hasty mind;
The heaven itself is not more staid,
So you continue kind.
I am your instrument, dear love;
And if the tone be jarred,
Those strings which should in concord move
Are touched amiss and marred.
And if the tone be jarred,
Those strings which should in concord move
Are touched amiss and marred.
42
[A presence! a glory celestial!]
A presence! a glory celestial!
O Eros, how great is thy gain!
Divinity walks the terrestrial;
Away, away, ye prophane!
O Eros, how great is thy gain!
Divinity walks the terrestrial;
Away, away, ye prophane!
Give me thy hand, O Delightful!
I too am the child of a god;
And the long-locked Apollo at nightfall
Will linger to kiss me, and nod.
I too am the child of a god;
And the long-locked Apollo at nightfall
Will linger to kiss me, and nod.
Tread as becomes us in duty,
That mortals may know the divine;
For I am a prophet of Beauty,
And thou art the statue and shrine.
That mortals may know the divine;
For I am a prophet of Beauty,
And thou art the statue and shrine.
1846.
43
SONG.
Turn hither, turn your widely-wandering eyes,
All Love's true lieges;
Look, to this child your winged monarch flies,
And all old faith reneges.
“We come! we come!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
All Love's true lieges;
Look, to this child your winged monarch flies,
And all old faith reneges.
“We come! we come!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
These are not golden clouds that hang i' th' air,
But mortal tresses,
Which, with a fondling and delicious care,
Love's wing caresses.
“We see! we see!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
But mortal tresses,
Which, with a fondling and delicious care,
Love's wing caresses.
“We see! we see!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
These are her eyes whereat ye wondering gaze,
Not stars down charmed
Through the blue night-air. Mounted on their rays,
Look, Love stands armed!
“We fear! we fear!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
Not stars down charmed
Through the blue night-air. Mounted on their rays,
Look, Love stands armed!
“We fear! we fear!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
44
This, not that winter rosebud for the which
Young Beauty grew sick;
'Tis but her mouth and small lips rosy rich:
These make Love's music.
“We hear! we hear!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
Young Beauty grew sick;
'Tis but her mouth and small lips rosy rich:
These make Love's music.
“We hear! we hear!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
This is her brow, not fairy-carved stone,
By chaste thoughts owned,
Canopied o'er by shining hair alone;
Here Love sits throned.
“We bow! we bow!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
By chaste thoughts owned,
Canopied o'er by shining hair alone;
Here Love sits throned.
“We bow! we bow!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
Lo, where she stands in presence most complete,
A child, yet queenly!
Here turn your eyes, and this bright infant greet,
Love loves supremely.
“We bend! we bend!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
A child, yet queenly!
Here turn your eyes, and this bright infant greet,
Love loves supremely.
“We bend! we bend!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
December 1846.
45
OVER THE WEST.
“Over the West and wide away,
And have you seen my lady?”
“Over the West and wide away,
And I come from your lady.”
And have you seen my lady?”
“Over the West and wide away,
And I come from your lady.”
“Over the West and wide away,
And, well, what does my lady?”
“Over the West and wide away,
There kneels a man on his bended knee.”
And, well, what does my lady?”
“Over the West and wide away,
There kneels a man on his bended knee.”
“Over the West and wide away,
And, well, what does my lady?”
“Over the West and wide away,
She looks him through with her blue blue eye.”
And, well, what does my lady?”
“Over the West and wide away,
She looks him through with her blue blue eye.”
“Over the West and wide away,
And will my lady marry?”
“Over the West and wide away,
Do ladies love to tarry?”
And will my lady marry?”
“Over the West and wide away,
Do ladies love to tarry?”
“Over the West and wide away,
I'll love my love no longer.”
“Over the West and wide away,
And is your faith no stronger?”
I'll love my love no longer.”
“Over the West and wide away,
And is your faith no stronger?”
46
“Over the West and wide away,
False, false is my love to me.”
“Over the West and wide away,
True, true is thy love to thee.
False, false is my love to me.”
“Over the West and wide away,
True, true is thy love to thee.
“Over the West and wide away,
In thy true love abiding;
Over the West and wide away,
Come I thy lady riding.”
In thy true love abiding;
Over the West and wide away,
Come I thy lady riding.”
47
“FREI IST DER BURSCH!”
Free is the Student! thus they sing,
Their glasses all resounding;
Freedom, the fairest, noblest thing,
And here alone abounding!
Their glasses all resounding;
Freedom, the fairest, noblest thing,
And here alone abounding!
So little birds may be alleged
Quite free at nestling ages;
But when King Fred believes you fledged,
You'll soon be clapped in cages.
Quite free at nestling ages;
But when King Fred believes you fledged,
You'll soon be clapped in cages.
So sucking bears are left alone,
To run about unguarded;
But when the rascals' teeth are grown,
They must be chained and warded.
To run about unguarded;
But when the rascals' teeth are grown,
They must be chained and warded.
Thus you that scorn a slave's estate
Shall find you've but delayed it:
Some shall be driven through the gate,
And some poor souls persuaded.
Shall find you've but delayed it:
Some shall be driven through the gate,
And some poor souls persuaded.
But, sir, if we give Freedom up,
We've stars of large dimensions;
And if we drink of slavery's cup,
Professorships and pensions.
We've stars of large dimensions;
And if we drink of slavery's cup,
Professorships and pensions.
48
Dear Liberty! cries every tongue,
And echoes every rafter,
We'll sing about thee while we're young,
And live without thee after.
And echoes every rafter,
We'll sing about thee while we're young,
And live without thee after.
Bonn, June 1846.
49
TO LITTLE A. C. IN THE GARDEN AT EASTBURY.
Come, my beauty, come, my bird;
We two will wander, and no third
Shall mar that sweetest solitude
Of a garden and a child,
When the fresh elms are first in bud,
And western winds blow mild.
We two will wander, and no third
Shall mar that sweetest solitude
Of a garden and a child,
When the fresh elms are first in bud,
And western winds blow mild.
Clasp that short-reaching arm about a neck
Stript of a deeper love's more close embrace,
And with the softness of thy baby-cheek
Press roses on a care-distained face.
Stript of a deeper love's more close embrace,
And with the softness of thy baby-cheek
Press roses on a care-distained face.
What? set thee down, because the air
Ruffles too boldly thy brown hair?
Walk then, and as thy tiny boot
Presses the greenness of the sod,
Teach me to see that tottering foot
Uplifted and set down by God;
Ruffles too boldly thy brown hair?
Walk then, and as thy tiny boot
Presses the greenness of the sod,
Teach me to see that tottering foot
Uplifted and set down by God;
Teach me a stronger, tenderer hand than mine
Sways every motion of thy infant frame;
Bid me take hold, like thee, and not repine,—
Weak with my errors and deserved shame.
Sways every motion of thy infant frame;
Bid me take hold, like thee, and not repine,—
Weak with my errors and deserved shame.
50
How? home again? ah, that soft laughter
Tells me what voice thou hankerest after.
Run, run, with that bright shining face,
And little hands stretched forth apart,
Into a mother's fond embrace,
Close, closer to her heart.
Tells me what voice thou hankerest after.
Run, run, with that bright shining face,
And little hands stretched forth apart,
Into a mother's fond embrace,
Close, closer to her heart.
I too will turn, for I discern a voice
Which whispers me that I am far from home;
Bids me repent, and led by holier choice
Back to a Father's open bosom come.
Which whispers me that I am far from home;
Bids me repent, and led by holier choice
Back to a Father's open bosom come.
51
FOR EVER.
Thrice with her lips she touched my lips,
Thrice with her hand my hand,
And three times thrice looked towards the sea,
But never to the land:
Then, “Sweet,” she said, “no more delay,
For Heaven forbids a longer stay.”
Thrice with her hand my hand,
And three times thrice looked towards the sea,
But never to the land:
Then, “Sweet,” she said, “no more delay,
For Heaven forbids a longer stay.”
I, with my passion in my heart,
Could find no words to waste;
But striving often to depart,
I strained her to my breast:
Her wet tears washed my weary cheek;
I could have died, but could not speak.
Could find no words to waste;
But striving often to depart,
I strained her to my breast:
Her wet tears washed my weary cheek;
I could have died, but could not speak.
The anchor swings, the sheet flies loose,
And, bending to the breeze,
The tall ship, never to return,
Flies through the foaming seas:
Cheerily, ho! the sailors cry;—
My sweet love lessening in my eye.
And, bending to the breeze,
The tall ship, never to return,
Flies through the foaming seas:
Cheerily, ho! the sailors cry;—
My sweet love lessening in my eye.
O Love, turn towards the land thy sight!
No more peruse the sea;
Our God, who severs thus our hearts,
Shall surely care for thee:
For me let waste-wide ocean swing,
I too lie safe beneath His wing.
No more peruse the sea;
Our God, who severs thus our hearts,
Shall surely care for thee:
For me let waste-wide ocean swing,
I too lie safe beneath His wing.
52
AFTER MY SISTER'S DEATH.
The westering sun in copious floods
Pours thick his slanting beams,
Fair show the shining eastern woods,
And fair the glancing streams.
Pours thick his slanting beams,
Fair show the shining eastern woods,
And fair the glancing streams.
Just such another glittering scene,
And just a year gone by,
As if no time did intervene,
Met my rejoicing eye.
And just a year gone by,
As if no time did intervene,
Met my rejoicing eye.
Spring with loose hand rich gifts did share
Through her advancing realm;
White showed the bloom upon the pear,
And green the bursting elm.
Through her advancing realm;
White showed the bloom upon the pear,
And green the bursting elm.
Cheerly the thrush with broken notes
Did give the day adieu;
And through the trees the red-tiled cotes
Broke brightly into view.
Did give the day adieu;
And through the trees the red-tiled cotes
Broke brightly into view.
Just such another spring so fast
Repairs the earth again,
But, oh, a brighter spring is past
I never shall regain.
Repairs the earth again,
But, oh, a brighter spring is past
I never shall regain.
53
Spring of my soul! my being's May
Departed, and for ever!
There is no voice but speaks to say
For ever, and for ever!
Departed, and for ever!
There is no voice but speaks to say
For ever, and for ever!
The sun's hot rays may soon unloose
Pale Winter's frozen grasp,
New life in Nature soon induce
The warm air's circling clasp.
Pale Winter's frozen grasp,
New life in Nature soon induce
The warm air's circling clasp.
But what reviving summer sun
Shall thaw thy hand, O Death?
Or breezy South, when once 'tis flown,
Restore the stolen breath?
Shall thaw thy hand, O Death?
Or breezy South, when once 'tis flown,
Restore the stolen breath?
What! shall the faithful God, who leads
The long revolving year,—
Who in his bosom warms the seeds,
And breathes on Nature's bier,—
The long revolving year,—
Who in his bosom warms the seeds,
And breathes on Nature's bier,—
Let lapse in earth our mortal goal—
This life, our seed immortal?
Or this diviner spring—our soul,
Let freeze in Death's cold portal?
This life, our seed immortal?
Or this diviner spring—our soul,
Let freeze in Death's cold portal?
It may not and it cannot be!
Cease, doubtful, trembling heart!
Trust then thy God; nor doubt that she
Survives, not far apart.
Cease, doubtful, trembling heart!
Trust then thy God; nor doubt that she
Survives, not far apart.
54
AT THE SAME TIME.
Sweet fragrance and soft springtide air,
Green bursting leaves, most fresh, most fair,
Your charms show bright in wood and plain;
But, oh, for me, in vain—in vain!
Green bursting leaves, most fresh, most fair,
Your charms show bright in wood and plain;
But, oh, for me, in vain—in vain!
For this warm breath can never start
The sap of hope in my dead heart;
This vital season hath no spell
In me a bud of joy to swell.
The sap of hope in my dead heart;
This vital season hath no spell
In me a bud of joy to swell.
The icy season melts apace
From the young sun's celestial face;
Far in the future summer shows,
And farther golden autumn glows.
From the young sun's celestial face;
Far in the future summer shows,
And farther golden autumn glows.
But the cold passion of my grief
Must last and never find relief;
Fresh springs renew the rolling year,
But winter sits eternal here.
Must last and never find relief;
Fresh springs renew the rolling year,
But winter sits eternal here.
1846
55
AT NIGHT, AFTER MY SISTER'S DEATH.
At night, low wrapped in sleep, thou visitest meVisibly and audibly, and those old times return
When I, reclined at thy preceptoral feet,
First learned to love divine Philosophy,
And saw the unveiled face of true Religion.
For if in this my life's distracted music
Be any tone that strives for harmony
With that sweet harping of the Nazarene,
Pleasant to God's ears, and heard in times gone by
On the Galilean shore, perfect and unjarred,—
Or if I, with a reverent searching spirit,
Should touch the vesture of unchangeable Truth,—
From thee the harmony came and the endeavour,
And live in the remembrance of thy voice.
Thou plantedst, and with penitential tears
Often, alas, I water. Give Thou the increase,
God, and thy Holy Spirit oft let stand
In the entrance of my heart, visiting
As of old the angels did the patriarchs,
And casting out things dissonant and unworth!
Or, sweet Imagination taking wing
Lower, but to themes delightful, smiling I hear
Thy laugh, and see thee gaily minister
Social delights;—or (O dear memory!)
Lead thy adventurous feet o'er those rough rocks
Where we were wont to sit, high-precipiced, and hear
56
And far below our unsupported feet
Behold his foaming face;—or not unlike
Knight and fair lady in chivalrous times,
Rode side by side through the unfrequented land,
Visiting old castles, Carew and Manorbeer—
While the dear Muses, harsh now, and unvoiced,
Sprinkled our lips with Helicon, each with each
Sharing the rhymed meditation.
Ah, whither now shall I bear these sad notes,
Children of memory and not musical?
Where is thine eye, thy voice, O Solitude?
I dream, and yet I wake; am not alone,
And yet am the only lonely one of the world.
Ah, quit these mortal memories, dull sleep!
What radiant vision through the purple night
Comes to my pillow, clothed in a shining glory?
She stands and smiles, her voice breaks not the silence,
And yet the inaudible sound comes to my soul:
“Walk thou thy mortal path as if thou trod'st
On heavenly soil and fear'dst to desecrate.
Believe, and let thy Faith not be a thing
Of temporary use, but the universal light
Wherein thy soul doth live and move. Fear not,
Yet be most reverent; cast out sloth, and let not
Pause interpose between thy duty and deed.
So shalt thou, when the angelic messenger
Unchains thy spirit, ascend the golden stair
Into God's mansion; and those before thy time
57
Before the face of the All-beneficent.”
I wake, and in the solemn hour of night
The airy winnowing of celestial wings
Strikes with sweet awe upon my trembling ears.
I turn, and pray that Death be not yet visitant:
Not that I love not Death, but fain would live
Till I dare hope to climb the heavenly courts;
And that when I behold that face again,
I stand not empty-handed of good deeds.
August 1846.
58
[Why fear that the departed grieves]
“How is it? Canst thou feel for me
Some painless sympathy with pain?”
In Memoriam.
Some painless sympathy with pain?”
In Memoriam.
Why fear that the departed grieves,
Far from the mourner whom she leaves?
Who shall deny that when he stands,
With aching breast and strained hands,
His wan face raised to empty air,
And his hopes darkening to despair,—
Far from the mourner whom she leaves?
Who shall deny that when he stands,
With aching breast and strained hands,
His wan face raised to empty air,
And his hopes darkening to despair,—
E'en then the spirit whom he loved,
By close affection deeply moved,
Comes, with a swift angelic grace,
And gazes on the dear loved face,
Yearns to wipe off the raining tears,
And whisper comfort in his ears?
By close affection deeply moved,
Comes, with a swift angelic grace,
And gazes on the dear loved face,
Yearns to wipe off the raining tears,
And whisper comfort in his ears?
Or rather, from beyond the flood
Leaning her young beatitude,
Sighs only gently to behold
How grief's sharp fires transmute her gold,
And, rich in insight newly given,
Counts every faltering step to Heaven?
Leaning her young beatitude,
Sighs only gently to behold
How grief's sharp fires transmute her gold,
And, rich in insight newly given,
Counts every faltering step to Heaven?
Rests tenderly a soft distress
Upon the coming happiness;
And blest to think how short a time
Severs these frosts from golden prime,
Smiles, as a mother smiles to trace
Brief showers roll down her baby's face.
Upon the coming happiness;
59
Severs these frosts from golden prime,
Smiles, as a mother smiles to trace
Brief showers roll down her baby's face.
60
FORD GREY OF WERKE TO HIS MISTRESS.
[_]
Written after reading the trial of Ford Lord Grey for a conspiracy to induce Lord Berkeley's daughter to leave her father's home.
When I perceive thee weeping, I am broken
With bitterer anguish than my heart can bear,
And in thy troubled face when I see spoken
The mixture of thy passion and despair,
My spirit rushes to my rainy eyes
With weariness of our long miseries.
With bitterer anguish than my heart can bear,
And in thy troubled face when I see spoken
The mixture of thy passion and despair,
My spirit rushes to my rainy eyes
With weariness of our long miseries.
What I endure! O woe! what I endure
To hear thee paint our lies and wickedness!
And that worst grief, shameful detection sure,
All our brief joys outlasting wretchedness,—
With quivering lips and wide-appealing palms
Accusing me, the author of thy harms.
To hear thee paint our lies and wickedness!
And that worst grief, shameful detection sure,
All our brief joys outlasting wretchedness,—
With quivering lips and wide-appealing palms
Accusing me, the author of thy harms.
But when I picture thee, with locked-up door,
Alone, flung on the ground, and with faint cries
Beating the senseless and obdurate floor
In thy grief's insupportable ecstasies,
As thou didst tell me once thou didst,—oh, why
Make me believe you suffer more than I?
Alone, flung on the ground, and with faint cries
Beating the senseless and obdurate floor
In thy grief's insupportable ecstasies,
As thou didst tell me once thou didst,—oh, why
Make me believe you suffer more than I?
61
For now this picture makes a slave of me:
Whether to stale ambition I return,
Or shake the days with monstrous revelry,
Or through the long nights watch the white stars burn,
Still, still thine image doth like death pursue me,
And cold despair in place of blood runs through me.
Whether to stale ambition I return,
Or shake the days with monstrous revelry,
Or through the long nights watch the white stars burn,
Still, still thine image doth like death pursue me,
And cold despair in place of blood runs through me.
1848.
62
[I have a thought that fain would speak]
I have a thought that fain would speak
And tell thy praise, O Lord;
But, oh, my faltering lips are weak,
And tremble at the word.
And tell thy praise, O Lord;
But, oh, my faltering lips are weak,
And tremble at the word.
Let those that have not broke thy laws
Aspire to speak thy praise;
These falling tears are all the voice
That I may dare to raise.
Aspire to speak thy praise;
These falling tears are all the voice
That I may dare to raise.
Yet the fond mercy of our God
Outgoes our faithless thought;
He comes to meet us on the road,
Nor lets Himself be sought.
Outgoes our faithless thought;
He comes to meet us on the road,
Nor lets Himself be sought.
Father, to my repentant heart
Thy sheltering wing extend;
Henceforward let me not depart,
Henceforth no more offend.
Thy sheltering wing extend;
Henceforward let me not depart,
Henceforth no more offend.
April 1846.
63
“IF IT DIE, IT BRINGETH FORTH MUCH FRUIT.”
The nectarine before its fall
Glows through green foliage on the wall,
Crimsoned with sunshine, and made fair
By summer rain-drops and soft air.
Glows through green foliage on the wall,
Crimsoned with sunshine, and made fair
By summer rain-drops and soft air.
Soon bitter wind and changing skies
Wither its bloom, it droops and dies;
The hidden worms make it their prey,
Or yellow wasps eat it away.
Wither its bloom, it droops and dies;
The hidden worms make it their prey,
Or yellow wasps eat it away.
This is its outward vestiture;
Deep in the centre lies secure
The living promise of the seed,—
So hides the soul in mortal weed.
Deep in the centre lies secure
The living promise of the seed,—
So hides the soul in mortal weed.
And first the northwind strips away
Green sheltering fancies' rustling play,
And icy Winter lays his hand
On loved associates,—till it stand
Green sheltering fancies' rustling play,
And icy Winter lays his hand
On loved associates,—till it stand
Alone: thus richest souls are rent
Down from their joy and dear content,
And grief and anguish eat away
The freshness of their early day.
Down from their joy and dear content,
And grief and anguish eat away
The freshness of their early day.
64
Take, then, this seed, laid bare with pain,
Softened with suffering's bitter rain,
And lay in the abhorred earth
Of isolation all this worth.
Softened with suffering's bitter rain,
And lay in the abhorred earth
Of isolation all this worth.
Throw on a spadeful of despair;
Shut out the hopeful healing air;
In cold and darkness bury deep,
And bid the prisoner watch and weep.
Shut out the hopeful healing air;
In cold and darkness bury deep,
And bid the prisoner watch and weep.
Then, even then, mysterious love
Within the prison's walls shall move;
A new sensation, new desires,
Shall stir the soul with secret fires.
Within the prison's walls shall move;
A new sensation, new desires,
Shall stir the soul with secret fires.
Sweet undiscovered hid relations,—
Not faint surmises,—revelations,
Shall swell the soul beneath the sod,
And it shall feel the living God.
Not faint surmises,—revelations,
Shall swell the soul beneath the sod,
And it shall feel the living God.
Deep down in grief it strikes its roots,
Swift up to heaven its head it shoots,
Serenely spreads its boughs abroad,
And fronts the chilly blast unawed.
Swift up to heaven its head it shoots,
Serenely spreads its boughs abroad,
And fronts the chilly blast unawed.
O happy soul, thus sorely tried!
Happy, thus strangely dignified!
Come joy or grief, thou canst but see
A father leaning over thee.
Happy, thus strangely dignified!
Come joy or grief, thou canst but see
A father leaning over thee.
Bryn Rhedyn, 1854.
65
MUSIC.
When I am weary of the blows
Of Fate, and my dejected mind
Sees phantom forms of future woes
Still rising up behind,
Of Fate, and my dejected mind
Sees phantom forms of future woes
Still rising up behind,
Then a white hand like thine, my dear,
Flung o'er the enchanted keys,
Up and down, in joy or fear,
Is the only art to please.
Flung o'er the enchanted keys,
Up and down, in joy or fear,
Is the only art to please.
Then as I lie, the winged airs,
In ranged procession holy,
Shall mount of spirit and brain the stairs,
And cast out melancholy;
In ranged procession holy,
Shall mount of spirit and brain the stairs,
And cast out melancholy;
Disperse the cloudy fumes of care,
And shed, from swinging hands,
Calm, and the quiet hopefulness
Of the eternal lands.
And shed, from swinging hands,
Calm, and the quiet hopefulness
Of the eternal lands.
Bryn Rhedyn, September 1854.
66
A BLIND GIRL'S QUESTIONINGS.
Soft Beauty, clothed in music,
Comes whispering through the woods;
I hear her lift the branches,
And brush the rustling buds.
Onward I hear her stealing
With low aerial pace,
Till with a mouth of fragrance
She kisses all my face.
Comes whispering through the woods;
I hear her lift the branches,
And brush the rustling buds.
Onward I hear her stealing
With low aerial pace,
Till with a mouth of fragrance
She kisses all my face.
O you endowed with vision,
Who talk of shapes and light,
Tell me what other aspect
Belongs to my delight!
In solemn silent night-time,
Between the hours of sleep,
What is the sacred Darkness
In which I wake and weep?
In which no sound familiar
Accosts my straining ear,
But low continuous murmurs
Of emptiness and fear?
Who talk of shapes and light,
Tell me what other aspect
Belongs to my delight!
In solemn silent night-time,
Between the hours of sleep,
What is the sacred Darkness
In which I wake and weep?
In which no sound familiar
Accosts my straining ear,
But low continuous murmurs
Of emptiness and fear?
Do you perceive her walking
About the voiceless ground,
As you detect my presence
Although I make no sound?
About the voiceless ground,
As you detect my presence
Although I make no sound?
67
BEFORE DAWN.
No sun with her; but, far below
Her rising bosom's ebb and flow,
Rocked on her heart's first whisperings,
Couches the babe with folded wings;
Dreaming, yet half awake, he lies,
And starts and trembles in her eyes.
Her rising bosom's ebb and flow,
Rocked on her heart's first whisperings,
Couches the babe with folded wings;
Dreaming, yet half awake, he lies,
And starts and trembles in her eyes.
Virgin of any mortal stain,
Untouched by passion or by pain;
Not yet, O young delicious morning,
Have Love's rays overshot the dawning;
But cool light airs of childhood play
About the breaking of thy day.
Untouched by passion or by pain;
Not yet, O young delicious morning,
Have Love's rays overshot the dawning;
But cool light airs of childhood play
About the breaking of thy day.
68
BY THE SEASHORE.
Upon the reedy margin of the shore,
Shallow and waste, I stand,
And hear far Ocean's low continuous roar
Over the flats and sand.
Shallow and waste, I stand,
And hear far Ocean's low continuous roar
Over the flats and sand.
The wide gray sky hangs low above the verge,
No white-winged sea-bird flies;
No sound, save the eternal-sounding surge,
With equal fall and rise.
No white-winged sea-bird flies;
No sound, save the eternal-sounding surge,
With equal fall and rise.
While the salt sea-wind whispers in my ears,
Fitful and desolate,
I seem absolved from the departed years,
Not grieved and not elate.
Fitful and desolate,
I seem absolved from the departed years,
Not grieved and not elate.
69
A VISION.
Methought I saw a figure clasped with wings,
And with a countenance as sad as death,
Where an immortal beauty's hidden springs
Shone like a mirror clouded with cold breath.
A trembling, such as imminent freezing flings
Over the troubled waters, seized my heart.
Like a new-lighted bird, ready to start
She stood, her eyelids sick with wanderings,
And cried, “I am the sister of white Faith,
Who sits serenely in the open heaven,
To whom I minister; thus ever driven
About the world, and Anguish named.
And with a countenance as sad as death,
Where an immortal beauty's hidden springs
Shone like a mirror clouded with cold breath.
A trembling, such as imminent freezing flings
Over the troubled waters, seized my heart.
Like a new-lighted bird, ready to start
She stood, her eyelids sick with wanderings,
And cried, “I am the sister of white Faith,
Who sits serenely in the open heaven,
To whom I minister; thus ever driven
About the world, and Anguish named.
Yet I
Too am divine.” Swift weeping choked her breath;
She touched me, and fled forth.
Too am divine.” Swift weeping choked her breath;
She touched me, and fled forth.
70
[Lord, at thy feet we do not kneel]
Lord, at thy feet we do not kneel
For worldly wealth or temporal weal,
And sue not with these dropping tears
Exemption from our mortal fears.
For worldly wealth or temporal weal,
And sue not with these dropping tears
Exemption from our mortal fears.
Only whatever be our grief,
Not to miss Thee, our sure relief:
What loss, what pain, what woe betide,
To see this Angel by our side;
Not to miss Thee, our sure relief:
What loss, what pain, what woe betide,
To see this Angel by our side;
That Thou, our God, in this sad land
Sustain our feet, hold up our hand;
And the bright lamp of faith for ever
Shine in our path and fail us never.
Sustain our feet, hold up our hand;
And the bright lamp of faith for ever
Shine in our path and fail us never.
Bonn, 1846.
71
THE YEAR OF LOVE.
Ask me not, sweet, when I first loved thee,
Nor bid me carry back
Love's meditative memory
Down through a narrowing track.
Nor bid me carry back
Love's meditative memory
Down through a narrowing track.
Remember how, in the sweet spring-time's
First faint prophetic hours,
The golden-headed aconite
Began the time of flowers.
First faint prophetic hours,
The golden-headed aconite
Began the time of flowers.
Then seemed it to our happy hearts,
As we stood hand in hand,
As if the promise were fulfilled,
And summer in the land.
As we stood hand in hand,
As if the promise were fulfilled,
And summer in the land.
Slowly the sap rose in the tree,
Slowly the airs blew mild;
Softly the seasons grew, as grows
The sweetness of thy child.
Slowly the airs blew mild;
Softly the seasons grew, as grows
The sweetness of thy child.
And when the March-wind sowed the banks
With early violets,
Or April hung the larchen trees
In green and crimson nets;
With early violets,
Or April hung the larchen trees
In green and crimson nets;
72
Or, with white hawthorn-buds in hand,
Through yellowing oaken woods,
The young light-footed May came down,—
We knew no changing moods.
Through yellowing oaken woods,
The young light-footed May came down,—
We knew no changing moods.
We taxed not by comparisons
The season's growing prime;
But stood each present day and said,
“This is the happy time.”
The season's growing prime;
But stood each present day and said,
“This is the happy time.”
Now in the royal day of roses,
Our love being in its June,
Stand so, nor ask what note began
This full harmonious tune.
Our love being in its June,
Stand so, nor ask what note began
This full harmonious tune.
I know thy love hath broadened, yet
I know when it began
It seemed the fullness of the grace
That could be granted man.
I know when it began
It seemed the fullness of the grace
That could be granted man.
So deem of mine, nor with spring thoughts
The fuller June-tide cummer;
My love grew like the year, and grows
Up through an endless summer.
The fuller June-tide cummer;
My love grew like the year, and grows
Up through an endless summer.
1857.
SONNETS.
75
A WET AUTUMN.
Behold the melancholy season's wane!Oppressed with clouds and with the rainy days,
And the great promise of that lavish gain
All shattered, which his shining youth did raise.
In misty fields the dripping harvest-grain
Hangs its dank head; the sorrowing reaper stays
From day to day his sickling, chiding in vain
His unused sunshine and unwise delays.
Thus when I see this bright youth aged in tears,
With bitter drops I wash my wasting prime,
And sadly see mine own unharvested years
In the unprofited past their dark hours wave,
And the great visions of my early time
Wax fainter, and my face grows to the grave.
Hafodunos, 1847.
76
AT THE CHESHIRE POINT, LINLEY WOOD.
Not now I court thy odorous spring-tide breeze,Or breathe thy summer air, sweet Linley Wood;
Now drear November with a misty hood
Covers the distant landscape, and doth seize
The lingering autumn honours of the trees.
The woods are still, and silent Nature's mood,
Save where some bird, with voice not harsh or rude,
Pipes melancholy from the dewy leas.
A beautiful and mournful grace endu'th
Thy dying autumn hours; but soon the strife
Of jarring winds shall tear thee without ruth.
To me thy sadness is with meaning rife,
For I am in the autumn of my youth,
And close upon the wintry storms of life.
November 5th, 1844.
77
[Like a musician that with flying finger]
Like a musician that with flying fingerStartles the voice of some new instrument,
And, though he know that in one string are blent
All its extremes of sound, yet still doth linger
Among the lighter threads, fearing to start
The deep soul of that one melodious wire,
Lest it, unanswering, dash his high desire,
And spoil the hopes of his expectant heart;—
Thus, with my mistress oft conversing, I
Stir every lighter theme with careless voice,
Gathering sweet music and celestial joys
From the harmonious soul o'er which I fly;
Yet o'er the one deep master-chord I hover,
And dare not stoop, fearing to tell—I love her.
78
AT NIGHT.
When Peace and all the calm DivinitiesWalk in the unjarred wide concave of heaven,
And by self-exile from the sweet skies driven,
The ever youngest-born of Charities
Dispensed by God, soft-breathing silent Sleep,
O'er the wide world, from tower to hamlet flies,
And lays her hand on overwearied eyes,
But most through children's curtains loves to peep,—
I wake. Then I behold the sailing moon
And solemn image of the shadowed woods,
And check my doubts, and learn I may as soon
Dream that for me this beauty ever broods,
As that the highest clad in mortal dress,
Beloved and lost, was made to make my happiness.
79
MY FATHER'S DEATH.
Oh, how have men, fooled by this mortal state,Mistook the image of mysterious Death,
God's messenger, and with injurious breath
Maligned the Porter of the Eternal Gate,
Who is indeed all fair, and, early or late,
Herald of Heaven to every man whose faith
Binds him to God, careless of what man saith.
Angel his form when he on thee did wait,
Clad like thy soul in white, and, with a smile
That cast its sweet reflection on thy face,
He touched thy marble brow; loosening the while
With outstretched hand the golden door's embrace,
He ushered thee to the immortal throng,
Who tuned thy welcome home in clear harmonious song.
London, November 1843.
80
TO MY MOTHER.
As winter, in some mild autumnal days,Breathes such an air as youngest spring discloses,
So age in thee renews an infant's grace,
And clothes thy cheek in soft November roses.
Time hath made friends with Beauty in thy face,
And, since the wheeling Fates must be obeyed,
White rime upon thy gracious head he lays,
But whispers gently not to be afraid;
And tenderly, like one that leads the blind,
He soothes thy lingering footsteps to the gate,
While that great Angel, who there keeps his state,
Smiles to behold with what slow feet he moves.
Move slower, gentlier yet, O Time! or find
A way to fix her here, bound by our filial loves.
Richmond, 1852.
81
GIBSON'S STATUE OF AURORA.
Fair unto all men, shining Morning, seemsThy face serene when a new day unrolls,
And all old sights and long-endured doles
Seem fresh and bearable in thy bright beams.
But only to the dreamers of sweet dreams,
The visionary apprehensive souls
Whose finer insight no dim sense controls,
Com'st thou in this fair shape o'er Ocean's streams,—
Thy white foot hanging on an eastern wave,
And thy swept garments blown by early air;
In thy two hands rich urns, powerful to save
From darkness and the terror of the grave;
And in thy face calm victory dost thou wear
Over the night and terror and despair.
1848.
82
TO M. S.
When lagging Winter takes his longed-for flight,Chilling the airs of March with frosty wing,
Mark how the child of April, fresh-browed Spring,
Proclaims his presence and his youthful might.
Not scattering full-blown flowers, and richly dight
In gorgeous Summer's proud apparelling,
Nor spreading earth with golden harvesting,
Like unshorn Autumn, king of all delight;
Only upon the hedge-row tops he hangs
A green-tipped bud, and by such slender sign
Tells of the loosening of dead Winter's fangs,
His own dear advent, and his power divine;—
So my rich love, by this poor gift presented,
Argue no less for being thus meanly painted.
Hafodunos, 1845.
83
M. S.
Like morning, or the early buds in spring,Or voice of children laughing in dark streets,
Or that quick leap with which the spirit greets
The old revisited mountains—some such thing
She seemed in her bright home: Joy and Delight,
And full-eyed Innocence with folded wing,
Sat in her face, and from her happy smiling
Clear air she shook like star-lit summer night.
What needed pain to purge a spirit so pure?
Like fire it came,—what less than fire can be
The cleansing Spirit of God? Oh, happy she,
Able with holy patience to endure!
Her joy made peace, and those bright ores of nature
Subdued to purest gold of piety.
Hafodunos, 1852.
84
TO THE REV. JOHN HAMILTON THOM.
Nature's least worthy growths have quickest spring,And soonest answering service readiest meed,
And undiscerning glory's shining wing
Lights earliest on an ill-deserving head.
Winter o'er autumn-scattered wheat doth fling
A white oblivion that keeps warm the seed;
And wisest thought needs deepest burying,
Before its ripe effect begins to breed.
Therefore, O spiritual seedsman, cast
With unregretful hand thy rich grain forth,
Nor think thy word's regenerating birth
Dead, that so long lies locked in human breast.
Time, slow to foster things of lesser worth,
Broods o'er thy work, and God permits no waste.
1852.
85
[O Muse the Comforter! that in this vale]
O Muse the Comforter! that in this vale,Thick strewn with shadows and adversity,
Walk'st with thy followers and mak'st them free,
Teaching their mounting thoughts high heaven to scale,
And, with toiled hearts when thou perceivest them fail,
Steepest their lips in clear cold Castaly,
And washest them from stained mortality;—
How much thy fostering cares, dear Muse, avail!
Yet me, alas, a heavier grief invades
Than thou canst cure; thou hast no sovereign art
For sadder thoughts than spring from Death's dark shades.
O Holy Spirit of God, sit Thou in my heart,
And teach me, with true faith, earnest not blind,
To break these mists, and see His face behind.
1845.
86
TO A LADY PREFERRING CALM TO PASSIONATE POETRY.
Much, Cousin, I commend your wiser choice,Which rather loves these evener notes to hear
Than her whose muse still weeps so bitter a tear:
For us the Poet shall not with sad voice
Match melancholy breath to the sweet noise
Of all Apollo's harpings; but his ear
Something forget our passionate earthly sphere,
And catch the finer sound, which says, rejoice.
So may we, not untouched by Grief and Care,—
The hidden angels,—keep yet a spirit serene,
Climbing from step to step Faith's golden stair,
And, upward gazing from this mortal scene,
See our beloved like beckoning angels stand,
And hear low whispers from the heavenly land.
1847.
87
LAUDATRIX TEMPORIS ACTI.
Why should my love in idle phantasyFlatter the records of her childish hours,
And deem her joy gone by? Oh, read in me
Love's heart, and entertain his glorious powers;
Taste Love's high pleasures, and you'll cast in scorn
All fond regrets for former joys away:
Love's promises are like the hand of Morn,
Crimsoning the East to antedate the day;
For by so much as is his morning glance
Outrivalled by his full meridian eye,
So much are Love's joys in Love's hopes' advance;
Yet herein true Love dims the sun on high,—
When once he hath attained his highest bent,
He owns no evening and no occident.
88
MIDNIGHT ON NEW YEAR'S EVE.
Hark, the deep tongue of midnight tolls no more;And now Time, like a troubled spectre, stands
On the year's edge, and with lean trembling hands
Turns his great glass. Mark how the grains do pour
In glittering showers upon the glassy floor,
So thickly clustered with the golden sands
That it might seem he bore the ocean-strands,
And poised the circle of the sea-swept shore.
These are your hours that roll, O mortal men!
Fast ripening for the sickle of fell Time,
Now the revolving year returns again,
New-gilt resolves and hopes in all their prime;
Alas, that these should, like Time's trembling hours,
Fall fast and bright at first, to end in wavering showers!
1843-4.
89
THE TWO NIGHTS.
In the gray night we three went forth together,Waiting the dawn: what time i' th' western skies
The crowded stars yet stretched their weary eyes
Ere streaked morn began i' th' east to feather.
Confident hearts we were, regardless whether
Trivial mishap might cloud our enterprise,
And bent to see the golden sun arise,
Child of the light, and king of cloudless weather;
Companions in a cloudier night we stand,
And contemplate a more eventful morn,—
This life our night, our morn the heavenly strand.
With firm hearts let us press our eastern way,
Winning our welcome to that heavenly land
Where sunshine hath no stint, and brightness no decay.
90
A CHRISTMAS SONNET.
When beauty-loving Nature hath conceived,And of a child of bliss been brought to bed,
Whose grace makes poor the baby Spring upheaved
Upon reluctant Winter's icy head;
When in delight her darling hath been bred,
And mixed in her, as time is mixed with fleetness,
Are whiteness, joy, and truthfulness, and sweetness;—
What needs she more to seek the happy dead?
Put off, unwilling mother, put away
Those radiant sweeping garments of her joys.
No; that warm-clasping comfort must not stay;
Here are sharp waters of a heavenly sorrow.
Wash, child of Nature; weep you for those joys;
Here are the robes of faithfulness,—put on, and die to-morrow!
1850.
91
[Sad is my lot; among the shining spheres]
“If the Earth had perception, how unutterably sad she would be at
all the misery she contains!”
Sad is my lot; among the shining spheres
Wheeling, I weave incessant day and night,
And ever, in my never-ending flight,
Add woes to woes, and count up tears on tears.
Young wives' and new-born infants' hapless biers
Lie on my breast, a melancholy sight;
Fresh griefs abhor my fresh returning light;
Pain and remorse and want fill up my years.
My happier children's farther-piercing eyes
Into the blessed solvent future climb,
And knit the threads of joy and hope and warning;
But I, the ancient mother, am not wise,
And, shut within the blind obscure of time,
Roll on from morn to night, and on from night to morning.
1853.
92
TO A FRIEND IN GRIEF.
Full in the gate where earth and heaven meetI saw the figure of celestial Faith,
With face devout and grave, like one that pray'th.
There, as she sat, to her immortal feet
Came that loud-weeping babe with footsteps fleet,
Mortal Affliction, born of Love and Death,
Naked, and wounded by the cold night-breath.
Then, like a mother, with endearments sweet
She laid him in her lap and dried his tears,
And made him smile with comfort soft as air.
Following his flight, as the sad earth he nears,
I saw thy woful face upturned in prayer:
Out of thy bosom came this weeping boy;
Back to thy bosom take this child of joy!
93
TO A FRIEND.
Sad soul, whom God, resuming what He gave,Medicines with bitter anguish of the tomb,
Cease to oppress the portals of the grave,
And strain thy aching sight across the gloom.
The surged Atlantic's winter-beaten wave
Shall sooner pierce the purpose of the wind
Than thy storm-tossed and heavy-swelling mind
Grasp the full import of His means to save.
Through the dark night lie still; God's faithful grace
Lies hid, like morning, underneath the sea.
Let thy slow hours roll, like these weary stars,
Down to the level ocean patiently;
Till His loved hand shall touch the Eastern bars,
And His full glory shine upon thy face.
94
IN DEJECTION.
I.
When the fine framing faculty of Nature,
Striving by Beauty to contend with Death,
Adds to proportion perfect perfect feature,
Crimson complexion, and sweet-tuned breath,—
The cold physician with accustomed eyes
Sees the swift ensign of the conqueror
In glittering vision or quick flushes rise
To tell who hides behind the painted door.
Why this is common; so I too can smile,
And hide in mockery my frightful fears,
And with light laughter easily beguile
A sinful spirit washed with wasted tears;
But in my soul I hear a sullen cry,
A devil whispering, Despair, and die!
95
IN DEJECTION
II.
I will not die! Ah! once again, dear God,
Stretch down from heaven thy succouring hand benign;
Ah! once again,—now, when thy merited rod
Touches me sorely, and scarcely I divine
The face of comfort, bearing the heavy load
Of a dead heart,—and Dark wherein doth shine
No lamp or hope of light hath quite o'erflowed
And whelmed in dark this fainting spirit of mine;
Once more stretch forth thy hand before I die,
O Lord, my refuge! unto Thee I cling!
Show me thy face; to my dim spiritual eye,
Upturned though dark, thy radiant daylight bring;
Once, once again, on this cold rock my heart
Strike, till to thy loved touch the living waters start.
96
I
[If the first meaning of imagined words]
If the first meaning of imagined wordsHad not been dulled by long promiscuous use,
And their fine sympathies and nice accords
Lost by misapplication or abuse;
Or if, within the breasts of those that choose
To read these lines, hung those responsive chords
Quick to appropriate what sound affords
Of most deep meaning, and touch hidden clues,—
Then might I from our English treasury,
Rich and abounding in poetic speech,
Choose out some phrase whereby to picture thee,
Or come as near thee as my thought can reach;
For I, bright soul, can show thee in my line
No more than painter limn the Child divine.
97
II
[Then would I say, thou hadst a shape of beauty]
Then would I say, thou hadst a shape of beauty,And countenance both shamefast and serene;
Thy voice was low and pleading, and thy mien
A child-like sweetness mixed with dignity;
A most rare judgment hadst thou, which was seen
To rest on prayer more than authority;
Thence sprang thy wisdom, which did ever lean
On God, and move in perfect liberty.
Thy lofty courage hid itself in gentleness;
Thy spirit, quick at love's neglect to move,
Could never reach before thy swift forgiveness;
And such a soft dependence didst thou prove
With these great gifts, thou, like a babe, didst press
To rest in cherishing arms of those whom thou didst love.
98
III
[Love in thy heart like living waters rose]
Love in thy heart like living waters rose,Thine own self lost in the abounding flood;
So that with thee, joy, comfort, thy life's good,
Thy youth's delights, thy beauty's freshest rose,
Were trash thy unregretful bounty chose
Before loved feet for softness to be strewed.
Such were thy mortal temperings. Above those,
Perfect, unstained, celestial, the clear brood
Of thy divine affections rose; white congress,
With brows devout and upward-winging eyes,
At whose graced feet sacred Humility lies;
Truthfulness, Patience, Wisdom, Gentleness,
Faith, Hope, and Charity, the golden three,
And Love which casts out fear,—this was the sum of thee.
99
DAYBREAK IN FEBRUARY.
Over the ground white snow, and in the airSilence. The stars, like lamps soon to expire,
Gleam tremblingly; serene and heavenly fair,
The eastern hanging crescent climbeth higher.
See, purple on the azure softly steals,
And Morning, faintly touched with quivering fire,
Leans on the frosty summits of the hills,
Like a young girl over her hoary sire.
Oh, such a dawning over me has come,—
The daybreak of thy purity and love;—
The sadness of the never-satiate tomb
Thy countenance hath power to remove;
And from the sepulchre of Hope thy palm
Can roll the stone, and raise her bright and calm.
Bryn Rhedyn, 1854.
100
SYMBOLS OF VICTORY.
Yellow leaves on the ash-tree,
Soft glory in the air,
And the streaming radiance of sunshine
On the leaden clouds over there.
Soft glory in the air,
And the streaming radiance of sunshine
On the leaden clouds over there.
At a window a child's mouth smiling,
Overhung with tearful eyes
At the flying rainy landscape
And the sudden opening skies.
Overhung with tearful eyes
At the flying rainy landscape
And the sudden opening skies.
Angels hanging from heaven,
A whisper in dying ears,
And the promise of great salvation
Shining on mortal fears.
A whisper in dying ears,
And the promise of great salvation
Shining on mortal fears.
A dying man on his pillow,
Whose white soul, fled to his face,
Puts on her garment of joyfulness,
And stretches to Death's embrace.
Whose white soul, fled to his face,
Puts on her garment of joyfulness,
And stretches to Death's embrace.
Passion, rapture, and blindness,
Yearning, aching, and fears,
And Faith and Duty gazing
With steadfast eyes upon tears.
Yearning, aching, and fears,
And Faith and Duty gazing
With steadfast eyes upon tears.
101
I see, or the glory blinds me
Of a soul divinely fair,
Peace after great tribulation,
And Victory hung in the air.
Of a soul divinely fair,
Peace after great tribulation,
And Victory hung in the air.
Isle of Man, 1850.
ELIDUKE, COUNT OF YVELOC.
A Tragedy.
- For Eli. read Eliduke
- For Rol. read Roland
- For Blanch. read Blanchespee
- For Walt. read Walter
- For Sans. read Sanscœur
- For Phil. read Philip
- For Mil. read Milieu
- For Cast. read Castabel
- For Est. read Estreldis
- For Blanc. read Blancafor
- For Aza. read Azalia
- For Lar. read Lardune
- Eliduke, seneschal to the King of Brittany.
- Roland, a lord of Brittany.
- Blanchespee, brother to Castabel and Blancaflor.
- Walter, a captain, a retainer of Eliduke's.
- King of Brittany.
- King of Cornwall.
- A Prince at war with Cornwall.
- Sanscœur, courtier in the Breton court.
- Philip, courtier in the Breton court.
- Milieu, courtier in the Breton court.
- Lords, Gentlemen, &c.
- Castabel, wife to Eliduke.
- Blancaflor, sister to Castabel and Blanchespee.
- Estreldis, daughter to the King of Cornwall.
- Azalia, lady in the Cornish court.
- Lardune, lady in the Cornish court.
- Bianca, lady in the Cornish court.
- Women of Castabel's, Abbess, &c.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.[_]
Speakers' names are abbreviated in this text. The abbreviations used for major characters are as follows:
[_]
Speakers' names are abbreviated in this text. The abbreviations used for major characters are as follows:
105
ACT I
Scene I.
An anteroom in the court at Nantes.Enter Walter and a Gentleman of the Court.
Walt.
What! does my lord still hold his own, handling his honours with so lofty a grace that the best of them show but as underlings? Does he flaunt it still?
Gent.
Of whom speak you?
Walt.
Good! as if I spake to thee of an earthworm. Thy envy furnishes thee with a very fitting semblance of ignorance. It was but of the Seneschal I spoke; of him whom Fame hath made her foster-child, and placed so high on the rock of noble reputation, that having no higher to climb, 'tis marvel he grows not giddy and falls not;—of him whom thou saidst thyself, the King was but his gilded speaking-trumpet; —of my right honorable and much-loved lord, Count Eliduke of Yveloc. Do you know the man?
106
Eliduke?
Walt.
Even Eliduke.
Gent.
When camest thou to court?
Walt.
I came not—I come now, my spurs hot with riding.
Gent.
Ha!
Walt.
Ha! and be hanged! art thou turned cliptongue? Thou wast wont to gossip like a lad among ladies, and now thou screwest out thy words and makest marvellous faces like a monkey sick of the heartburn. I would hear news of the court, and learn what changes since last I marred the honesty of my behaviour by showing my face among you, and thou hast only, ‘Ha!’ and ‘Who?’ and ‘How?’ I would I had thee on the rack.
Gent.
These are my news; mark them. Count Eliduke has suddenly fallen into the King's disfavour, who has shown himself as little temperate in his present anger as in his former favour. The Count is expelled from his office, stripped of all the King's castles and honours, and bidden to confine himself within the walls of his castle at Yveloc until his majesty's further pleasure be signified.
Walt.
Thou dost but jest with me.
Gent.
Not I. But the main wonder is, that no one knows the cause of this sudden disaffection of the King, save those perchance who have had a hand in bringing it about. Count Eliduke declares himself most especially ignorant, and would fain clear himself in
107
Walt.
And Eliduke?—
Gent.
Swears he will be heard, though it cost him his head.
Walt.
By my sword, he says right, and the King does his honour an injury to disgrace so noble a gentleman without a hearing. Does no man plead for him?
Gent.
You are newly come to court with a vengeance. Do men help their proud friends grown poor?
Walt.
Ay, sir, men do; I see thou wouldst dress thy tongue, like thy leg, in the fashion of the hour, and follow the cant of the day that virtue is extinct among men. For God's sake, man, put not thy heart in stays, cramp not thy faith in a tight boot; but believe that there shall be found honour and gratitude even amongst courtiers. Thou wilt thyself speak for him.
Gent.
I would gladly, sir, do him any slight service I could; for he was in his prosperity ever courteous and well inclined towards me; but speak for him in open court I may not; I should but lose my own standing, nor render him any service commensurate to my own loss.
Walt.
Thou dost well to distrust men; I perceive
108
Gent.
Should he speak for Eliduke?
Walt.
Ay, sir.
Gent.
Ha! ha!
Walt.
Laugh, monkey.
Gent.
They are sworn enemies. They were suitors both to the same lady, and Eliduke married her, and worsted him in duel. Should he plead for him?
Walt.
Fitter deed for a noble foe than an envious friend. I'll to the Audience-hall; if a better tongue speak for him, good; if not, mine shall be heard. Spare me your company.
[Exit Walter.
Gent.
What a pestiferous, ill-bred, honest ruffian is
this! I think he means to insult me. I would I had
quarrelled with him.
[Exit.
Scene II.
Audience-hall in the Court at Nantes, crowded with Courtiers awaiting the arrival of the King. A knot of them conversing in front.Sanscœur, Milieu, Walter, and Philip.
San.
This Count has caught the taste of fear at last,
He will not come to keep his vaunt to-day.
Mil.
He were unwise to do it, sir. Reflection
Has taught him that to front the King in's rage,
Were but to quench his nigh-extinguished favour,
109
Like an o'er-healthy child, dies in his cradle;
Whilst puling Prudence, sickly after birth,
Strengthens from hour to hour.
Walt.
You little know him;
This Prudence is a slave or nothing to him,
So closely twined to his first purposes,
That in their acting she becomes auxiliary;
Or if some impulse should have played the forger
With his hard will, then hot and malleable
By the quick flash of Anger, so that Prudence
Had lost her part i' the moulding, he would rather
Mar all than bar his once-conceived resolve.
Phil.
Do you speak this for praise? These mad resolves
Show not the tempered firmness of a man.
There is in him—
Enter Roland.
Is it Lord Roland yonder?
San.
Did you not look he should be here to-day?
Quick rumour hath arrested his glad ear,
Whispering the downfall of his hated foe.
He comes to help us scorn him.
Phil.
Chain your tongue!
And range your thoughts more nobly when you speak
Of one who is clear honour's best adornment;
Your heart's too weakly poised and narrow a base
To pile opinions of Lord Roland on;
110
Is shadowed with the sweeping hand of Care,
And from his downcast eye pale Pity leans.
He mourns his enemy unjustly fallen,
And cannot stoop his high nobility
To stand upon the carcass of dead power.
True honour is its own best pedestal,
And scorns the piecing of a broken shaft.
Enter Eliduke.
Mil.
Look!
San.
Let him come; we need not budge for him.
Eli.
Give place, there!
Rol.
Place! do you hear, sirs? place for Yveloc, here!
Eli.
Do you mock me, sir? Well!
Rol.
Sir, I mock you not.
Chamberlain.
The King!
Enter the King with train, and seats himself.
Eli.
My liege, I kneel a suppliant at your feet
Fall'n from estate—
King.
Are you come here to whine
Like a whipt dog,—to howl your paltry griefs,
Your wrongs? Give place! I have no ear for you.
Eli.
I am no dog, my liege. These are your dogs,
Base breed of hounds that with their slavish cry
Have halloed me to death; these are your dogs,
That know no virtue but your favourite vice,
111
With whom your reflex is best excellence,
And blackest evil your most opposite,—
These are your dogs, my lord, but I am none.
You are a king whose—
King.
Will he draw to close?
His tongue sits close i' the saddle. Well, my lord,
On with your set speech till it comes to close,
And then we too will speak. On, on, my lord!
Eli.
Hear me; I ask not favour, sire; I come
To plead my just cause in a kingly ear,
And from the native eye of majesty
To wipe suspicion's dust; and this to do
Lacks but the allowance of the breath you stifle.
If I have wronged you, let me know in what.
Have I sold offices? for silver bribes
Weighted the scale of justice? more esteemed
The chink of gold than the pale orphan's cry?
Betrayed your counsels to your enemies?
Played coward in the field, or in the chamber
Advised you to your ruin? If of these
Any the least hath sullied my demeanour,
Or proved me ingrate for the gifts you lavished,
Let me know which, and either I will clear
My unstained honour from a slanderous blot,
Or if't be true, which I protest I fear not,
I will confess it freely. Royal my lord,
This is a right your meanest slave might urge
With unbent knee and an unquailing eye,
112
Kneeling, I do entreat it as a grace.
O summon up your regal attributes
And be a king, not ugly Slander's thrall!
If I have lost your favour, my dear liege,
And your less liking deems it now more fit
To clothe another in the garbs once mine,
I am content; but, O my gracious lord,
Take not away that which was never thine,—
My honourable title and fair name.
Strip, if you will, these outward decorations,
And leave me naked; but sole Nature's garb,
The skin of honour, peel not that away.
Say that my ruin is your sovereign will;
But do not hint at a concealed dishonour,
Which makes my fall due justice for my faults,
And each man's changing fancy my accuser.
King
(who has been whispering with his courtiers during Eliduke's speech).
What says the pretty one? will she stand a siege?
Eli.
I do demean myself to stoop so low;
This your contempt is most unkingly, King.
O pardon me! I that was ever loyal
Will teach my tongue no less observance now;
I will believe you have some cause for this
That may not show i' the surface. But for these—
Was't thou, or thou, that worked this wrong upon me?
Dare ye not speak? Look how the craven blood
Pales on their brows, and tells the trembling truth
113
Scorn is too scornful to be spent upon you;
Contempt disdains to mark you. But there stands
One I thought noble, though mine enemy;
He too—
Rol.
Turn not your angry eye on me, my lord;
You do me much dishonour to believe
That I am mingled in so base a throng.
Here is my open hand, that holds my heart;
If you will clasp it, well; if not, content:
I do not sue to be your friend or foe;
But whether friend or foe, being wronged and foully,
As I believe you are, I dare well venture
To speak, though not for you, yet in behalf
Of injured Justice, whose bright properties
Are so essential to the hearts of men
We may as well endure to balk our sight
Of the bright sunbeams, and solicit dark,
As lose our part in her, and, unregarding,
Let tyranny seal up her fostering eyes.
I have no smoother title for this act
Than tyranny, nor do I care to find one.
I came to sue a gift upon my knee;
Now, standing on my feet, I claim a right,—
To me—to all, no less than Eliduke.
Favours are worthless, if I find I hold
My dearest honour only by the thread
Of a king's changing will. Either, my lord,
Front the fall'n count with his imputed failings,
114
And take the name of tyrant.
King.
Sword of God! is there no fury in the face of kings
That may with its insufferable blaze
Burn up these mouthing traitors? do we sit
To be their block of scorn, to cower and bend
Beneath the ratings of their unreined tongues?
Hear, Count of Yveloc! If another week
Shall find you circled in our widest bounds,
Your head shall roll i' the dust for 't, and your blood
May cry to Heaven for justice; for, by God,
You shall get none of me. For you, my lord,
That stand upon punctilio of crime,
Leave your friend's faults and learn your own is this,—
You have a tongue that wags too saucily;
Till you have taught it measure, do not venture
To show your face i' the court, or you shall bear
Your new-made comrade exile's company.
Death! I am choked with passion. Lead away!
[Exit King and train.
Eli.
(to Roland).
My lord, I wronged you; will you pardon me?
You proffered me your hand, which I will take,
And dare affirm I ne'er touched one more honest.
Were I less deeply in your debt, fair sir,
I could make longer protestations.
But in my fallen hour your generous aid
Has more than emptied all my store of thanks;
115
Entreating that we may be friends, my lord.
Rol.
I do at heart desire it. Let us not
Excuse the differences of former times,
But wholly sponge them from our memories;
And live from this day only.
Eli.
Nobly granted.
[They pass up conversing.
Re-enter Milieu, Sanscœur, and others of the King's train.
First Lord.
This traitor lords it yet.
Second Lord.
What infinite terrible scorn
Weighed down his eyelids when he chid thee, Sanscœur!
San.
Pooh! my good lord, such looks are little hurtful;
My sword had sent sharper glances to his breast,
And spoiled his boastful bearing, but my reverence
For the king's presence tied my eager hand.
First Lord.
Ay, and mine too. I was at point to tell him
I had a share in his well-earned dishonour,
And gloried in it; but 'twas better not.
Walt.
(passing through).
Ay, better not; for had you done so, sir,
You might have paid for 't dearly; better not.
San.
Why better not, save for our fear of the king?
Marked you how Eliduke withdrew just now?
There rode a sort of challenge in my eye,
116
Walt.
I'll accept it.
[Eliduke and Roland come up.
Eli.
Walter, put up; he is not worth your arm.
Why, if you love me, tell me that your sword
Hangs on an exile's hip. Will you abroad?
I must have twelve of you.
Walt.
Let me be one.
Eli.
No service is more welcome. Fare you well!
Walt.
And none more gladly rendered, my dear lord.
Eli.
At Yveloc ere the week's out. Fare you well!
[Exit Walter.
Away! we would be private. Do you stand?
[Exeunt Sanscœur and Lords.
Rol.
You treat them shortly.
Eli.
Oh, they earn no better;
They are but sickly lichens that o'ergrow
The trunk of the court. You will accept this charge?
How heavily I lean upon your friendship!
I have heard say that generosity
Shows more in the acceptance than in the giving;
By this I am a better man than you,
Being such an adept in the begging art.
Rol.
But dare you trust me?
Eli.
Ay, indeed, I dare.
Rol.
I was your rival in your wife's affections.
We have crossed bloody swords upon that theme;
And though her nice-tuned judgment did detect
117
O priceless jewel!—yet my steady heart
Wears yet her stamp, and till the wax itself
Crack in Death's fingers, will not be defaced.
Dare you hear this, and trust me?
Eli.
Yes, indeed.
Rol.
Then I'll be worthy your dear confidence,
Which daring to believe me true and noble,
Shall make me not the less so. I'll renounce
My former love, and teach my stormy blood
A steadier tide, which once was wont to choke me,
If I but brushed her garments. Now shall she
No longer be my mistress, but my saint,—
And thereto sits a sanctity divine
On her chaste brow, whose constant contemplation
Shall lead my soul to heaven. Castabel!
Now my fond love-words shall be turned to prayers;
Trembling love-glances shall be upturned eyes
Heavy with pale devotion; those thrilling touches
Of her white hand, turning the startled blood,
Be claspings of my own; and my hot passion,
Like turbid streams drawn by the sun's hot rays,
Exhale to clouds of reverence.
Eli.
Good my lord!
Rol.
She that from boyhood held my heart's deep chambers
I must at last surrender. Oh, be still!
Look! with a trembling action I uplift
The torch of passion—hold, my heart! and now
118
In the cold stream of duty. It is over.
Now I am dedicate to Honour's train,
And Love has lost his sceptre. Shall we go?
It were but poor to say I'll keep her safely.
Eli.
You oversway me with your nobleness.
I thought you once unworthy Castabel,
But now perceive in you a deeper fervour
Than even I can boast of.
Rol.
Say not so.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
A Hall in Eliduke's Castle at Yveloc.Blancaflor and Blanchespee.
Blanc.
What shall I do with thee, thou idle boy?
Blanch.
I care not; when will there be wars again?
Blanc.
What's that to thee? wilt thou turn man-at-arms?
Blanch.
No; but I'll fight o' horseback by my brother;
Eliduke promised I should ride with him
When next he went to fight.
Blanc.
And when will that be?
Never, I hope.
Blanch.
Never, indeed! Why, silly Blancaflor,
What should we men do if there were no wars?
Blanc.
Talk not of wars. Tell me a tale, good Harry,—
119
Or Launcelot and gay Queen Guinevere,
False fair-haired Ysolde and true-hearted Tristan,—
Such tales as you would tell me in old times,
When we would sit half a long summer's day
In the old fir-wood, for our twisted fingers
Weaving each other rings of the long grass,
Which we would set with flowers for jewelry:
Daisies were diamonds; blue violets
Served for our amethysts, full fairly set;
For pearls, white may-buds; and for yellow topaz,
Most prized of all, the golden tormentil.
Do you remember those old happy days,
When you told tales, and both of us sang songs,
Our merry voices and quick-ringing laughs
Startling the stillness of the noon-tide air?
Blanch.
Oh, those were childish days. Well, here's a tale:
Once on a time, two mighty kings fell out;—
Why did my brother quarrel with Lord Roland?
Was it for Castabel?
Blanc.
I do not know.
Blanch.
Now you look sad, and so you always do
When I speak of Lord Roland. Yet I think,
Except my brother, he's the bravest man
Stands in all Brittany.
Blanc.
There's no man braver.
Blanch.
Then, why d'ye hate him? Why does Eliduke?
120
I do not hate him.
Blanch.
Why do you look sad, then?
Blanc.
I do not know.—Come, this is foolish talk;
Tell me your tale.
Blanch.
Well, as I said before—
Ha! who comes here? a soldier, by his gait. Enter Walter.
Sir Walter, as I live!—Welcome, good Walter!
Walt.
What, my young gallant, are you idling here?
Sitting in-doors when all the world's in arms?
Blanch.
In arms!
Walt.
O ignorance! our boats are manned,
Our armour's buckled, and our eager swords
Leap in their scabbards with the thoughts of war.
Blanch.
Whither away? Oh, I'll go with you too.
Walt.
To Cornwall, boy, to try a soldier's fortune.
Blanc.
He's jesting, Harry. Do we not know Sir Walter?
Walt.
Nay; it is true.
Blanc.
But Harry must not go.
Blanch.
Must not! I will!
Walt.
Had I a voice, thou shouldst.
Lord Eliduke comes close upon my heels;
Let's put it to him.
Blanch.
Ay!—look where he comes!
121
Eliduke home again? where's Castabel?
I'll fetch her here.—Harry, thou shalt not go.
[Exit Blancaflor.
Walt.
To him, boy! thou shalt go.
Enter Eliduke.
Blanch.
O my dear brother,
Let me go with you!
Eli.
What! wilt thou go too?
Blanch.
O good my brother, leave me not behind!
Why, I can fight, believe me, I can fight,—
Can I not, Walter? and in all your toils,
As well I know we soldiers suffer many,—
Hunger and thirst, sharp frost, and beating rain,—
If ever I so much as say “'Tis cold,”
Or “I'm a hungered;” if I do but sigh,
Or seek compassion with a piteous look,
Whip me and send me home. Come, let me go!
Eli.
What say'st thou, Walter? must we take the child?
Walt.
I'd rather leave any two men of them
Than miss this boy.
Eli.
Well, Harry, thou shalt go;
But fetch your sword, and get you to the ships,
Or we shall have your sister's tender fears
Tying you fast at home. Away, good Harry!
Blanch.
O my good brother, I am bound for ever!
Alas, poor Flora! she will weep to find
122
We shall come back again; shall we not, brother?
Eli.
Ay, if we be not killed.
Blanch.
And then she'll be
More glad to welcome an approved soldier
Than sorry now to lose an idle boy.
Ho! for the ships, good Walter! come,—away!
Eli.
Expect me, Walter, in some two hours' time;
Heave up your anchors, and have all prepared
To push from shore when I set foot on board.
Walt.
I will, my lord.—Away, thou prince of boys!
[Exeunt Walter and Blanchespee.
Eli.
Look, how the rolling world turns round and round,
And circumstance, life's busy scene-shifter,
Alters our aspects with a magic hand!
I, that was late the moving-spring of power,
Am now an exile; powerless, here I stand
Unpropped by state, and now am first a man.
Now has my soul stripped off her cumbrances,
And naked stands to try a fall with Fate;
Whom I contemn, because she cannot move me
To war against myself and lose my virtue,
The sole true loss.
Enter Blancaflor.
Blanc.
Welcome, good Eliduke.
Where's Harry gone?
123
I greet you, gentle sister!
He is not here.
Blanc.
But was a moment since;
Walter hath taken him. Harry! good Harry!
[Exit, calling.
Eli.
Here's the true end of man,—to light within him
A clearer soul; and purging the dim vapours,
The clinging smoke that hangs about that fire,
To feed it with keen fuel,—contemplation,
High aspirations, piety, devotion,—
Till it becomes an offering fit for Death
To pluck and lay before the feet of God.
I am dismissed from fortune, that I may
Prove myself fit to cope necessity.
Vicissitude's the hammer with which Heaven
Tries its best-fashioned souls: like diamonds,
Being without a flaw, they'll stand the shock;
Being worthless, fly to pieces. I contemn it.
Rather like iron I'll become more tough
Under the doubling strokes. Enter Castabel.
Why, sweet, in tears?
This is poor welcome.
Cas.
Oh, they are idle drops;
The sunshine of your presence dries them up.
Will you see Ned? he sleeps; his little brain,
That all day long has painted shapes of you,
124
And little Mary,—oh, you must hush for that,
And you shall see her tiny crimson cheek
Set with a smile under her yellow hair,
That hangs over her dimpled arm outspread
On the white coverlet. But you'll be still?
Eli.
Oh, I'll be still. But do you know, indeed,
I am an exile?
Cas.
Why, there's not much in that,
Since in your presence, love, there's more delight
Than pangs in twenty exiles;—not much to me.
In exile I shall see you every hour,
Attend you, taste your accents, not as now,
By your most frequent absence at the court,
Live less like wife than widow. Oh, to me
Exile is precious.
Eli.
Sweet, this cannot be.
Cas.
How, dearest?
Eli.
O love, be calm; you cannot share
My exiled fortunes—must not go with me.
Cas.
Not go with you! Oh, here's a grief indeed.
Eli.
Indeed, indeed, love, no. Nay, do but think
How this your show of sorrow wounds my soul,
And you will check the flow. We have no means,
In our most hasty soldier-passages,
That could make life endurable to you
Who only know its comforts. Why, one night
Under the battering rain of stormy heaven
Would freeze the spirit in your tender frame.
125
Arms, our best tools, with their sharp aid to win
Lodging and food; and failing oft in these,
Wander sad outcasts, fronting the keen wind.
It were to murder you to let you go.
Besides, even granting that you could sustain
Life in these toils (though so to grant were madness),
The scanty time admits no preparation:
I must away to-night; to-morrow's sun
Shines death upon me with his waking eye;—
And, heart, your children!
Cas.
O my little ones!
Eli.
Could they endure these toils, or could you leave them
In the cold hands of strangers, all alone;
Their pretty cheeks dabbled with rolling tears,
And for the sweet voice of your lullaby
Sobbing themselves to sleep the weary night?
Oh, no, indeed. Come, you shall stay with them,
And breed my Ned a soldier. Will you not?
Cas.
I will obey you. I will be calm. O me!
Eli.
That's my brave wife. Come; it will not be long.
This king can little spare me. While fresh Peace
Dandles him like a baby on his throne,
He can play insolent and cast me off;
But when red War rattles his iron teeth
And shakes his flag over the land again,
He cannot spare my arm,—I know it well,—
126
Which I receiving with his pleading summons,
Swift as the swallow hung on autumn wing
Taking a homeward flight, will back return
Into thy arms, O darling! dearer to me
Than all the world beside. Come, love, smile;
Let us have soldiers' parting,—sweet and hasty,—
For I must straight away. Gallant companions,
Clustering the shore, blame this my slow delay;
The low-benched rowers bend; the ready sailors
Hold back their unreefed sails, like dogs i' the leash,
That ruffling in the wind do chide and growl,
Eager to chase the ocean. The keen steersman
Twirls with impatient hand the rattling helm;
And eager Haste hangs on the dipping prow,
Shaking her wings for flight. All but await
My coming, who do waste the busy moments
In lingering talk, and know not how to leave thee.
Cas.
So short a time! our meeting and our parting
Wrapped in the little space of half an hour,—
Great circumstance to be so closely packed;
A grief and joy, that in the common count
Might last through all the year, so quickly gone!
Eli.
You are not left unguarded. Lord Roland
Will in my absence hold you free from fear,
And with your best assistance keep my lands—
Manage and minister in my affairs.
Make him an honoured guest, and pay him all
Observance that becomes my dearest friend.
127
Do you mean Roland that was once my lover?
Eli.
Is he not honourable?
Cas.
Oh, most truly!
But sure, no friend of yours.
Eli.
Tush! that's gone by.
We're closely knit in love. He'll tell you all.
Cas.
I am most glad to hear't. In such good hands
I better shall sustain the heavy weight
Of your long absence.
Eli.
I am well pleased to learn
You find such comfort in it. Sweet, farewell!
Cas.
Not yet, not yet! I cannot say farewell.
Clip not farewell so close. How long will't be
Ere I claim back this kiss? alas, perhaps never.
O dearest love, in your long wanderings
Do not forget your home-enthralled wife,
That, lost to comfort, counts the weary hours,
Clogging their flight with tears. O love, be true!
Eli.
Why should you doubt me? I must chide your fears.
Do I bid thee keep wedded faith unblemished?
Cas.
Bid me be faithful! Yet why should you not,
Since I enjoin it you? Faith, I'll believe
You are as strong in truth as I myself,
And then I need not doubt you. Oh, but I
Can feed my heart with thought and memory
Of your high excellence. You have no such theme.
You'll see new scenes, and light on fairer faces
Than that which pales at home; but none so true.
128
Bred of a fickle heart, shall never thrust
His smoky glass between our constant loves,
By it's transmitted dark blackening all thoughts,
Turning all fair to foul, and trust to doubt.
Shaming mistrust, I will believe your love
Rooted in constancy and never fading.
Eli.
Build, love, on this,—that to forego the claim
I have in you, the priceless property.
Were like a child to fling a gem away
That I can never match. And now, away!
See, Night unrolls his banner, and ere morn
Break in the east I must be far from shore.
Would I might breathe in this your air for ever!
Cas.
Oh, linger not when an impatient death
Lurks on your trail so close. Haste, love, away!
Hang but another kiss upon my lips
For a most dear memento. God be with you!
Eli.
Kiss me the little ones; in your constant prayers
Remember me to Heaven. Fare you well!
[Exit.
Cas.
O scanty parting for so long a stay!
Oh, gone, and perhaps for ever! This dear hour,
That hung i' the future like a golden star,
Has burst in grief, and fallen darkling down;
The hour of welcome in the parting hour
Merged, and all joy in ugly absence whelmed.
My soul breeds sad presentiments of woe;
But it were weak to trust them. Thoughts to Heaven!
129
Teaches the tides their course,—Thou who dost train
The eager-footed storms, oh, chain them now!
Thou through the weary nights dost light the sea,
Tending the safety of the lonely sailor,
Sad waggoner of Ocean, who does drive
His winged team over the furrowed deep,
Safe in thy guidance,—oh, this night, if ever,
Spread out thy fostering hand and calm the sea,
Carry my husband to the distant shore,
And in time's circling flight bring him again
Unchanged from what he was! O heavy heart!
ACT II.
Scene I.
In Cornwall. A Hall in the King's Palace.Eliduke. Walter. Blanchespee.
Eli.
We have met warm welcome, Walter.
Walt.
Fortune's cats, my lord; we 'light on our legs ever. Oh, let content get the upper hand of ill-luck, and her kicks and her buffets are no more than fleabites; if you rub them, indeed, they will smart. I swear we never were merrier—no, not last night in the thick of the feast—than we were a week ago on our way hither, when we toasted horse-flesh on our swords' points, and a full belly outweighed a full purse. What
130
Eli.
It was the King that did it, and wisely. Being too weak to meet the enemy in the field, he hath stored his castle and laid the open country bare; so the enemy, when he comes to besiege us here, may bring his own victuals, or starve for it. He will come shortly, and then we must fight for our keep. This King hath received us courteously and feasted us plenteously, when we came in looking like ill-fed ghosts in rusty armour; and now, our tendered services being accepted, and we being sworn his vassals, we shall do ill not to fight stoutly in his behoof.
Blanch.
I'll fight, my lord!
Walt.
He'll fight! Oh, terrible! What wilt thou fight, most sanguinary hero, most unappeasable bloodletter, a very leech hid in a helmet, a horrible beetle in hat and feather? What wilt thou fight?
Blanch.
The enemy.
Walt.
God help the enemy!
Blanch.
Do you laugh?
Walt.
He will make heaven musty with cobwebs of men's shades slain in the field, that shall hang there and make Juno sneeze, till the housemaid, Mercury, brush 'em down-stairs with her broom. Gods! his hand on his sword! I must pay for it now.
Blanch.
'Sdeath!
Walt.
O most hot-blooded hop-o'-my-thumb, I pray you be pacified; I am utterly unworthy to taste
131
Blanch.
Will you draw?
Walt.
I cannot hold my sword for laughing; I entreat you, spare me!
Blanch.
Will you draw? will you fight, old dunghill cock?
Walt.
Must I draw? Heaven have mercy on your young soul then!
Blanch.
You will not fight me? come on!
[They fight; Walter feigning to thrust, and parrying the strokes of Blanchespee.
Walt.
I cannot hit him, he is too small.
Eli.
He will hurt you, Walter; have a care.
[Blanchespee runs Walter through the arm.
Blanch.
Have I hurt you? Oh, pardon me!
Walt.
Hang it! to be run through by a whippersnapper! You have spoiled my left arm for a month to come.
Blanch.
Oh, pardon me, sir! your laughter stirred me too deeply; what a fool was I to be angry! Come, let me bind it round with my scarf. Let me see; 'tis not much.
132
Oh, 'tis nothing, had a man done it; but to be pecked so by a sparrow!
Blanch.
Nay, let me bind it—so. Is it easy?
Walt.
Easy, yes. I shall digest the coming feast the better for so neat a blood-letting. Wipe your sword, and have done; you will not brag of this?
Blanch.
Who, I, sir? it would ill become me.
Walt.
Oh, yes, you will. Your sprouting boy will sooner learn to flourish his sword than to steady his tongue; all the court must know how you fought Walter, and drew blood from him. You'll tell all.
Blanch.
I say no, sir; you may make what tale you will for your bandaged arm; I'll swear it true.
Walt.
Bandaged arm, forsooth! like tying up the scratch of a cat.
Eli.
Come, Walter; what a surly fool art thou! You well deserved the hurt you got. If you cease not your grumbling at once, I'll be the trumpeter myself to proclaim how you got it.
Walt.
I've done, my lord.
Blanch.
Do not so, brother. It would redound much to my discredit, that, like a choleric boy aping the swordsman, drew on my best friend. Be friends again, Walter.
Walt.
What a plague mean you? I'll not shake hands,—as if we had quarrelled.
Eli.
He is in the right of it; you can never be but friends. Be thankful it is not your leg; you will show no worse at the ball to-night, nor will it spoil
133
Blanch.
Is one who strives to make a heaven on earth.
Walt.
Oh, flout away! But who made love last night? In good sooth, I thought you had lost your heart in earnest—such looks! such low words! I swear, had I been a woman, you had taken me in off-hand. Methought the princess's eye showed a yielding fervour, too, by the way the lid hung on her cheek; and her look flashed up in yours every now and then to see if you spake true, and you lying like a Cretan; but she saw it not. How the faint crimson flush came and went too! You are a quick thief of hearts, my lord.
Eli.
She hath a rare beauty, and a rare soul below, as indeed you may mark in woman, that the noblest aspect of beauty hides ever a soul to match.
Walt.
Souls, my lord, are for men.
Eli.
O infidel! I dare hardly tell it to thee, Walter, but my conscience pricked me sorely when I was alone with it last night in my quarters. Why should I, that have a fair wife at home, and love this lady no more than a nine-pin to play with, swear away my soul to win her heart only for the sport of winning it? It may pale her cheek with sorrow, for what I know.
Walt.
Pooh! what a dainty, delicate, touch-me-not-with-the-top-of-your-finger conscience have we
134
Eli.
Ha! ha! she shall find me tougher than e'er a seraph among them. Yet were I unmated, her love—
Blanch.
A plague on your love-talk! how you waste the hours! Let's go hunt.
Walt.
Hark to him! Do you scorn love? why you are a boy yet. It is no man that cannot make a lady love him to distraction by a night's talk in her ear.
Blanch.
Will you teach me to make love?
Walt.
I? ask the Lady Estreldis.
Blanch.
'Faith, so I will.
Walt.
'Tis a thing we men learn by teaching it women, and you boys by the women teaching you. Or follow your brother; his example shall teach you, though he swears he thinks it wicked.
Eli.
I'll be cold to her; 'tis villanous.
Walt.
He'll be cold! mark him! I'll fly at all hearts.
Blanch.
Oh, let's go hunt.
Walt.
There's no time; we must to the feast shortly, where your brother will sit and talk in the princess's ear.
135
There had been time, but for your hanged
love-talk.
[Exeunt.
Scene II.
A Ball-room in the Court at Cornwall.Estreldis and her Women in dancing plight.
Est.
Pretty Bianca, will you dance to-night?
Bi.
If I may find a partner, I'll not fail.
Est.
Oh, trust your face for that; it will not fail you.
And you, Lardune?
Lar.
Oh, let me dance to-night,
And go to heaven happy, having tasted
Earth's best felicity.
Est.
Dancing, Lardune?
Lar.
Oh, with these Breton knights, that make the air
Heavy in pace behind them, and still tread
With such a delicate feeling of the time,
As if the music dwelt in their own frames,
And shook the motion from them. Oh, divine!
Est.
Is it so charming? I remember me
Dancing was ever your delight, but now—
Lar.
I never danced till now. Our Cornwall sirs
We thought were adepts; but compared to these,
They're dull and heavy, and lack ears to mark
The proper grace of movement. Say these walk,
Then you may stint the breath of commendation,
And say these strangers dance. Let our knights dance,
These others fly and ride upon the air;
136
These Bretons are the untied elements
That in their airy and fantastic course,
Joining and now disjoining, mingling now
In fresh variety of curious shapes,
Hold dancing revelry in Nature's halls.
Est.
Thou'rt mad, Lardune;—tell me, Azalia,
What think you of these strangers? will they wear
As fairly in the trial as they show now?
Lar.
Oh, I'll be sworn for't; trust me, outward bearing
Glasses the man within. True gold, that shines most,
Is in itself more costly and more noble
Than duller seeming brass. That agile force,
That trains their feet i' th' dance, will in the fight
Show bravely in their arms, and their bright swords
Tread such quick measure on the heads of foes,
The ringing helms their music, that Dismay
Shall seize them at the force of't, and Defeat,
Ever his follower, clear the field of them.
Est.
Shall none of's talk but thou? Tell us, Lardune,
Which of these Bretons with the shaking legs
Hath danced himself into thy favour most?
Lar.
The rest are mainly balanced, but this chief,
Lord Eliduke—
Est.
Peace, child! and know your place;
Eagles alone may look upon the sun.
Lar.
Are you an eaglet, and is he the sun?
Est.
You are over-bold.
137
Or over-true. I'm still.
Est.
Well, what of Eliduke?
Lar.
You bade me peace.
Est.
Tush! what a fool art thou: what would you say?
Come, do not fear to speak your mind of him.
Lar.
He's a most gallant—
Aza.
Hark!
Est.
They're coming in.
Range yourselves, ladies. Sweet Bianca, here!
Be sprightly and be courteous; hang the night
With your gay smiles for stars, that these our guests
Report at home you lead the world in wit
As fairly as in beauty. Music! music!
Enter King, Eliduke, Knights, &c.
King.
Choose, gentlemen, and be not slow to-night;
Each take his lady's hand, and tread with her
Responsive measure to the timed notes.
I'll be no more the king, but one of you,
Retaining, of my old prerogative,
Only this fraction—slight, since all are fair—
To be the first to choose. Gentle Bianca,
Lend me your white hand; let us lead the dance.
Eli.
I'll not go near her; now my fears for her
Are terrors for myself. She looks upon me;
I'll stand aside; there's sorcery in her smile
Dissolves mine honesty. Brighter than day!
King.
Eliduke! stol'n away?
138
Here, royal sir.
King.
My daughter hath a hand that you may claim;
Let her not sit apart. Some music, ho!
Eli.
Fate drives me on. Oh, heart and tongue, hold measure!
[They dance; then the company disperse.
Estreldis and Eliduke come forward.
Eli.
The music falls away. Will you sit, lady?
Est.
So I lose not your company, fair sir.
Eli.
So I lose not my heart, fair courtesy.
Est.
Quick answers show sound hearts and flattering tongues.
Eli.
Sound hearts are hopeless. Flattery's finest tongue
Fails to commend perfection.
Fails to commend perfection.
Est.
Nay. Hark! they sing.
SONG.
Thou art not only fair in this—
To own an orient eye,
Nor herein only beautiful—
A cheek of crimson dye.
To own an orient eye,
Nor herein only beautiful—
A cheek of crimson dye.
For in your spirit's clearer depth
A steadier light doth shine,
And heavenly hands have steeped your heart
In tincture more divine.
A steadier light doth shine,
And heavenly hands have steeped your heart
In tincture more divine.
[Blanchespee comes up.
Blanch.
Fair lady, will you teach me to make love?
Est.
Fair sir, I am no mistress in Love's school.
139
Oh, be a scholar, sweet, and learn of me.
Blanch.
What said my brother? Oh, how beautiful
Those blushes make your cheek! you're wondrous fair.
Est.
What, compliment! Young sir, you are no novice;
So young and old a hypocrite. Oh, fie!
What new-spun trick is this to steal maids' hearts?
Blanch.
I wish I had your heart.
Eli.
O boy! O boy!
You know not what you ask. Thou'rt like a babe,
That fretting in the fondling nurse's arms,
Lifts its weak hands, and for a childish toy
Claims the night-wandering moon. This that thou askest
Is such a treasure as the teeming East,
Breeder of countless wealth, could never equal,
Nor all the crested brood of high-set heaven,
Planets and stars, clustering the altitude,
Given to one man, and he with power to wield them!
Oh, poor to weigh't with matter; higher things,—
Fame, grandeur, honour, virtue,—let it go,—
Are but the shadows of a greater good,
And that's the heart you ask for.
Est.
(to Blanchespee).
D' you ask my heart?
Eli.
Oh, no; I dare not.
Est.
(to Blanchespee).
Why d'you ask me for it?
Eli.
Who shall refrain, though hopeless, when he sees
The congregate of all imagination,
140
Blanch.
Come, teach me to make love; Sir Walter tells me
I must learn love before I am a man.
Est.
I know not what it is, sir. Ask the Count.
Blanch.
My lord, what's love?
Eli.
Yes, if Estreldis ask me.
Blanch.
My brother's lost his wits. D'you ask him, lady.
Est.
Tell us, my lord, what's love; we are novices.
Eli.
Now that your lips have breathed it, they have called up
The incorporeal essence to my eye;
Prophet-like, I'll describe it. Mark me, boy!
Not of that elder deity I speak,
Child of old night, who, as the poets say,
Upon the tumbled body of dim Chaos
Begot the shapes of things. A higher god,
Younger and more essential; oft confused
With lust, his lowest servant; no more like him
Than the gross body of the travelling Sun
Is to his universal light that cheers us.
He is the child of Silence, got by Thought
Constant and deep of what the soul deems noblest;
Long hidden in her womb, ushered at length
By whispered words, evasions, sudden sighs;
Fed upon looks till weaned, and then on kisses;
Grows by endearment; comes of age by marriage;
Wedded to Constancy, and not survives her,
141
Hotter, but not long-lived; has children many,—
Faith, Virtue, Courage, Action well sustained,
Chastity, Patience, Truth, a thousand more;
Dies by neglect, worse far than death or distance;
Buried by pride, and bath no resurrection.
Est.
Know you this Love that you present so fairly?
Eli.
He lies, a swaddling baby, in my breast,
Starving for lack of meat. Feed him with favour.
Est.
Methinks he is of hasty birth, my lord.
Eli.
Oh, he grows quick in childhood; but cold Scorn
Oft with her wintry finger nips his bloom.
Est.
I spoke it not in scorn.
Eli.
Oh, speak in pity,
Or teach your lips new utterance; speak in love!
Your heart's a golden vessel, deep and bright,
Set round with orient pearls, which are your virtues,
Entire, unblemished, clean, uncracked, but empty;
Fill it with love, and let the glowing tide
Swell to the edge of't. Oh, for such a cup
Kings would lay down their crowns, and gods in heaven
Quit their empyreal homes and Hebe's wine.
Walt.
(passing by).
I will be cold. Plague on 't! 'tis villanous!
Eli.
Art thou my conscience-keeper? Stand away!
Est.
Will you walk, sir? my father waits for you.
[The company go. Manent Blanchespee and Walter.
142
The Count grows choleric. What is it, boy?
Blanch.
Hang me! but I believe my brother's mad.
He's talked this hour of hearts, and lips, and cups,
Mixed up together like I know not what;
Such a confusion, that my halting wits,
Long limping basely after, were ere long
Lost to the scent entirely, quite at fault.
Walt.
What have you profited? What's love, boy, eh?
Blanch.
Something to drink, my brother seems to say.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
A Room in the Court at Cornwall.Eliduke alone.
Eli.
Oh, if she loves me! and last night I thought so,
By the way she fixed her eastern eye on mine
The time I talked of love; an eye more deep
Than the gray cavern from whose twisted depth,
Unfathomed by the old Egyptian king,
Mysterious Nilus takes a double course.
I only felt its influence, and kept mine
Fixed on the boy alone; for had I dared
To sound the depths of her ensouled orbs,
My flood of passion would have swept away
The old containers of its tumbling tide,
And stranded honour only have been left,
A sign of ruin, on the wasted shore.
Honour! I've lost it, if't be dishonourable,
143
And loving wife, by sighs and hinted words,
All but direct entreaty,—I think even that,—
To seek another's heart. Is it not strange?
Oh, when we are most innocent, we are only
Shut out from evil by a brittle wall.
We are tender plants, and Heaven, to guard our souls,
Set in the evil air of this gross earth,
Glasses us over with a frame of virtue,
Wherein we may live safely and do well;
But crack it, and it needs must shatter widely.
Mine's broadly breached, and yet I may repair it.
Estreldis, we must break! She's not so fair now;
Clear Virtue now disputes the palm with her,
And with her brighter beauty dims the less.
Virtue's the highest and the noblest;
And he's but weak, unworth the name of man,
Aiming the arrow of his life at her,
That lets temptation's wind blow it aside.
Henceforward help me, Heaven! I will only
Draw for the white of virtue. Enter Lardune.
[He salutes her courteously.
You are early, lady;
And yet I cannot blame you, for the bloom
On your fresh face speaks not of stinted slumbers.
Lar.
Oh, morning's your best cordial, my good lord;
Yet you look melancholy.
144
Oh, believe me,
I never was in deeper satisfaction.
Lar.
Nay, but you shall be soon; I've that about me
Shall tinge your aspect with a livelier hue.
Though you be now content, I dare affirm,
Or I mistake you greatly, I can lift you
Higher in joy than ever yet you dreamt of.
Eli.
What is't, Lardune?
Lar.
Oh, come, sir, you are dull.
Eli.
Estreldis?
Lar.
Ay, sir.
Eli.
Lady, what of her?
Bless me with tidings; did she send you here?
Lar.
Oh, do you brighten? Yes; stocked with kind words.
Eli.
Tell me them not, or I'm undone for ever.
Virtue, where are thine arms? Oh, clasp your lips;
For these kind words are like the deadly berry,
To outward show most bright and excellent,
But under lined with death. Oh, speak them not!
Lar.
Nay, I can bear them back, being so unwelcome.
There was a favour too.
Eli.
From fair Estreldis?
Lar.
But I'll not show it, lest you should refuse it;
That seems your present mood. Oh, fie, my lord!
Are you turned coy virgin, that you hang back thus?
Trust me, such feignings ill become a man.
145
Eli.
Oh, cease! cease!
Lar.
What, when a lady loves you?
Eli.
D'ye mean Estreldis loves me?
Lar.
In good truth,
I have o'erstepped my warrant to say so;
And yet, to shame you,—though in saying it
I am a loose-tongued traitor to my sex,—
By all I can observe, and that's not little,
She sets you dearer than her secret soul.
Eli.
Then I'm a devil.
Lar.
A very tame one, then.
Eli.
A very sorry devil; true, indeed.
And yet I knew't before, or half believed it.
Estreldis loves me! bright Estreldis loves me!
Oh, sweet and sour mingled in equal parts;
O bitter joy! sweet guilt! Estreldis loves me!
What shall I do? I am thrown wide of heaven.
Shall I fly? that's weak. Shall I stay? that's infamy.
Flight shows the best, then. Oh, bid the weary soul
That has attained high heaven, and clasped at length
The height and breadth of full felicity,
Go out into the dreary void again,
And then let's talk of flight. Estreldis loves me!
Let the world roll; I'm fixed and centred here.
Bend, steady Virtue, stoop thy pillared head!
Bow to my love, make passion virtuous,
Or I'm at war with Virtue!
Lar.
Sure, he raves.
146
Heaven keep me safe from sweethearts! Yet I fear
I'm deeply dyed in sin, or else deceived.
Lord Walter swore he loved me. I'm for the sin.
Your line of words, my lord, 's too short and knotty
To fathom your intent. What shall I say?
Shall I tell the princess she has set her love
Upon a tortoise, or upon a man?
Eli.
Pardon me, that at first I seemed so dull!
Fancy a reason for it. Tell your lady
There's not a pulse in all my dancing blood
But it keeps time to the very tune of love.
Lar.
You are a man again. Good day, my lord!
Eli.
Sure you spake of a favour, did you not?
Lar.
Oh, d'ye remember it? I thought for sure
It had slipt your memory. Sir, this is it;
She wore it at the festival yest'r eve,
And bids you stick it in your helm i' th' fight,
Tendering your safety, so she bade me say,
More than this idle bauble.
Eli.
As kind as fair!
Think me not rude, or that I misconstrue
Your willing service, if I beg of you
To wear this jewel! 'tis accounted fair;
Whether it will endure to face your eyes,
I know not. Pray accept it!
Lar.
You're too lavish.
I am most glad to serve you; yet I'll not seem
To underrate your gift by a refusal,
147
Eli.
I esteem't an honour;
And as a finder of a bag of gold,
Bearing it to the owner, claims a part,
So, for the store of love that you have brought me,
Accept a share in mine. Fail not to think
My friendship rates you high.
Lar.
Grandmerci, sir,
You strain too far; and yet believe me grateful.
Success sit in your saddle on the morrow,
Both for our sake and yours! Adieu, my lord!
ACT III.
Scene I.
A Room in the Court at Cornwall. Eliduke.Enter Blanchespee.
Blanch.
Where's Eliduke?—Letters from home, my lord!
Castabel writes to you; and for me too
There's one, from Blancaflor. Are you not glad?
Eli.
Yes, boy. Where's Walter? I must speak with him.
What news of the enemy? do they approach?
Blanch.
Fast, my good lord. The posted scouts come in,
Bringing us news that by to-morrow morning
They will have reached the pass into this plain.
148
There will we fight them, then. Fetch Walter, boy!
Blanch.
I will but read my letter, and be gone.
Eli.
Ay, do. Must I read too? [Reads.
“Ever-dear Lord,—A loving greeting from your faithful wife! I did but briefly entertain your most welcome messenger, being vain enough to think your love would require quick tidings of my welfare and of your children's. There is rumour of war and invasion. Sounds that were before so hateful to my ear are now hopeful in their tone, as tending to your much-longed-for return. Lord Roland commends him to your friend-ship. Be not long absent, my most dear husband.”
Where is she now? Perhaps in her nursery,Tending her pretty babes with anxious hand,—
My children! or in careful solitude
Leans her pale sorrowing head upon her hand,
From her brimmed eyes the tear-drops sadly falling,
While she paints me in her dear memory,
Weeping my long delay. O Castabel!
He that thou hold'st so dear is most unworthy.
Perhaps she is with Roland—hum!—perhaps—
No, it's not possible; even grant that Roland
Should be sucked in by passion, and turn false,
As I have proved too easy, yet in her
There's something deeper than the name of truth
Which he could never vanquish. Virtue's to her
Not outward excellence to be attained,
149
Which she can never start from. It holds her heart.
And I, meanwhile,—how stands the case with me?
Blanchespee! how he's wrapt!
Blanch.
A moment, sir.
Eli.
Blancaflor writes at length.
Blanch.
A scrambling hand,
That puzzles me to read. She sends me word
Picardy's up. The King would have us back.
Eli.
Speaks it for certain, or only like wild rumour?
Blanch.
Oh, for most certain. But we must not go
Till we have fought, and freed this King from fear,
And I've deviced my shield, and spread some colour
On my white sword; then, hey for home again!
Fancy them clustering at the castle-gates!
How Blancaflor will stand, with outstretched foot,
Leaned forward, and her face on fire with joy,
Throwing her hair back with her hand, and straining
To catch her soldier's eye! But she must not clasp me
As if I were a child, but rather fall
Gently about my neck, as Castabel
Greets you when you come home from war.
Eli.
Ay, boy.
Blanch.
Why d'you say “Ay, boy,” so? Oh, whose is that?
I would I had one!
Eli.
What?
Blanch.
Your favour there.
Whose is it?
150
Whose? the glove? whose should it be?
Blanch.
Why, Castabel's; I cannot go astray.
Is it not so? She gave it you at parting,
And told you you must keep it safe in battle.
We'll bring it safe. I'll help you to defend it.
Eli.
It needs no sword but this.
Blanch.
Oh, but I'll help;
And if I see a villain stretching for it,
I'll lop his hand off neatly. By mine honour,
An oath I must not break, we'll bring it back.
Yonder comes Walter; I'll go plume my helmet.
I would it were to-morrow!
[Exit Blanchespee.
Eli.
A brave lad,
And lies most near my heart!
Enter Walter: gives a despatch.
Walt.
From Nantes, my lord.
Eli.
(reading).
The King was hasty, Walter—he regrets—
Slanderous, lying courtiers—shall be beheaded—
(I hope not that)—the Picards—Roland will not
Unless I come—there's none but me; I knew it.
Home again, Walter!
Walt.
What a king is this!
Eli.
Let's rule our thoughts; we are all weak in turn.
Walt.
Ay, but not slaves of passion; our love or anger
May for a moment, in some sudden charge,
151
Against our nobler impulse and clear sense
Of what is just, is not to be a man.
Yet he's more pardonable; a king's vices
Are half, at least, his flatterers', and his virtues
Doubly his own. Sweet grass is more esteemed
Springing in weedy pastures.
Eli.
Shall we go back?
Walt.
D'you ask it?
Eli.
We are bound to serve this King.
Walt.
We shall have done his work to-morrow night,
Or reached our homes in earnest. Is exile's air
More pleasant than the native breath of Bretagne,
That with such leaden aspect you revolve
What sounds to me most welcome?
Eli.
Am I a dog,
To be chastised by this capricious hand,
And when he wants to tar me on his foe,
Straight whistled home—good dog!—stroked, and set on?
Let the Picards come!
Walt.
Nay, what you will, I care not;
Only I've some compunctious prickings here,—
Whisper like loyalty and patriotism;—
You're the best judge of that. But sure you harbour
Some terrors for your wife.
Eli.
News of the siege!
How do the enemy muster?
152
At the least
Six times our number.
Eli.
D'ye shrink?
Walt.
My lord!
Eli.
What now?
Or any of the number?
Walt.
None, my lord;
We are not used to the word.
Eli.
Oh, your word's conscience!
[Exit.
Walt.
Conscience my word! What ails him; he seems bent
On stopping here. Most strange! He has lost of late
His old sobriety,—speaks, like a 'larum,
By starts,—none knows what next. Do I shrink? 'Sdeath!
[Exit.
Scene II.
A Room in the Court of Cornwall. The King and a Lord playing at Chess; with them Estreldis.Enter Eliduke.
King.
Your leave a space, good Count! I will but end
This mimic warfare, and then speak with you;
And in the fortune of this painted board
I'll read a prosperous omen of success
For you to-morrow on a real field.
153
With a maid's courtesy.—Do I move, sir?
Eli.
I wait your leisure, sire.
King.
Not long, my lord.
[Eliduke and Estreldis converse apart from the King.
Eli.
Fair lady,—
Est.
Sir?
Lord.
Check, my liege!
King.
Ha! bad! bad!
Eli.
Fair lady, I must thank you for this glove.
Oh, keep this silence, nor lift up your eye;
But standing thus a statue, let me breathe
In your white ear the voice of my full heart.
Oh, beautiful! the glove that thou hast given me
Is but the token of a wide esteem
Thou mightst grant any man; how then should I,
That have no soul but what I own in thee,
Be half content with this? Open thy lips,
And mould the crimson issuing atmosphere
Into a phrase of love, whose amorous tone
Shall steep me in delight. Learn it of me,
And give me back some portion of my voice;
For I love thee more than the breath of spring
Or ghost of lingering autumn, more than sleep,
And more than waking; life, and soul, and sense
Shape themselves into love; and I myself
Am now myself no more, but live in thee.
Say, now, that thou lov'st me. Or if thou fearest
154
Give me the hand whereof I hold the glove,
And let it be a sign.
[She gives him her hand.
Sweet ivory token!
I take thee tenderly, and thus upon thee
Write with my lips my measureless content!
Est.
O my good lord,—
Eli.
What says the soul of beauty?
Est.
Nothing, my lord.
Eli.
But I, beshrew my tongue!
Must say a something to whose dissonant tone
The boding owl's voice would hoot musical.
I must leave thee, sweet, and in that act of parting
Forsake my soul, which thou art. I see tears
Gathering in thy large eyes. Oh, let them fall,
That they may lie like shining stars of love
Glittering the ground! Oh, now I'll think you love me!
Est.
Why must you go?
Eli.
Because, love, mine own King,
Close pressed by fierce invasion, sends for me
To stay the march of ruin, and nail fast
The tottering crown upon his trembling brow;
And should I scorn the timorous tyrant's cry,
And stay with you, what should we gain by that?
Your father's jealous pride would never let
A union grow between us; we should live
In parted nearness only the more apart.
Two dear friends, locked in two neighbour dungeons,
Mingle in vain their mutual looks of pity,
155
Totally severed.
Est.
Take me with you, then!
Eli.
Dost thou say this? What! wilt thou fly with me?
Est.
The wide world over! Think me not too bold;
Having once said I love, I will not stint
And tie affection in a mincing phrase.
I love thee from my soul, and without thee
Home's not a home, nor quiet, quietude.
You are a knight, and I dare trust myself
Into your hands, until the tie of wedlock
Has knit us in a twine whose golden links
Rust not with time or change.
Eli.
Listen, sweet love!
I may not now with honour bear thee off,
Because I am sworn vassal to thy father;
But if to-morrow should see victory with us,
And I survive, as I am sure I shall,
Carrying your glove here as my amulet,
I will away to Brittany, and thence,
Having with an accustomed hand of conquest
Tamed these presumptuous Picards, I'll return.
Wilt thou then fly with me? O queen! Say ay!
Est.
Alas, my lord, what should I say but ay?
You are too potent, and my love-chained will
Takes but the shape of yours. Do not forget me!
Eli.
Now, by mine honour and my knightly word,
156
Est.
True love's ill bound by oaths.
King.
Check-mate, my lord!
Ha, ha! you were too rash, and overlooked
The coming of my knight,—that's Eliduke;
And so to-morrow shall he serve the foe.
Now to the council-chamber, my good lord.
What is your plan?
Eli.
Promises well, my liege.
On the far edge of the plain there is a pass,
Close-throated, through the hills. There do we stand,
Leaving an ambush that i' th' heat of the fight
May take them in the rear.
King.
Come in and show us.
I am too old to fight, and must sit here,
Looking in sick impatience from the walls,
And idly painting out the hid event.
Yet, though you're beaten, I'll not let them in,
But shut my gates, and sooner die of hunger
Than let this young unbearded insolence
Marry my daughter,—for he sends me word
That's his sole end. He shall not have the girl,
Nor any petty prince among them all.
Well, well, my lord, come in; let's hear at length
Your plan o'the ambuscade.
Eli.
Lady, adieu!
[Exeunt.
157
Scene III.
The Battlements of the Castle of Cornwall.Sentinel.
Enter the King.
King.
How goes the sun?
Sent.
Dropping from noon, my liege.
King.
Sure, if my expectation ruled the hours,
It should be nearer midnight. You've seen nothing?
Sent.
Nor heard, my liege. At daybreak they rode out;
Since then I've watched the sun over his height
To where he hangs i' th' west now; all's been still.
King.
By this my fate is known; and yet that's nothing,
Not being known to me. Oh, I am sick!
Suspense is poisonous! How slow the hours go!
Let's think the worst; what's our defence in here, then?
Sent.
Alas, my lord, nothing. All, save some dozen,
Rode to the field.
King.
I knew it. Where's Estreldis?
Enter Estreldis.
Est.
Here, father; listening at the Eagle Tower
I thought I heard the distant tramp of horse
Borne on the wind.
King.
It was thy fancy only.
Sent.
My lord, she's right! I hear it! lay your ear
158
King.
What? what? I cannot hear it.
Est. and Sent.
Hush, my lord!
'T has died away.
Est.
Listen!
King.
The heavy moments
Tread as they feared the future. That's ill omened.
Est.
Look! look, my lord! soldiers!
Sent.
They come! they come!
King.
Where? where? I can see nothing.
Est.
Can you not
See on the farthest edge, towards the mountain,
A cloud of dust rolling along the plain?
How fast they ride! Look! now you may discern
The glitter of a spear-head or a shield—
I know not what.
Sent.
She hath a soldier's eye.
King.
I can see nothing! Oh, I can see nothing!
Sent.
Listen! a trumpet!
King.
Now—I see them now!
Est.
Sure, that's a Breton trumpet! Hark! again!
Sent.
It is a note of victory; but, I fear me,
Blown by the enemy.
Est.
Out, owl! thy hooting
Spoils our best hopes. They halt! Look, they dismount!
King.
They are too many; 'tis the enemy.
Their number more than double the poor force
Rode with the Count.
159
Too true.
Est.
That's Eliduke!
With the white on's front—looks like a prisoner!
Oh, we are lost for ever!
King.
Down portcullis!
Look to the gates! Bring me my armour, ho!
To your posts, fellows!
Sent.
That's the old time of it!
We'll beat them from the walls yet; or, if not,
We'll die like men, and then we shall sleep quietly.
King.
Blow, Bertram! blow a blast that shall deny
A single terror shakes us! blow, I say!
Enter, below the walls, Eliduke, with many Prisoners; the Chief bearing a white feather in his helmet.
Eli.
My lord, d' you take 's for foes,
That with such swift prevention you bar up
Our looked-for entry, and confound the air
With your shrill blast of war? We come to say
Your cause hath conquered, and the sword that galled you,
Cropping your bud of wished tranquillity,
We have sheathed in shame and loss, and lay't before you.
Cast up your gates! for in our hands we bring you
Safety and peace, looking through Victory's eyes.
Est.
It is the Count that speaks!
King.
Undo the doors! We will go forth to meet him.
[Exeunt from above.
160
Blanchespee!
Where's the boy gone? Walter!
Enter King, Estreldis, and Attendants below.
King.
My lord, most welcome,—
As welcome as our new-seized lives can make you,
Won from the threatened entering of death!
For when we saw your numbers, that now show
Only excess of glory, we misdeemed
The enemy had prevailed, and Victory
Levelled her arm against you; so we stood
Hopeless, yet fixed to prove the end, and gather
An antidote to death in constancy
Of dying well and nobly; but your coming,
Like the bright aspect of the April sun,
Has shamed our winter terrors, and lit up
Our black despair into a day of joy.
Est.
Oh, take our thanks!
King.
And deem them, my good lord,
Only the handsel of some better token
Our gratitude intends you.
Eli.
Royal sir,
You overpay my service with your thanks.
King.
Shame not yourself with painted modesty
That wear the true complexion of desert.
With a free hand you spread the seed of danger,
Venturing your life against uncounted odds,
And it hath grown a golden crop of safety,
Which you have reaped for me, and I must thank you.
161
Unlocked the dungeon of my discontent,
And led him forth to death. Your prisoners
Show more in number than the keepers of them;
And in their black dejection is set off
The splendour of your triumph.
Eli.
Again, my lord,—
Although you argue me to show in this
Only an ill-feigned trashy modesty,
Which by my faith I love not, putting back
Your commendation with a wishful hand
To make it flow the stronger,—I must tell you
You overrate my service; and the foe,
Who showed no less i' th' field than soldier-like,
Gallant and brave, might challenge me of claiming
More than my due, if I should seek to hide
Fortune was with us wholly, and on them
Her hand shook ominous.
Captive Prince.
You make me speak,
Though silence best becomes me. Fortune not,
But our own hasty and presumptuous hearts,
Mine the most hot, showed us the face of ruin.
For you—I know not where you learnt your art—
You are keener carvers on the battle-field
Than yet I ever looked on. Where's the boy
In whose right hand a nimble death sat shaking,
The swift descent of which taught grizzled veterans
The unknown taste of fear? Or was't some god
Enamoured of this lady, whose sweet aspect
162
To cast a mortal rival?
Eli.
You say true;
'Twas Blanchespee. Never more gallant spirit
Shook danger by the hand, or steady courage
Showed itself cased in such a tender frame.
One time the day hung doubtful, and our men,
Dashed by their petty number, sent their eyes
Into their neighbours' faces, there to read
If any thought of flying. Then came Harry,
Clipping his black horse with his moulded thighs.
He bit his scarlet lip, and his young brow
Showed like Apollo angry. “Charge!” he cried;
And made such fierce invasion on the foe
That they forgot their 'vantage, and fell back.
Twice he redeemed my life, pushing himself
Between my breast and a most imminent death.
When last I saw him,
I was hemmed in by the enemy, and some hand
(Unmatched for boldness, sure) had snatched away
More than my life, my favour; which when he saw
Borne vauntingly away, he closed his heels,
And through the centre of the enemy,
Whose angry thick-set ranks, shook by confusion,
Waved to and fro like meadow grass i' the wind,
Dashed to the rescue,—a most gallant sight!
At the next charge they broke, and little doubt
He brought my glove away. I am impatient
To take it from his hand. Where's Blanchespee?
163
Soldier.
My lord, in likelihood
He lingered with the horses.
Eli.
Like enough.
King
(to the captive Prince).
See, my lord,
How black a face of shame looks sadly on you,
Because your cause was bad! Captivity,
Being temporal, to the true soul and noble,
Whose cause is with the milky hand of Peace
To stay the mailed inroad of Oppression,
Is as a cordial or sweet bed of slumber
To the outwearied frame, which in the morning
Rises refreshed; but to Ambition's minions
A double dungeon, being himself a gaoler
Most tyrannous and cruel to his slaves;
And those they call good fortunes are but strings,
Golden indeed, but therefore the more binding,
With which he ties them closer to his cause.
You that disdained the fostering kindly arms
Of your good nurse Content, and brake away,
Must now endure the rod of Discontent,—
A sharp and angry master, who shall teach you
Aggression is inglorious, though oft wrapped
By the fond tongues of men in the stript garb
Of real Glory, she the while left naked.
Capt. Prince.
I have learned it, sir, already; so quick a spring
Your just rebuke has made within my soul,
Fresh ploughed and furrowed by discomfiture.
164
What you think meet for ransom. I'll be sworn,
Having regained my freedom, never more
With the rough hand of war to bruise your land.
King.
Follow me in, where we shall frame conditions.
[During the above, Eliduke and Estreldis have been conversing apart.
Eli.
Sweet, I'll not fail thee;
I will but put this cumbrous harness off,
And seek your eyes again.
Est.
Delay not long!
[Exeunt King, captive Prince, Est., &c.
[The low note of a trumpet is heard. Enter Soldiers bearing the body of Blanchespee, grasping in one hand his sword, in the other Estreldis' white glove. They lay him at the feet of Eliduke. Walter follows.
Eli.
He is not dead?
Walt.
Oh, dead indeed, my lord!
Eli.
Astonishment
With her cold finger freezes up my tears!
Walt.
He was hedged in by the enemy, and struck down,
Even as he clutched your glove, by twenty swords.
He was the youngest soldier in the field,
And add to that the noblest; pardon me,
Because I wet your triumph with these tears.
165
Do you melt, Walter? O man, stand away!
Me it becomes alone to weep at this,
That am sole cause of it. Stand, stand away!
What, dead, boy? Look! my glove grasped in his hand!
O lady, lady, lady! your dear love
Was bought too dearly! I have paid for it
The irredeemable jewel of a life
Nameless in worth; and never gloomy Dis
Will give the price again into my hands!
Look how he smiles on death! I dare not kiss him,
Lest, at the touching of his murderer,
These countless stabs should from their swollen lips
Belch crimson accusation. Dost thou reject
My falling tears? Look how they roll away
From his pale cheek, and lend a mimic life
To his glazed eye, as if he wept to think
His dearest friend should be his murderer;
Or, like a worthless gamester that does match
His friend's estate against a little stake,
Esteem his life of no more worth than set it
Against this idle favour! O dear boy!
Soldier.
Look how he shakes.
Soldier.
I never saw him
So deeply moved before.
Walt.
Oh, give me too
A share in this! he was the gallant'st boy
That ever yet struck steel into a steed!
Eli.
Oh, I do well to mourn,
166
Oh, I do well to mourn, and wash his wounds
With easy tears!—who shall believe them true?
It is this damned girl whose eye was forged
To drag me down to hell! Boy, knit thy brow,
For it was I that slew thee! Look, he frowns!
It was my lie that set thy path with death,
And flung thee, like a guiltless sacrifice,
Upon thine enemies' points! O damned passion!
Hear me, O Heaven!—upon my bended knees
I now renounce this girl! May all the plagues
Most poisonous in their nature and most foul
That ever sprang upon the flesh of man
Eat my soft bones alive, and my dear soul,
Framed with new sense most keen and delicate,
Suffer strange torments in the world to come,
If ever from this time—I dare not swear it!
Walter, stand up! Before to-morrow's sun
Reddens the West, we must away to Bretagne.
Take the boy up, and for the girl Estreldis,
Henceforth I'll hold her hateful to my soul.
Stand back!
[To the Soldiers.
Ha! what d'ye say? why d'ye look on me?
[To Walter.
Walt.
Sir, I said nothing.
Eli.
Death, you said I slew him!
Walt.
You said so, and not I.
Eli.
Why, then I lied!
Because this hot-brained boy, in idle show
And vanity of valour,—emulation
167
Shall I be called in question? Get thee gone
To Brittany! tell them that I am coming
Upon thy heels, and that the boy is dead!
Say, if thou wilt, I slew him.
Walt.
I not think so;
But if you follow me so close, my lord,
What need of my announcement?
Eli.
'Tis my will,
Which do, and do not dally. I'll not play
The raven to go home and croak this news
Into his sister's ears.
Walt.
You play the tyrant
To make me do it, then. Well, sir, I'll go.
[Exit.
Eli.
Take up the boy! Death only's conqueror.
Gently, oh, gently! Bury the glove with him!
I dare not touch it! Oh, what a world of mischief
Lies hid in little error! Go before!
ACT IV.
Scene I.
A Room in Eliduke's Castle at Yveloc.Roland and Walter meeting.
Rol.
Well met, Sir Walter! If my memory serve,
I have not seen you since the busy day
We scotched those rascal Picards. By my faith,
168
Walt.
Yes, my good lord, from Nantes; where, I may tell you,
You fill men's mouths still with your gallant deeds
That singly turned the fortune of the day
And propped the tottering safety of the realm.
Rol.
I came but second to your Eliduke,
The crest of noble blades, my friend and brother.
Walt.
You are equal stars and peers of valorous action;
The courtiers' brains were sorely put to it
When you two, whose skilled conduct in the war
Had closed our dangers with a prosperous peace,
Put by preferment that was pushed upon you,
And scorning the gilt humours of the court
And burden of the King's precarious favour,
Chose rather here to rest upon your oars,
And let life's tide go by. Runs it smooth here?
Lord Eliduke still loves his wife, my lord?
Rol.
What is't you say?
Walt.
Nay, I am sad, my lord.
Do you love Castabel?
Rol.
Sir, when you name her,
Whose title I dare scarcely bless my lips with,
Use a more reverent form! I do not love her.
Common hearts love and dote on common things;
But she that is the finest work of Heaven
And gathered garland of all excellence,
169
Than their dull-paced imaginations frame,—
She claims a clearer-spirited devotion
Than that which mingles in the medley love.
I serve her, then, with grief, and not with love,
Which interferes not in a husband's rights;
Not idle pinings and such boyish show,
But with a deep and silent melancholy,
Because my earthly hopes and happiness
Are all closed up in her, and here on earth
Can never shoot again.
Walt.
Do you not see,
Or, always seeing her, have overlooked,
How pale she grows, and what an anxious eye
From under her drawn brow looks sadly out?
Since last I saw her, the slow pen of care
Has written change upon her sunken cheek!
Alas! I know the cause.
Rol.
Tell me the cause!
I know her cheek is sunk; her brother's death
And Blancaflor's deep grief weigh thus with her.
Walt.
It is not that:—yet why should I lay bare
What she within herself wraps up so close,
Nor even breathes it, I dare well be sworn,
In the dark ear of secret-keeping night?
It is so terrible and sad a thing,
That to her central soul she tells it not,
Only she feels it draining all her comfort.
Rol.
What is this thing?
170
Eliduke loves her not;
Loves her no more, but with a foreign passion
Feeds his changed heart.
Rol.
What a pure devil are you,
That with an unchanged cheek and solemn tongue
Can vent such an abominable lie!
What! do you come to me, and dare you think,
Because I with a chaste and clear devotion
Affect this lady, you can hope to make me
A credulous instrument to some vile end
Your base brain hammers at? Let me look on you!
You are not Walter! O man, get you gone!
Honesty's less than it was! I am not angry,
So much do I disdain your paltry tale!
Walt.
Do you think this?
Rol.
Fine counterfeit amazement!
Sir, this grows tiresome! Look! The ladies come!
Make your fool's faces elsewhere!
Walt.
Let time show;
I'll touch no more in't. Is not Eliduke sad?
Rol.
Yes, sir, he is. D'ye think by patching up
Your petty circumstance you still can move me?
Begone, or I shall chafe!
Walt.
Remember this.
[Exit.
Rol.
What a knavish ape is this, slandering his lord!
Sir Walter, too! The court hath spoiled a man.
Enter Castabel and Blancaflor.
Cast..
Oh, take comfort!
171
Forgive me, sister; I forget myself.
Cast..
Too long you feed your sorrow with these tears.
Blanc.
Indeed I know that to the lookers on
Sorrow seems often tedious. Pray forgive me;
I will go weep alone.
Cast..
Not that,—not that,—
Not because I am tired, dear Blancaflor,
But that you hurt yourself. Why, how should that be?
I own as deep an interest in this grief
As thou canst do,—cherish as grave a sorrow.
Blanc.
As I? Oh, no! or I should shame myself,
As yet I may do, not to learn of you
A placider deportment: you have children
Whose tiny tongues prattle away your grief,
A loving husband in whose clasping arms
You harbour your tossed heart. I!—
Cast..
O sweet sister!
[They embrace in silence.
Rol.
Oh, what an angel aspect sorrow wears,
Being housed in such bright souls! I were unworthy
To see these tears, but that a kindred grief
Stirs in mine own full heart. These, and the boy
Late snatched by death, sure are not earthly stock,
But heavenly seed, by the kind hand above
Flung to renew our breed, and with our blood
To mix the clear and crimson element
Rolls in their finer veins. She lifts her head.
Blanc.
Let's talk of him. They are poor comforters
That snatch away the memory of the dead,
172
When he was very little, how we sate
Under the unpleached hedges in the fields,
And with green briony and honeysuckle
Circled his laughing hair? Do you remember?
Cast.
Dear childish days, never to come again!
Blanc.
And now he's dead, and far over the sea
Lies buried by the shore, that should have lain
In some green plot i' th' woods, where I'd have planted
His favourite flowers, and watered them with tears.
The daisy, spring's rathe herald, columbine
Nodding her purple head, anemone
Star of the grass, crowsfoot and celandine,—
All April's children,—these should have coverletted
His ivory body, while his unfleshed soul,
Lingering for me upon the edge of heaven,
Should with a liquid smile look down the blue
To see me tend his grave.
Cast..
How gentle was he,
And in men's hearts anchored himself how deeply!
Sir Walter, when he told his death's sad story,
Changed the stern aspect of a war-soiled soldier
For a piteous child's, and shook the frequent tears
From his rough cheeks in showers. My husband too
Waters a planted sorrow in his breast;—
Oft in the midst of some kind word to me,
Or dear caress, shot with keen recollection,
Stops suddenly, and turning his blanched cheek
Gives silence to the air. Thus, long he stands—
173
[To Roland.
We two sad sisters are poor company,
And I do ill in my untutored grief
To cover up the courtesy due to you!
Rol.
Your sorrow's the best courtesy, telling me
I'm fit to share your grief; and so I am
In this, that I much loved him.
Blanc.
You say you loved him?
Rol.
Most dearly for himself! and more than that,
He was your sister's brother.
Blanc.
I mistook you,
Because you wept not for him, and my tears
Were bitterer to make up the lack of yours.
Rol.
I am schooled in grief, and sorrow shows not in me,
Being deeper buried. Yet this grief's not much,
The boy being dead, and, with the bloom upon him,
Plucked for the court of heaven. Death's a sharp knife,
Whose wound heals up; but there's a bruising sorrow
That rankles comfort. Death being duly mourned,
The past looks greener for the tears shed in it;
But there's a grief within whose heavy hand
The future is crushed up, and all our virtue
Turned into constancy.
Blanc.
How are such sorrows shown?
Rol.
Not shown at all.
Cast..
How solemnly you speak, as if you felt them!
174
Because I do, and therefore marvel not
I have no tears for death, who seems a crown
In the black hair of shrouded Melancholy
Which I would gladly win, but that I must not
Stretch mine own hand for't.
Blanc.
Such grief's hard to bear,
And looks not through the chambers of the eye,
But lays a cold hand on the heart within!
Rol.
You speak it feelingly.
Blanc.
Alas, poor Harry!
Enter Page.
Page.
My lord asks for you, sir.
Rol.
I'll see him straight.
Cast..
You'll give my absence leave then, my good lord.
[To Blanc.]
Come, you shall go with me. I am almost
Joyful again to see your tears dried up.
[Exeunt Castabel and Blancaflor.
Rol.
Alas, they flow inwardly! some deeper sorrow,
I know not what, sits at the spring of her heart.
So young, and yet a gathered hopelessness
Marbles her cheek! What can it be but love—
Lost, unreturned love? No other sorrow
Can strike so deep. Come, lead me to your lord.
[Exit.
175
Scene II.
A Room in the Castle at Yveloc.Eliduke alone.
Eli.
O cherub-featured fiend, unholy love,
Thou train'st my soul astray! Where can I fly,
The image of Estreldis more prevailing
In my soul's vision than things sensible
To the outward faculty? With the thin air
I suck in passion, and the still noontide
Seems heavy with her memory. Vaunted absence
Doth but digest this searching draught of passion
Into my changed soul's substance. That slow liking
In my green days I felt for Castabel
Was but a fire that under the hot sun
Of real love has smouldered into ashes
And died away. The words, “sweet Castabel,”
Bring but the smile upon Estreldis' lips.
From her endearments and the soft grasp of her arms
I shrink in terror, they accord so ill
With my changed heart. Oh, I can stand no more;
Beneath this load of love my virtue breaks!
I'll back to Cornwall. I am bound by oath,
And must not break it. Ay, that virtue's easy
That sits with inclination. It ill becomes me,
That to my virtuous wife intend this wrong,
To breathe the name of virtue. 'Tis like one
That with a bought kiss on his unwashed lips
Tastes his chaste mistress' breath. Alas, sweet wife!
176
I well remember, when I went away,
She kissed my lips, and said, “Dear love, be true!”
And I have been most false.
Rol.
(within).
In here, d'ye say?
Servant
(within).
That door, my lord.
Eli.
Here comes the noble Roland.
I dare not call him friend that go about
To make him hate me deadly.
Enter Roland.
Rol.
Good day, my lord;
You sent me word that you would speak with me.
Eli.
(aside).
And know not what to say.
Rol.
So sad? still sad?
Why do you keep this melancholy brow?
Eli.
I'll tell you why. What think you of my state?
Rol.
As of a man's who holds in his full grasp
All mortal heart can covet. Fame adorns you;
For, like a hunter, you have run her down,
And bear her spoils about you. Fortune aids you,
And through the currents of a soldier's life
Hath steered you into safety. You have riches,
Health, and, to crown the whole, a wondrous wife,
Whose sole possession should, lacking all else,
Out of the heart of misery pluck content.
Eli.
Let be awhile. I'll show you what my state is.
D'ye see this ring that sits upon my finger,
Wreathed of bright gold, and by the curious framer
177
What credits most his art,—yet this alone
Makes not its value. 'Tis this diamond,
Whose sparkling eye set in the front of it
Riches and graces the circumference.
I'm such a ring,
Bright in my reputation, wrought by Fortune;
But the rare gem, without whose clear adornment
All is but marr'd, the sole essential,
The jewel of my happiness, I lack.
Rol.
Why, that should be your wife.
Eli.
Should be, and is not.
Rol.
And is not!
Eli.
Oh, mistake me not; she is
All excellence, and I might safelier
Chide at the angels than find fault in her:
And yet she's not this jewel.
Rol.
Why, what is then?
Eli.
To win it, I must cast away my wife;
To win it, I must cast away mine honour,
Tread virtue down, your friendship and opinion
(Which I protest I hold most sovereign)
Break and throw by, bar up the gates of heaven,
Fellow with infamy, and be indeed
The co-mate of contempt and ignominy.
Rol.
I'm glad you lack it, then.
Eli.
And I for it
Would fling to air this idle reputation,
Forget my home, give up my dearest friends,
178
Go hand in hand with shame, and for this pottage
Would sell my dear inheritance in heaven;—
I would, and will.
Rol.
Why then you are not virtuous;
And yet I know you do but jest with me.
Eli.
Whom call you virtuous?
Rol.
Him whose good acts
Tread close on his intents,—these virtuous.
Good deeds with bad intent are wickedness,
And good intents unacted ciphers merely.
Eli.
But by the standard of his good intent
You shall mete out the man. Oh, what low aims
Distract the common world! Here sensual good
Stands throned,—a beast, a goddess. Idiot throngs,
Yet more insensate than their painted filth,
Barter their intellect for barren gold,
Prouder to handle earth than tread in heaven.
Here weakness lifts a puny passing arm,
Making a clutch at slippery command,
Ill 'titled power.
And there's another end fond men call virtuous,
A selfish striving for a seat in heaven;—
Casting the odds up;—“Here's an hour of pleasure;
Why that's soon over, and the self-denial
Will bring more bliss in heaven; let it go;”—
Driving a penny bargain with their God,
Sound-headed saints! Oh, there's a higher end,
A deeper spring of action, to please Heaven;
179
Only in the approving eye of God;
And he's most virtuous whose high-lifted soul
Fosters the loftiest thoughts and noblest ends;
He's the true man.
Rol.
You're wrong; for that's a gift,
Measured by the discerning hand of Heaven.
He's the true man
That, with whatever seed high Heaven hath sown him,
So tends and cultivates his springing soul,
So digs about it with true resolution,
So waters it with penitential tears,
That it spreads forth a worthy flower of action,
Best of his kind, though from a richer soil
A brighter blossom springs. He's the true man,
That, having weighed by his best faculties
What's worthiest in his poor estimation,
Fixes a steadfast eye on that alone,
And by its aid treads the thin verge of virtue
Over the giddy world. Imaginations
Wanting a steadfast purpose are but stars
To the vexed eye of the storm-shattered sailor
Left rudderless upon the wayward waves.
Noble desires, unless filled up by action,
Are but a shell of gold, hollow within.
Eli.
I'm wrong, my lord, indeed. Oh, less unworthy
Are sacrifices made with unwashed hands,
Than lofty thoughts and high imaginations
180
Who, bearing dazzling prospects on their tongues,—
Ay, in their hearts too,—yet in act fall from them,
And forge a weapon for the hands of fools
To strike at virtue.—Such a man am I!
Rol.
Either you jest, or else you fail in health,
And falling short of your high-pitched desire,
As all men must, your sick distempered fancy
Paints you in these bad colours, ill deserved.
Eli.
You'll not believe, because you are yourself
Pillared in honesty. I must to Cornwall.
Rol.
To Cornwall?
Eli.
Ay, my lord; bound by an oath.
Rol.
Some quarrel, then? Have you an enemy?
Eli.
Ay, and a fatal.
Rol.
And hath wronged you?
Eli.
Foully.
Rol.
Why, then I'll help you kill him.
Eli.
Draw, and do so!
Strike here! For I am my worst enemy,
And foully go about to wrong myself.
Rol.
You're mad, sure. Tell me! What's this heinous act
You feign to contemplate?
Eli.
If I should tell you,
You'd strike me dead.
Rol.
Listen to me, my lord!
If there be such an act as this you name,
And you in earnest to go through with it
181
Written in shame upon you), we no longer
Are friends, but stand estranged. Nay, pardon me,
If your sad face makes me believe you serious,
That all the while are mocking.
Eli.
I am serious;
But if I do this act shall never more
Look in your eyes, or see my native land.
By this night's tide I quit the Bretagne shore,
Prepared, if't be for ever.
Rol.
And your wife?
Eli.
Why, think me dead, and marry her yourself!
Rol.
He's mad! I'll hear no more!
[Exit.
Eli.
Go, honest man!
And thou, lost slave of passion, to thy work!
I'll do it! I'll do't! Conscience, I hear thy voice,
That with an eloquent trumpet shak'st my soul.
“Thou dost betray thyself.” I know I do.
“And in this sin stiflest those aspirations
That outsoared common mortals' pitch of virtue.”
I know I do, and thence the greater villain.
There is no murderer so foul and stained
That he can match with me, and yet I'll do't!
Walter shall go with me; he is light-hearted;
Scoffs too at women, and makes light of love:
He will not read this act's enormity.
And yet I know not; I think Harry's death
Sticks in his throat yet. Well, I'll move him to't.
The sun drops down; I must aboard to-night.
182
And thou shalt see, gilt with the rising sun,
A bark deep laden with love upon the sea.
Thy true affection shall— Stop! what if she
Should prove as false—as I to Castabel?
Ha!
Oh, room for my swoln heart! I suffocate!
Terrible retribution and most fitting,
If I, that have used falsehood to obtain her,
Should find her false to me! I think she will be.
Yet she believes me true. Alas! if she
Should find how false a beast she hath preferred
Into her heart, I should indeed become
The castaway of scorn.
[Exit.
Scene III.
A Hall in the Castle.Enter Eliduke and Walter.
Eli.
Leave me? go home?
Tut, tut, man! you are passionate, and know not
What 'tis you ask. I say you shall not go.
Walt.
My lord, I must and will.
Eli.
I say you shall not;
What idle freak is this? Come, you are angry.
I have been too hasty. What, man, we are friends still?
Walt.
Once when you said so I esteemed the title
Above my other honours; did I so now,
183
Eli.
Do you think I am not grateful? You shall try me.
Do you lack gold? Ask. I was never niggard.
Has any wronged you? I stand here engaged
To right you with my sword and countenance.
Is this your grief because I am not grateful?
Walt.
Not that, my lord.
Eli.
What then? Pish! you are changing!
Walt.
Shall I tell you, then? Because you are not noble,
And the intent you hold, and ask my aid in,
Bad and dishonourable.
Eli.
Ha! you can speak, then!
Walt.
Ay, boldly; and I say your honest seeming
Discords with what's within. You are not true!
Does it become you, being dedicated
By the close tie of wedlock to a lady,
Whose beauty and whose worth are only matched
By her deep love to you, to cast that off,
And that which was her due, your true affection,
To yield a foreign breast? Does it become you
To train this princess from her father's court,
And teach her young and unpolluted ears
A title of dishonour? I was wrong
That egged you on in making love to her,
And thought it but the pastime of the hour
To rifle women's hearts. Look what it grows to.
Eli.
Grow where it may, I will go through with it.
184
Oh, reckon up how many wrongs you heap
To build yourself a monument of shame!
You wrong your wife,—your chaste, your wedded wife;
You wrong the lady whom you swear to love;
You wrong the King who housed and did you honour;
Wrong hospitality, wrong confidence.
You wrong yourself to stir in such a cause;
You wrong your friends to ask their aid in it;
You wrong the day that looks on such a wrong;
You wrong the darkness that must cover it;
You wrong all good deeds by their opposite;
You wrong all former wrongs to lessen them.
Stay here, and move not in this enterprise.
Eli.
Now, though a hundred such sick consciences,
Set in the breasts of idiot-witted fools,
Stood in my way, I would not stir one jot from't!
Walt.
Why, then, go on!
Eli.
And will; for who shall stay me?
Walt.
Not virtue, for your eager tongue to speak her
Outgoes your acts.
Eli.
Beware! beware! beware!
Walt.
Not honour, for the part you had in her
Is gone since the black day you told a lie,
A hideous lie, making the boy believe
The favour that he fought for was his sister's.
What! must the boy die for't? Could you not
Defend your wanton's glove? A coward too!
185
A foul adulterer! Take the sum of it!
[Eliduke rushes at him with his sword.
A murderer too!
Eli.
Out, man! Thy life runs short!
Walt.
Out, then! look to your own too!
[Eliduke strikes the sword from the hand of Walter, throws him to the ground, and plants his foot on his breast.
Eli.
Ha! you dog!
Walt.
Strike, and fill up your crimes! I fear you not.
Dare you not strike?
Eli.
Away, thou murderous fiend!
Mak'st my soul itch for blood!
[Flinging his sword away.
Hence, instrument!
Let your life buy your silence. Get you up.
Pick up your sword. I'll go alone. There's gold.
[Flinging it on the ground.
Walt.
Even yet, my lord—
Eli.
Peace, peace! I am not for you!
[Exit Walter, leaving the purse lying.
What, ho! within there! Enter Page.
How runs the tide? Give me my sword lies yonder.
Page.
Nigh to the full, my lord.
Eli.
Pooh! keep the gold!
186
Page.
Within, sir.
Eli.
Knows my going?
Page.
I think no, sir.
Eli.
Get me my cloak. Are all the sailors ready?
Attend me to the boat. The moon's at change.
Pray Heaven the weather hold! What say the sailors?
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene I.
The Coast of Brittany near Yveloc. Early morning. A Storm.Enter Sailors, dripping wet.
First Sail.
Hech! how the rain drifts! Sure the devil's loose to-night.
Sec. Sail.
I'll go no further; skulk under the rock
till it bates.
[Thunder.
First Sail.
Ay, growl away! We are safe this bout, though I think we ne'er ran so close for't before.
Sec. Sail.
The boson's gone.
First Sail.
Ay, and a dozen more, washed over like hen-coops. Who was't caught in the shrouds, and went by with the mizen? How he cried, as the wind whistled him over!
Third Sail.
(within).
Hollo! comrades!
First Sail.
Was 't a shout, or the wind roaring?
Sec. Sail.
A-hoy!
187
(within).
Where? Where?
Sec. Sail.
By the old black rock! Under the dog's nose!
First Sail.
Here's another hath shirked the devil.
Enter Third Sailor.
Well met ashore, lad! Give me thy hand. How cam'st
thou safe, not being i' th' boat?
Third Sail.
They hung us ropes over the cliff, and we shelled up like monkeys.
Sec. Sail.
Where be the rest? Has she parted yet?
Third Sail.
I warrant you. Not a bit as big as your hand left. Is my lord safe?
First Sail.
Ay, ay; and hath brought the dead lady to shore with him. He stuck to her all night, though he had nigh drowned for 't twice or thrice.
Third Sail.
She 's a witch, and floats.
First Sail.
And hath charmed our lord,—a plague of her painted face!
Sec. Sail.
For thy life, man! Yonder he comes!
Enter Eliduke, bearing the dead body of Estreldis, her hair hanging dripping over his arm, a Peasant guiding him.
Eli.
Who 's here? What, from the wreck? Teach your tongues silence, fellows! Let this night die from your memories! Alas! you 're drenched. There's gold. He dies that dares to follow. On, lead on.
[Exeunt Eliduke and Peasant.
Third Sail.
Even lots! even lots! This is true
188
First Sail.
Ay, we may be wrecked a dozen times, for what our betters care; but being aboard themselves, they see some spice of danger in it, and that breeds a fellow-feeling. Let's go drink.
Sec. Sail.
Ay, ay, and wash out this salt stuff.
[Exeunt.
Scene II.
The inside of a Hut deep in the Woods. A bed of leaves.Peas.
(without).
What, ho! most reverend father!
Eli.
(without).
Enter! Enter!
Enter Eliduke and Peasant as before.
Peas.
This is the hut I spake of, and the bed.
[Eli. lays the body of Estreldis on the bed.
But for the hermit—
Eli.
Out belike i' the woods.
Peas.
Out! Out indeed, sir! Look! Here is his grave.
Alas, he's dead and buried. Some kind hand
Has laid his ancient bones in earth, and o'er them
Raised this rude cross to mark the spot as sacred.
Surely his soul's in heaven, for he was ever
Most charitable, and that's the nearest way to 't.
Eli.
Does Death still slay old men, then? Oh, begone!
189
Sir, shall we bury her?
Eli.
Beast! she's not yet cold.
Begone, I say!
[Exit Peasant.
O soul of passion! queen of hearts! Estreldis!
Devotion's deep-eyed daughter! only fair!
Unseal those eyes, whose answering flash to mine
Was late my spring of being! Oh, unfold
Those ivory ports of hearing! Only hear,
And to your brain I'll let such music in,
Such clear-toned soundings from the heart of love,
Eloquent whispers, warm upbreathed sighs,
That, faintly mustered in their separate cells,
Your other senses, stirred by sympathy,
Shall from their functions shake the clog of death.
Or answer this my kiss with those your lips,
Moulded for this, where yet the crimson blood
Hath not renounced his painting; and your soul
Being fled away and scattered in thin air,
Suck in the half of mine, and live by that!
Then we shall die together. O fool! She's dead!
Hear! O unnatural rocks and bawling sea,
Conspirators with the felonious wind
To rob the world of comfort! You have slain
The unsurpassable child of bankrupt Nature!
O false Estreldis! Thy new paramour,
Death, is unworthy to compare to me,
Being lean and haggard, built with clanking bones,
Graceless and merciless, unused to love,
Savage, and glaring grim with empty eyes,
190
O sweet, return! I am thy eldest love!
[Throwing himself on the earth.
Eliduke beats at the dim gates of death!
Will not the monster hear me? Oh, return!
Scene III.
A Hall in the Castle of Yveloc.Walter and a Sea Captain.
Walt.
Why, were you with him there?
Capt.
Ay was I, sir.
Walt.
And how came she aboard?
Capt.
I know not that;
Only I know she came like one that fled,
With frequent eye cast back upon her track,
And cheek whose whiteness seemed to blanch the night;
And when we sailed, she on the quarter-deck
Kneeled, voiding her full eyes, and sadly cried,
“O my dear father! O my native land!”
And when he kissed her, looked up smilingly,
And said, “Dear lord, deal kindly by me now;
I have but only thee.”
Walt.
Alas! poor soul!—
And he?—
Capt.
Looked strangely, and bade us steer away
To any land, save only Brittany.
Walt.
How came you here, then?
Capt.
Heard you not the storm?
191
When the dull sea began to moan and swell,
And all the rippling waves were tipped with foam;
And yet no breath of wind, only the air
Heaved hollow sighs. Then you might see the sailors
Whisp'ring each other, and with hasty hands
Furling their canvas, clapping to their ports,
And with the straining of their pitchy cordage
Tightening the sinews of their boat for storm.
Scarce had they finished, and the trembling lady
(Ill clad for such a night) been safely cabined,
When the north-west, shouting tumultuously,
And brushing his black wings against the heaven,
Swooped on the shuddering sea; and the good ship,
Like some strong wrestler overmatched in grip,
Stooped till her maintop almost touched the waves,
Then, springing up before the whistling wind,
Raced at her topmost speed towards our shore;
Which when our lord saw, he with iron hand
Grasping the helm would have outmatched the storm,
Or steeped us all in death, but the weak engine
Cracked with the strain, and helpless on we drifted
Through the black throat of night. “God's hand,” he said,
And in the cabin wrapped his manly arms
About the lady, in whose shaking frame
Life seemed to flicker.
Walt.
She died, did she not?
Capt.
But not of fear. The superstitious sailors,
192
Of death, sole master now, began to mutter
Against their lord, saying this storm was bred
Out of his sin; and thronging to his cabin,
Threatened to throw the lady overboard
To appease the waves; coarsely upbraiding him
Adulterously to carry off this maid,
Having a wife at home; which when she heard,
Though he with storming strove to drown their words,
“A wife!” she cried, and heaving back her head,
Stiffened in death. Eliduke, frenzy-mad,
Seized the ringleader by his foot, and hurled him
Into the gaping deep, which quelled the rest.
Now day began to dawn, and sullen Dark,
Wrapping his hair about his moody brow,
Went trampling the dim west down to the sea,
Which now showed calmer, and we found ourselves
Close on the Yveloc cliffs, and by our boats
Gained the dry shore.
Walt.
Eliduke with you, then?
Capt.
And the dead lady.
Walt.
Whither went he then?
Capt.
Indeed I wonder greatly; for no sooner
Had we run keel upon the sea-drencht sand
Than he, with hasty foot, made towards the woods,
Pointing an angry sword against pursuit:
Since that I saw him not.
Walt.
Sir, this is strange,—
Too strange for common ears. I would not have you,
193
Breathe any whisper of this night's events.
You were too loose to open them to me.
Capt.
I did it at the instance of my lord,
Who in the boat bade me seal up your lips,
Who knew his object. Therefore, look, be silent;
As for myself, I did not lack your warning
To be as dumb as death.
Walt.
I am glad to hear it. Fear you not for me.
Enter hastily Castabel, Blancaflor, and Roland.
Cast..
Where? where? Is this he? Speak, man! were you with him?
Where is your lord?
Capt.
'Beseech you, be not frighted,
If I must say I do not know.
Cast..
Not know?—
Your arm.
[To Blancaflor.
Rol.
O God!
Blanc.
Sweet sister!
Capt.
Oh, be calm!
I can assure him safe.
Cast..
He is not safe.
You do but tell me this. You forge a tale,
Setting my sorrow in a frame of hope,
Wrapping your bitter medicine in sweet words,
Building me up to pull me down again,
Saying he's safe, because he is in heaven.
I know! I know!
194
La—
Cast..
Stop, stop, man! I am faint!
Be not so hasty, let me hang awhile;
You have not said it yet; I have not yet
Shook hands with hope and you with certainty—
He's dead! O heart!
Capt.
Lady!
Rol.
Be still, I say!
Capt.
I say he lives; myself three hours ago
Saw him alive. Is all the world gone mad?
Cast..
How dare you, then, shake me with terrors thus?
Ha! Enter Eliduke; she flies to his arms.
Do you not smile? Are you not glad? Oh, dark!
[She falls at his feet.
Rol.
Great heaven! She's dead!
Eli.
'Tis common. Why not she?
Rol.
Gently, sweet Blancaflor.
Blanc.
Why, Margaret! Helen!
Enter Women.
Wom.
O my dear lady!
Rol.
Water! Stop! she breathes.
Softly! oh, softly!
Cast..
Ah me!
[Exeunt Castabel, Blancaflor, and Women.
195
Do you stand thus? [To Eliduke.
]—I pray you, give us leave.
[Exeunt Walter and Captain.
What's this, my lord, that you should let her fall,
Even at your feet? What wrong hath she committed,
That at your coming you should stand like stone,
And never lift an eye to meet her welcome?
What's this, my lord? Perhaps you think me bold,
That set my foot within your wedlock rights,
And interfere me in your sanctities.
Why, what care I? That title of her husband
Gives you the claim to cherish and to love her,
To live within her soul, and see yourself
Written in her eyes,—lays heaven bare to you;
But if you are become so black a devil
As make it pretext for a right to wrong her,
Why then I may come in;—and, look, I will!
Nor all the favouring puissances of hell
Shall save you from my arm. Nay, stand awhile!
You have come back, and therefore have not done
The wrong you made such talk of; but since then
You have o'erstepped that wrong a thousand times,—
Looked coldly on your wife. Ha! why was this?
I am angry, and I am not made to play with.
I will not see it.
Eli.
Pray you, talk not with me;
I am not in the answering mood to-day.
[Exit.
Rol.
What, gone? I cannot think he meant her wrong;
196
How placidly he bore it from my tongue,
Who to most men had answered with his sword!
Something hath shaken him much;—I was too hasty.
[Exit.
Scene IV.
The Hut in the Woods. Night, near morning.Eliduke alone with the body of Estreldis on the bed.
Eli.
Hang on my weary soul, black-fronted night!
Oh, be eternal, and perplex the day
With an unbroken dark! Dim-shafted trees
And solemn woods, hold in your whispering breath!
Close up thy crescent, pale inconstant fire;
And you, the girdling torches of the blue,
Stand in your occidental passages!
Put out the sun, and undisturbed rest
Hang his broad hand over the busy world!
Let Silence stride the deep. Only grim Death,
On muffled wing, steal to his purposes,
Since none may cope with him;—grim Death, that is
The king of quiet and sole emperor.
O most mysterious Death! close consort thou
And co-mate of the very soul of change,
Art thou divorced from this thine olden bride,
That she remains uninjured lying here,
Most terrible in her unfading bloom?
Art thou, O Death, that monster men present thee,
That grizzled terror and lean spectacle;
197
Fair as Endymion and more amorous,
That pluck'st with so distinguishing a hand
The youngest and the fairest? Look, she smiles!
Hither have I come many a secret night
To bury her; but while she smiles so brightly
No earth shall lie upon her angel face;
But here I'll sit, watching my handiwork,
Till daylight spreads the east. Already, look,
The sickly dawn puts up. Oh, come away!
I dare not see her by the light of day!
[Exit.
Enter Castabel and Page.
Page.
This way, my lady; here he comes o' nights.
Cast..
Here will I wait his coming. Stand without,
And if he comes, go home.
Page.
I will, my lady;
But much I doubt he will not come again,
For mostly with the morning he goes home.
[Exit.
[Castabel comes forward, and sees Estreldis stretched on the bed.
Cast..
Oh, now I do perceive it! now indeed!
O Eliduke, thou soul of my soul's soul!
How hast thou left me hopeless! O my God!
I am blind with tears, and know not what to do.
What have I done, O God, what monstrous crime,
That I should live to see so sad a sight?
Patience, give me some patience, thou good Heaven!
I would not now forget my fortitude,
198
Look what a tearful face I do uplift
Into thy court, O God! Look down upon me!
Methinks the kindly gates of heaven are shut,
And I alone am only miserable.
[She swoons.
Enter Page hastily.
Page.
My lady! What, two ladies! She is senseless.
Oh, for some water! Hold! I'll try the flower.
[He touches the lips of Castabel with a scarlet flower in his hand.
Cast..
What place is this? Where am I? All's not well.
Page.
My lady, here's the strangest thing alive.
Cast..
Nay, here's a stranger thing to match it, boy.
Page.
My lady, as I stood without i' th' wood,
Over the greensward came two weazels running,
Gambolling in and out among the trees,
Close to my very feet. I with my staff
Struck one, and killed it.
Cast..
Eliduke that was't—
Nay, I'll be patient.
Page.
Do but hear me, lady.
The other, seeing him dead, stood over him
As if in grief, and smelled and snuffed him round,
To see if any life yet hung in him;
Then slipped into the wood, and in an instant
Came back, bearing this flower here in his mouth,
199
Who straight revived from death;—as dead as stone
He lay before. I killed him with my staff.
Cast..
What's this thou tell'st?
Page.
And when I now came in,
And found you swooned, this flower, touching your lips,
Straight summoned back your sense, and you awoke.
Cast..
Give me the flower. I'll touch her lips with it.
Perchance she is not dead; as I have heard
Of ice-cold swoons wherein men lie as dead,
And in that thought are buried,—when they wake
In silent graves, and die again of horror.
Let's see this face. Oh, wondrous beautiful!
Surely she sleeps. No; cold. O Eliduke,
Your kiss when you came back to me was cold,—
These lips had stolen its warmth. This was the face
Whose brighter properties have ousted me
From the fair heaven of my lord's affections.
I am desolate. Now only unto Thee,
Only to Thee, my God, I turn myself,—
My sole last refuge. Oh, uphold me now,
And teach me so to act in this as may
Show worthiest and noblest! Eliduke,
I scarce can blame thee, if thy love to her
Be measured by the love I bear to thee;
And yet methinks, being so long his wife,
And having served him with so true a zeal,
He should have borne with me,—shouldst thou not, love?
200
[She touches Estreldis' lips with the flower.
The colour comes! Death takes his finger off!
Her eyes! O heavenly orbs! Can you not speak?
She lies, and lets her eyes drink in the light.
Page.
Yonder my lord comes hither through the wood.
Cast..
Oh, fly!
Page.
Look, here's a door. In here!
Cast..
Quick! quick!
[Exeunt into an inner room.
Enter Eliduke; he pauses near the door.
Eli.
Should this be true, that the immortal soul,
Being dispossessed, unthreads not all at once
Its mortal wrappings, but here lingering
On the half-visible skirts of the Eternal,
Is caged in some fine links of earthly stain,
Making it to our grosser sense perceptible
(As men have seen their friends' departed ghosts
At the same moment that they died elsewhere),—
Why, then, perhaps her spirit here inhabits—
Est.
My lord!
Eli.
I heard it speak.
Est.
My lord!
Eli.
Again.
O unsubstantial spirit, dost thou hang
In the invisible air? Stoop to my lips,
And let me feel thee there. I do but dream,
201
Yet I'll believe she stays here, which makes plain
Decay's forbearance; for her white-robed ghost
Sits watching her dead head, and drives away
The reverence-stricken beast, ill-eyed Corruption.
I'll look upon her. Shape of betrayed Estreldis!
Est.
Eliduke!
Eli.
All's unreal; and the dead
Rise to upbraid me. I have found it now.
Some angel has usurped the place of her soul,
As angry that so unsurpassed a form
Should waste untenanted. Oh, if thou be'st Estreldis,
New wakened from the dead—
Est.
Oh, lift me up!
Eli.
Thy kiss is warm.
Est.
Upon thy lips I live.
Eli.
This is so great and unapproached a joy,
It will not last until the hand of Time
Can pen it in his records. Let us die
Before the grasp of a revolving chance
Shake out a change. Dear love, this cannot last.
Est.
Let last what will, only I fold you here.
I thought we were at sea, and dreamed strange dreams.
Where am I now?
Eli.
Locked in my arms, sweet soul.—
Who moves within there? God! it is my wife!
Enter Castabel.
Est.
Thy wife! Alas! I do remember me.
202
Cast..
Lady, be not afraid;
And you, dear husband, for the latest time
That I must use that title, lift your eyes.
I do not come to say I loved you much,
And blame you that you threw away my heart;
I cannot chide, I only come to say
I will not stand between your joy and you.
I give you up my rights, and set you free
From the solemnity of outward ties
That only made you mine. Why should these last,
When you have cracked those more essential strings
Once tied our souls? I'll to a nunnery;
Which temporal death shall set you free again,
And there in prayer and heavenward meditation
Strive to forget how rich a joy I owned once.
Give me your hand, my lord—husband no more.
Give me your hand, sweet lady; thus I join them,
And happiness wait on you evermore!
Eli.
Kneel down, Estreldis. We are earthly mould,
And this divine. Look, at thy feet I kneel,
And dare not lift my guilty countenance
Up to your eyes. O angel Castabel,
How much unworthy am I of thy love!
Cast..
Oh, speak not thus, or you will shake away
My new-lodged soul from heaven. Fare you well!
You shall not look upon my face again
Till I have doffed these weeds, and put upon me
Some clean religious garb. Heaven favour you!
[Exit.
203
Do I stand here? Was this my wife was here?
Is this your hand I hold? Do we not dream?
Est.
You will become the spectacle of men
To let her leave you thus. Was this your wife?
Having so excellent a heart at home,
Why did you lure me from my father's house,
And in my young ear whisper treachery?
Eli.
I am wrapt in double shames. Do not look on me.
Est.
I am beyond expression miserable,
Having no home, no friend, no any thing;
And he that was my rock falser than water.
Eli.
Not false to thee, though false to all the world,
And false to heaven above,—not false to thee.
Thou art the very centre of my soul,
My poise of being and my breath of life;
And stript of thee, the gorgeous-mantled earth
Is but a clod;—not false to thee, my soul!
Est.
What shall I do? Why did you make me love you?
Eli.
We will be wedded; Castabel herself
Joined here our hands, and gave her sanction to it.
Est.
Oh, never, never! Shall I so wrong your wife?
O false, false Eliduke!
Eli.
Will you not wed me?
It was your eye that drew me into ruin;
It was your beauty heaped this shame upon me,
And sucked my truth away. Only for you
Did I desert my wife. And will you now
204
And make my name a proverb of contempt,
That men may say, “As vile as Eliduke,
Who left a fair wife and a noble fame
To gain a proud girl's scorn”?
Est.
I am not scornful,
Only most miserable.
Eli.
O Estreldis,
Wilt thou desert me now, that have for thee
Exchanged all other hopes in earth and heaven?
Rob me of this, I'm beggared then indeed.
Est.
We may not wed!
Eli.
Do you not love me, then?
Est.
O Eliduke!
Eli.
You do not love me, or you would not now
Put by our union. Look, our law allows it;
All circumstance points thither; your redemption
Out of Death's hand;—Castabel takes the veil;—
Do not thou turn sole bar. Evil once acted
Admits no remedy. Thy share in this
Is but an angel's, that unstained and taintless
May comfort the most guilty.
Est.
Into what sweet perdition do you drag me!
Eli.
Thee not, for thou art guiltless. Come with me,
When I'll bestow thee in some secret place
For these few days, till my wife turn a nun,
And then we'll top delight with marriage joys.
Est.
I am not easy.
205
Thou art innocent.
Me only fits a sad and changing brow;
For joy sin-mixed relishes bitter-sweet.
[Exeunt.
Scene V.
The great Hall in the Castle of Yveloc prepared for a wedding. An Altar, &c.Roland and a Friar.
Friar.
How happened it you heard not this before?
Rol.
Marvel enough I chanced to hear it now.
Some days I've been away, and well I think
Hadst thou not told me, I had scarcely heard it.
Ha, Eliduke, I read thy riddles now!
Oh, shame of manhood!
Friar.
You look angry, sir.
Rol.
Do I look angry? Man, you will not wed them?
Friar.
I must. His former wife hath taken the veil,
And by our law she is considered dead,
Which sets him free to marry whom he will.
Rol.
You will not. Think; a hand in such a deed
Would pluck the whitest angel down to hell.
Friar.
Good sir, I must not go against the law.
Rol.
God's servant thou, that sticklest for men's laws,
Which to uphold must break His own to bits?
Listen to me. I am the Lord Rolando,
206
And here I swear upon this altar-stone
These two shall never wed.
Friar.
You will not hurt me?
Rol.
Not I.
Friar.
Nor stay me in my holy office?
Rol.
Between their plighting troths I'll thrust my sword,
Even at the junction. Peace! I hear the music.
Sweet Music. Enter the Marriage Procession. Eliduke leading Estreldis; before them fair Children treading backwards and scattering flowers. They sing.
SONG.
For your welcome feet we fling
Quaintly crimsoned diap'ring;
Buds and blossoms, see, we bring,
All the infants of the Spring;
Wrapt in a scent the faint jonquil,
And wilder daintier daffodil.
Quaintly crimsoned diap'ring;
Buds and blossoms, see, we bring,
All the infants of the Spring;
Wrapt in a scent the faint jonquil,
And wilder daintier daffodil.
The harebell hanging like the bride,
The lavish lilac purple-eyed,
Laburnum lightly left aside,
And early crocus gold or pied.
Tread light to music through the room,
For treading here you crush perfume.
The lavish lilac purple-eyed,
Laburnum lightly left aside,
And early crocus gold or pied.
Tread light to music through the room,
For treading here you crush perfume.
These flowers become Death's road. Fling down your buds!
Eli.
What hoarse-tongued villain jars us with death? Play on!
207
Blancaflor and Women.
Rol.
Rot in thy scabbard, sword! Not while she's here,
I will not kill him.
Cast..
My most gracious lord,
And you fair lady,—
[She kneels.
Rol.
O you hanging heavens,
Can you see this, nor fall!
Cast..
On bended knees,
Unused to stoop so low, I ask a boon.
Eli.
Ask, Castabel. All that I have is thine.
Est.
Alas, I've nothing, save what thou hast given me,
More rich in that than all the world besides.
Cast..
If ever I was grateful to your eyes,
And in your youthful liking found some favour;
If I have served you with a true affection,
And this my yielding weighs at all with you,
Oh, grant me this:—let not, for my surrender,
My boy be wronged; let me retain his rights,
Though I forego my own. The boy is noble,
Becomes thy name,—he is thy eldest born.
Oh, let him not be ousted for another!
Eli.
He shall not, by my soul!
Est.
No son of mine
Shall ever set his foot upon his head.
208
Deal rightly by the boy, so Heaven help you!
And now, sweet lady, take this charge of me.
Into your hands I give these little ones:
Tender them dearly, and be kind to them;
They were my dearest, next to that I gave you;
I give you all, look; oh, be kind to them!
Est.
Indeed, indeed I will. I were more monstrous
Than Fancy paints, could I be harsh to these.—
I'm thy new mother; wilt thou come to me?
Boy.
You're finer than my mother. I'll go with you.
Cast..
She wins my very children's hearts away.
Girl
(nestling in her mother's breast).
Mother, I'll stay.
Cast..
What, cherub, wilt thou stay?
Alas, thou must not. Helen, take the child.
Bring her to see me at the grate sometimes,
And the proud boy. I thank you for those tears.
To heaven my steps I turn. Farewell, my lord, for ever!
[Exeunt Cast., Abb., Blanc. &c.
Rol.
Look down, O God!
Eli.
On to the altar, sweet;
We most religiously will keep our vow.
Why dost thou shake so, Friar? O love, think
This office is so solemn, it doth put
Into its minister a soul of fear.—
Ask first, for form, if there be any bar.
Friar.
Knows any here of lawful bar or stoppage
209
Rol.
Ay, that do I!
Eli.
Roland!
Rol.
Your cheeks become you.
Am I come back in time to mar your marriage?
Friar.
What fit impediment canst thou assign?
Rol.
Will you see it? It is here!
[Lifting his sword at arm's length above his head.
Stand away, Friar!
Ha, thou false shame of manhood, where thou standest!
Thou blot upon the face of honesty!
Thou blush o' the world! whitewashed iniquity!
Thou outside face of fair, rotten within!
Eli.
I knew that this must come.
Rol.
What mutterest thou?
Was it for this you won my mistress' heart,
To cast her when your appetite should change?
Was it for this that I became your friend,
That you might fit me to your purposes?
Was it for this I took your house in charge,
Unwittingly made up by your device
A pander to your Cornish paramour?
Was there none other to be made a stale
But only I? O injured Castabel,
Not for my wrongs I shake this angry sword.
Let's see this face that hath beguiled you so.
Ho, young adulteress, do you cover it?
Up with this veil! thou hast no sense of shame.
210
Hold back thy hand!
Now for this thing thou diest.
Rol.
On! come on!
I mean to kill thee; cast the sheath away.
Eli.
Follow me, then!
Rol.
Not I! I'll kill thee here,
And at this altar wed thee unto death.
[Exit Eli.
Wilt thou not stay? Nay, then, I'll come to thee.
[Exit Roland. Estreldis rushes out after them. A clash of swords is heard behind the back of the scene; then a scream from Estreldis.
Walt.
What cry is this? Fling back the folding-doors!
[The back of the stage is thrown open, and discovers Roland sword in hand, and Eliduke wounded, with Estreldis dead in his arms; he carries her forward.
Rol.
I have killed the woman! Why did she fling herself
Between our swords?
Eli.
This is no painted masque;
Now thou art dead indeed. Lie there, pale case,
Till I avenge thee; and in air above
Let thy lapsed spirit wait a little while;
Mine shall be with it straight.—You were ever generous;
[To Roland.
Bind up my wounds, that I may live to kill thee.
211
(binding his wounds).
Live, and repent.
There's blood enough been spilt.
Eli.
I will not slay thee, Roland, in revenge,
Knowing I well deserved your contumely,
For which I do forgive you; but because
You slandered this Estreldis, who is white
And chaste as is cold ice, I'll offer you
A sacrificial victim to her honour.
Rol.
Alas! you scarcely can uplift your sword.
Eli.
Into thy heart!—
[He beats down Roland's sword, and kills him.
Dead, then! Alas! Estreldis,
It was the noblest heart that ever beat.
My turn comes next. Off, clogs!
[Plucks off the bandages.
Stand back, I say!
I can strike yet. He dies that dares to help me!
The end is come; let me lie down and die.
The end is come; and I, that should have been
A torch to light men onward, must now die,—
Die with the hand of shame thus hot upon me.
Enter Blancaflor and Women.
Blanc.
D'ye keep this wedding with the clash of swords,
Startling my sister at her orisons?
What's this? Lord Roland! Who hath done this thing?
Eli.
I, Blancaflor!
212
Thou art the plague o' the world,
[She throws herself on the body of Roland.
And with thy bloody hand thou hast defaced
The image of all excellence! Might he not live
Till he had smiled a single smile upon me?—
Look up thy last! What, dead? thou soul of honour!
Eli.
I slew him. Turn, and ask who slew Estreldis,
And with a mournful voice I'll answer, I.
Who slew myself? Why, still I'll answer, I.
I am the root of ill; only from me
This spreading misery springs. Look, look upon me!
I was your man of war, your general,
Your lord, your leader. Look, how low I lie,
Not that I die, but am dropped down from virtue!
Some kind soul pray for me!—Give me more air!
How dim your lights burn! I am failing fast.—
Night gathers.—Oh, not yet!—Your hand, cold child!
[Dies, stretching towards Estreldis.
Walt.
Horror sits only here! Lift up the lady.
Blanc.
Leave me alone! Look, Helen, Margaret,
Roland is dead, the continent of valour,
And speaking tongue of truth; look where he lies!
Back to the nunnery! there I'll end my days,
Nor ever look into the world again.
Roland is dead! I'll hang for ever here!
Walt.
Roland is dead. Passionate Eliduke,
Thy mischief hath beguiled us all to death;
Upon thy soul I heap this load of ills.
213
He seemed a star, and up his eastern sky
Rose blazing, for his deeds became a man;
And in the very zenith of his fortune,
Shot by false love, stooped, and went out in ashes.
Send to the King. The wedding-day is marred.
215
VIOLENZIA.
A Tragedy.
216
- King.
- Ethel, Earl of Felborg.
- Robert, Earl of Ingelwald.
- Arthur, his brother, Earl of Ingelwald.
- Cornelius, a captain, a friend of Ethel.
- Olave, another captain.
- Haveloc, a younger brother of the King.
- Malgodin, a ruffianly old courtier.
- Violenzia, sister of Robert and Arthur, betrothed to Ethel.
- Waiting-woman.
- Twelve Judges, Captains, Courtiers, Soldiers, &c.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
[_]
Speakers' names have been abbreviated in this text. The abbreviations used for major characters are as follows:
- For Eth. read Ethel
- For Rob. or Robt. read Robert
- For Arth. read Arthur
- For Cor. read Cornelius
- For Ol. read Olave
- For Hav. read Haveloc
- For Mal. read Malgodin
- For Vio. read Violenza
217
ACT I.
Scene I.
A Garden.Enter Ethel and Violenzia.
Eth.
Sing, Violenzia.
Vio.
Hark! the still air gives voice, and sings,
And music mounts on murmuring wings;
Grave silence, throned in upper skies,
Unfolds her silken slumbering eyes;
No voice but jars the ear of silence,
Save tuned breath, which doth 't no violence.
Eth.
Thou speak'st it sweetly, Violenzia;
Only thy voice discharms not holy silence.
Vio.
Look, how the heavy-foliaged elm-trees stand,
Like clustered pictures in the western sky;
And there a fainter blue doth still betray
Where bright Apollo had his bedding-place.
High overhead the angels light their lamps,
And with rich gifts and precious influence
218
When on the glances of the upturned eye
The plumed thoughts take travel, and ascend
Through the unfathomable purple mansions,
Threading the golden fires, and ever climbing
As if 'twere homewards winging,—at such time
The native soul, distrammeled of dim earth,
Doth know herself immortal, and sits light
Upon her temporal perch.
Eth.
Wonder not at it,
Since often to our human temperaments
Things contrary inform—not semblances,
And mostly in immortal questionings;
Seeing we ourselves live in their opposite,
And sit in the circumference of death.
Violenzia!
Vio.
My Ethel?
Eth.
Turn thine eyes
From heaven, and look upon me.
Now tell me what thou seest.
Vio.
A dear face,
And image perfectly beloved.
Eth.
And I, in thee,
See such a gift as when I first possessed it
Did recreate my soul; yea, even yet
Doth make me sceptic of the heavenly shore.
For what needs Paradise by poets feigned,
Or those celestial gardens past the grave,
If here, on the condemned, slandered earth,
219
Or the touch of that white hand, or thy low voice
Whispering thou lov'st me, have such full content
As nothing more can add to't.
Vio.
Oh, if thus ever!
Ever tell me thus thou lov'st me.
Eth.
Do I not?
Vio.
Ah, no! I think thou dost repent thyself
Of the dear hour that broke thy love to me;
And I, that know myself too much unworthy
Of the royal benefaction, too mean a vestal
To feed so rich a fire unquenchably,
May weep, and blame the jealous circumstance,
That such a treasure in my path did lay,
Who am no setting for so proud a gem.
Eth.
It is my love that will not let me speak,
And passion puts a silence on my tongue.
I have no gift of speech; and when I strive
To model that which beats so deeply here,
The dull air gives no echo, but deceives
With faintest semblance. Oh, for the poet's voice!
Within whose bosom no emotion breeds,
Or deep desire doth burn, or fancy sway,
But straight the fashioning brain gives it a shape,
And carves it out in sound of measured verse.
Were I a poet, my dear love should learn
How deep I love, that lack the art to show it.
And that thou mayst not doubt me, Violenzia,
220
The air of my soul's life, thy love, here stand with me,
And underneath the solemn silent stars,
And passion deep inspiring dark of night,
Let us our mutual vows enregister.
Vio.
With all my soul!
Eth.
Reverently, Violenzia;
For here we stand to bind a chain which neither,
With honour or true happiness, may unlink.
This love which ties our souls is the true wedlock;
And the formal after-ceremony, though essential,
Unites our lives alone, is the honourable bond,
Not the religious. Search thy soul, Violenzia;
If there be any doubt there lingering
If thou affect'st me truly—as well there may be—
We will defer until it be burnt out,
Or if it grow, break off. Tell me entirely
If thou dost love me.
Vio.
If it be to love thee,
To think the enfolding arm of any god
Abhorrent beside thine; in thine eye to live,
As if I thence drank the gold life-giving water;
If it be love to waste the nights in tears,
Because I have no gift that may repay
The least taste of thy affection; if it be love,
At the whisper of thy name, wherever heard,
To feel the life-blood stopping at my heart,
To know all things a blank, dearest friends' news
Trivial, all old distractions nothing worth,
221
That severs me from thee; to feel me unworth,
Yet to believe under thy tutelage,
As I do know my utmost should not want,
Something of this light frame might yet be moulded
Worthy of Ethel's wife; if it be love,
Which hath so changed my vain, inconstant spirit,
That I beweep frailties late gloried in,
And think this beauty, lately my life's idol,
And that I did believe outstarred all nature,
But worthy as the pleasure of thine eye;—
If these be love—Alas! I speak it coldly,
Violenzia loves, and dares avow it boldly.
Eth.
Consider yet my faults.
Vio.
Thou art all virtue.
Eth.
I am not, Violenzia. Of a spirit proud,
Over-constant, lost in thought, oft melancholy,
Unused in word or gesture to betray
Affections deepest felt; therefore cold seeming,
But in my heart most true, most true indeed;
I have more wants than I have wit to tell.
Bear with them, sweet.
Vio.
Ethel! I am not proud
To say I'll bear with them—rather I'll love them,
Thinking them part of thee. But for my faults!
Nay, I lack grace to name them. I'll hide them rather,
And root them out ere I become thy wife.
Eth.
Here with this ring I hoop thy finger round.
A jewel of great value, and ancestral,
222
Lighted by thee, and by no other fuel,
Now or henceforth, ever to be sustained,
To thy dear service. For ever thine, Violenzia.
Vio.
And take thou this one, which my dying mother
Gave me to this intent. O lofty Ethel,
I kiss thy lips, and am for ever thine.
Eth.
Look, the moon rises; fair stars wink and shine,
And through the overarching branches peep
To see our ceremonial. Sweet, good night.
Vio.
Good night, dear love. Ride you to-night away?
Eth.
To-night.
Vio.
And with the early morning I;
Arthur stays for me; we shall meet at court.
But late so fair—and now, look, clouds arise,
And the wind begins to blow. We shall have rain.
I think you are not ominous. Well, good night.
Eth.
Good night; soft-handed slumber shut your eyes!
[Exit Vio.
Enter Robert.
Rob.
What, ho! holla! Ethel, thou wandering spirit,
What mak'st thou with the stars? To horse! to horse!
Boot, ere the early cock doth sound his horn,
For we must ride full twenty miles ere morn.
[Exeunt.
223
Scene II.
The Court.King, Malgodin, Ethel, Robert, Haveloc, Courtiers, &c.
King.
And now, young Ingelwald, that rid'st so fast,
What news bring you from the East?
As by your face, there should be news within,
Burning to be unbosomed.
Rob.
Gracious liege,
Upon my lips no welcome news abide,
But such as shall on your imperial eyes
Draw down your frowning brow, and bid your voice
Unlock its youthful thunder. The old Swede
Hath broken his bounds; with twice five thousand men
He treads upon the bosom of the land,
Lighting his way with villages on fire,
And driving forth the unhoused hungry swains,
Who, like starved locusts, feeding far and wide,
Eat what the tempest spares.
King.
Where lies his force?
Rob.
Now before Engelborg,
Which nobly yet doth bear his furious brunt,
But scarcely may, unless fresh succour come,
Hold out a seven-night more.
King.
So closely pressed?
Why, then, your castle stands in daily fear.
Rob.
Most imminent, sire, and since my duty here
Hath called me to your hand, fearing to leave
224
Of menials, whose zeal, faithful and proved,
Might yet lack in my absence, I have bidden her
Follow me hither.
King.
And do when expect her?
Rob.
This day, my liege.
King.
She shall be welcome hither,
As well befits the sister of her brother,
And taste a royal treatment. For the Swede,
We knew his purpose long, and but awaited
Some overt act like this to lay him bare
To a well-merited chastisement. Here, Ingelwald,
Here hast thou written the several mustered companies
Late gathered, and appointed of the best,
With all equipment needful. The command,
By death late wrested from the shaking hand
Of Otfrid, aged with honourable years,
Take thou, and succour Engelborg. The Dane
Wars with us, but I think we shall not need
His slow-advancing succour.
Rob.
Noble my lord,
You will yourself go forth?
King.
No, Ingelwald;
Me higher state cares do at home detain.
The head that from offence would ward the body
Makes not itself a weapon, but employs
The service of its members. Thus I of thee
Create a hand, whose vigorous employment
I will afar direct.
225
Your majesty
Hath seen no war. Hath royalty such arts
That it can cool the youthful rolling blood,
To sit at home when arms are in the field,
And glory on a fiery wing doth float,
The entranced spectatress of the bloody day?
Oh, let my liege once strap his armour on,
And bind his young thigh with a soldier's sword—
Once hear the clanging trumpet's troubled voice,
And loud citation of the rolling drum,
Bidding fall on—and once, after bold deeds,
Hear victory ring in his amazed ears,
And he will hold a warlike fame more worth
Than these dull cares of state. Befits a king
First to secure or ere he rule his realm.
Mal.
What, shall his majesty go out to war?
And that his precious and irreplaceable person
Submit to the perilous chance of battle-field?
For whom fight'st thou or is thy service worth
But for the King? And that for which alone
We do protect all else—his life, shall we
Stake on the first throw?
Rob.
Why, thou pest of kings,
As I can read a flatterer in thy face—
King.
Content thee, Ingelwald. We go not forth;
Our choice admits not question: use good haste;
Choose thine own officers, as thou best knowest,
Who hold the worthiest faculties.
226
Here is one,
Whom I would fain have second to myself;
So please your majesty commend my choice.
He is the Earl of Felborg, son of him
Who was your royal father's nearest friend,
Counsellor, and warrior, under whose able eye
He studied war, and stands most near to me,
As the betrothed husband of my sister.
King.
If he be like his father all throughout,
As in his grave young face I read a semblance
To that which I from early years recall,
We may hope here for such a prop of state
As kings are rich to own.—Welcome, young sir!
Ethel of Felborg,—as I nothing doubt
You hold your father's name,—second i' the army
We name you here; and as your service holds,
You shall well find that no ungrateful eye
Looks on your works.
Eth.
I humbly thank my liege,
And my best efforts shall not want to show me
Worthy your high conception.
King.
The third place
Your brother Arthur holds; rode he not with you?
Rob.
He waits upon my sister.
King.
Well, move on.
And, gentlemen, to-morrow set you forth.
This evening high festivity let reign
In all our bosoms. We invite you all
To grace our entertainment. Noble Ethel,
227
[Exeunt King, Malgodin, and Train.
Manent Ethel, Robert, and Haveloc.
Rob.
Felborg, know this gentleman,
The brother of our King, and I dare warrant him
As honourable as high-born, and add—may I not, sir?—
Willing to love you.
Hav.
It is extremely true.
Did I not fear to seem too confident,
And over-estimate my worthiness,
I would make bold to sue you for your friendship.
Eth.
You do me, sir, much honour.
Hav.
May I ride with you,
And learn some soldiership under your flag?
You are young, and yet well practised. I so raw,
I fear I shall disgrace your company.
Rob.
You can ride, and use your weapon.
Hav.
That's but little;
But I can be obedient and diligent,
If the Lord Felborg will accept the services
Of such a volunteer.
Eth.
Sir, very willingly.
I'll keep a place for you. Good day, my lord.—
Robert, will you go with me?
Rob.
Ay; I'll follow you.
[Exit Ethel.
Hav.
That's somewhat cold, I think.
Rob.
Who? Ethel cold!
228
He'll love you like a brother.
Hav.
Would I were worthier;
I could love him strangely. Farewell till to-night, then.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
A Hall in the Palace.Violenzia and Ethel, Robert, Arthur, Haveloc, Ladies, Courtiers, &c. dancing.
King and Malgodin.
Mal.
Your blood beats high, my liege.
King.
By heaven, Malgodin!
These eyes did never feast on beauty yet;
With what poor meats my passion hitherto
Hath cooled its appetite!
Mal.
Red and white, red and white; what a fair thing is innocence! Pity it should be spoiled in the using. Very pretty painted crockery, but hot water will crack it.
King.
Blasted be the face
On which she looks with such transported eye!
Ethel of Felborg, we must teach those glances
To wander and set elsewhere. Ay, squeeze hands!
Mal.
A very good arm to fold in a king.
King.
Of a chaste and noble keeping: what, Malgodin?
Mal.
Very light! very light! Such a weathercock
229
King.
O sudden passionate blood, burst not my veins
With the anticipation of delight!
To-morrow Felborg goes,—foul shade that hides
The lamp of joy from my dear longing eyes.
To-morrow! oh, too long it lies behind;
Even now I'll speak, and teach her now my mind.
Mal.
Better wait yet; an over-open courtship
May bring some danger.
King.
Danger! from whence?—to whom?
To her?—to them?
Mal.
To you, to you, I fear it.
King.
Away, you fool! I only fear delay.
[The King accosts Violenzia; they come forward conversing.
Vio.
Your majesty doth mock me with fair words.
King.
Why, then, truth mocks; those lie not that do say
The sun outshines dim stars' nocturnal ray;
Those overpraise not heaven that name it blue;
To call a rose sweet, is no more than due.
Thy smile doth pale the sun, heaven's blue thine eyes,
And roses faint before thy breathed sighs;
To wrap all praise in cincture of choice sounds,
And heap it on thee, were to keep due bounds.
Vio.
Yonder stands one, in whose eyes showing fair,
230
King.
Oh, enviable!
Why, then, I see a king's state is but trouble,
And those on whom, from my high-bolstered state,
I pityingly looked down, may win more grace.
Is 't possible thou shouldst down-glance so low?
Fair women's eyes seem fairest looking up.
Vio.
Down to the Earl of Felborg! I to Ethel!
King.
Talk not of dust. A king bows to thine eyes.
Vio.
And would bewitch me with false flatteries.
Why should your majesty waste grace with me?
Many sit here more fair than I can be.
King.
O blasphemy! The young moon shows not fairer
Among the stars that coldly do ensphere her.
Vio.
Many more witty—
King.
Chattering apes beside thee.
Hark, in thine ear—
Vio.
Nay, I shall blush to hear it.
[Exeunt.
Robert, Ethel, and Arthur.
Rob.
What! do you mark it too? for in your eye
I read but small contentment.
Eth.
I do mark it;
And am very sorry she should seem so vain,
And easily taken with false flattery.
Yet youth may plead her pardon; nor do I think
She spoke him much encouragement.
Rob.
Spoke, man!
231
Delight to have a royal pursuivant;
Her smiles did sun the growth of his advances;
Her every gesture cast itself about
To be admired and bent to. Fie upon her!
Eth.
She knows not how this king affects her sex.
Rob.
Affects! why that old dragon famed of old,
Who, issuing from his briny wave-roofed house,
Devoured each day the unfiled rock-bound virgin,
Was not so vast a ravisher of maidenhood,
Nor owned such an insatiable maw,
As this voluptuous youngling.
Enter King and Violenzia conversing.
Arth.
Whispering!
[He crosses and drops his sword in their path.
King.
Who's that?
Vio.
My brother Arthur.
King.
Ho, young lord!
What means this careless mischief in our path?
Arth.
Pardon, my liege; but this young maid, I fear,
Will need a sword to keep her feet from tripping.
King.
Beware, young insolent! she stands not subject
To thee or to thy sword. In my protection
Alone henceforth she lives. Look to it well,
And meddle in it as you love your head.
[Exeunt King and Violenzia.
232
Good brother Robert, did you mark his words?
Rob.
Either I'll tame her young and mutinous spirit,
Or she shall ride back home. Better endure
An honest death than stain her father's name.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV.
Violenzia's Chamber.Violenzia alone.
Vio.
How much unworthy of my noble love
Have I this evening cast myself away,
And been the prey of idle vanity!
I have sucked the poison of sweet flattery,
And may digest the venom. Oh, sad weakness,
That only doth repent, and not prevent—
[Knocking.
Who beats at the door? who knocks so loudly there?
Rob.
(outside.)
Open, I say!
[Beating the door.
Vio.
Who is it knocks?
Rob.
(outside.)
Violenzia!
I'll break your bolts else!
Vio.
'Tis my brother's voice!
She opens. Enter Robert and Arthur.
Rob.
What, must we wait the whole night at your door,
Like dogs that howl at the gate?
233
Alas, good brother,
I knew not it was you.
Rob.
You knew not—you!
Say, rather, some more favoured visitor
Was in your mind. We mar your purposes.
Teach, teach your cheeks some shame!
Vio.
Good brother Robert!
Rob.
Good sister Violenzia! good disgrace!
Young shame-breeder to our unspotted house!
Well, now, what would you with me?
Vio.
What means this?
Come, you forget yourself. Go elsewhere, sir,
To spend your drunken humours; I'll not bear them.
Rob.
Perfect in impudence! Beware! beware!
Arth.
You are too hasty, Robert. Let me speak.
Vio.
Speak soberly, I pray you.
Arth.
Hark, Violenzia.
You have this night given us much cause of fear,
By your light toying with the luxurious king;
The danger you perhaps know not. Tell us this—
Are you prepared to sacrifice that name,
Your only honour, of an unstained maid,
To his gross desires?
Vio.
Alas! what have I done?
Rob.
What done! Thou hast looked babies in his eyes,
Tasted his kisses, made him confident,
What's true may be, you want but opportunity
To meet him half-way.
234
I have done none of this.
Rob.
Thou liest, fair infamy! and I begin to hate
That I must call a thing so stuffed with ill
By the name of sister.
Vio.
Brother! too harsh, too harsh.
Rob.
Well, look to it! If from your folly here
There spring the shadow of disgrace to us,
And you do blot that name long shining fair,
Like mountain-top untouched by cloud of shame,
By all that is most sacred in high heaven,
Or terrible in the dark world below,
Your blood shall spill to mend it. Look! I draw;
Draw, Arthur! draw your sword, and swear with me,
If this rash frivolous girl
Should with her baseness mock her father's bones,
She shall not long survive it.
Arth.
Kneeling, I swear it.
Vio.
Stay, brothers! let me speak.
That I have been weak and vain I do confess it;
And did forget that sober staid demeanour
Befits your sister. What more I have done,
Alas! I know not; but by your fierce looks
And menacing swords it should be something worse
Than yet I ever dreamt of: being brothers,
You rather should have warned me of my danger
Than threatened me with death. You do me wrong
Thus coarsely to upbraid me, and I scorn you,
When you dare hint I hold your honour light,
Knowing it false. These are sharp instruments
235
As yet I scarce do know wherein it lies,
Humbly I ask forgiveness, and will strive
Hence to demean me worthy your approval.
Rob.
So do, and you'll do well.—Farewell, Violenzia:
Think of our words, and think we'll keep our vows. Enter Ethel as they go out.
Good night, good Ethel, in and speak with her.
[Exeunt Rob. and Arth..
Vio.
Come, noble Ethel, my soul's comforter.
In thee I find no angry proud reproach,
But a more moving sorrow. Nay, I'll kneel;
Let me upon my knees entreat thy pardon.
Have I made sad that dear esteemed face,
And grieved that heart, my home of confidence?
As if the earth should frown upon the sun,
That spreads her front with greenness. O poor Ethel!
If thus thine own beloved dare bruise thy life,
What injury shall thy foes inflict on thee?
Their worst of malice shall seem innocent
With thy home griefs compared. The curse of women!
That they love power more than they love their love,
And break true hearts to minister display.
Ah, be not harsh, so lovers should not be;
But let my white hand smooth thy cloudy brow,
And my soliciting kisses intervene
Between the solemn junction of thy lips:
236
Eth.
Easily I forgive thee, Violenzia.
But, oh, be tender with me; sway me not
Too far!
Lest I perceive, thy yoke being absolute,
I needs must break it utterly to be free.
I love thee dangerously.
Vio.
If I ever,
In spite of this ill-timed frivolity,
Nourished a thought faithless to my betrothed,
May thy fond love turn to devouring flame
And eat my heart to ashes!
Eth.
I believe it,
Nor think it strange the flatteries of a king
Should scatter so young a spirit. That base thoughts
Live in this temple is not possible.
But thou, unbred in courts, know'st not the danger
Lurks in the smiles of kings. They wither maidenhood,
Faster than gathered roses doth the sun;
Who first draws out their most delicious essence,
But having kissed the secrets of their bosom,
And dried the dew of their virginity,
Puts on a strange face of consuming pride,
And wrinkles them for ever. Now, even now,
Such light encouragement needs royalty,
He in his secret soul believes thee won
To grant his shameful askings.
Vio.
He shall find
237
Eth.
Alas! thou know'st not
What infinite perils set thee. What devices,
What shapes of virtue, and masked semblances,
Shall with the basest inwards lead thee on
To unimagined ruin! Subtler genius
Than ever worked for good shall with foul evil
Tangle thy soul, if thou shouldst show like virtue.
Vio.
It is my punishment. There is no flight—
Nor do I much desire it. Ethel, I know
Thou dar'st leave me unwatched. Tremble not for me.
Save this night's folly somewhat weighs upon me,
And teaches me a strange humility,
I well could scorn the utmost zeal of vice.
Eth.
I trust thee, Violenzia; and believe
From thy unsoiled chastity these assaults,
Like breath from glass, shall fade and leave it stainless.
Vio.
How dared they dream I could be false to thee?
I'll tell my brothers their sharp swords want wit,
While this heart beats and I can hang on it.
Eth.
O Violenzia!
Thy love to me is as the fire to the lamp,
Which wanting it, is valueless and cold.
That which we have, we oft want art to praise,
Until we think to lose it. Thou, kind Heaven,
Rob me of all the graces of this life—
Nay, the necessities; cut off from me
All shoots of sweet affection; let all blood
Kindred to mine be stopped by baneful death,
238
Fade in the grasping. But this one best jewel,
Against which I have staked all earthly bliss,
Let me not lose. Oh, when our joy's at height,
The swift hours rolling bring revengeful night.
Vio.
Touch lips at parting.
Eth.
Fare thee well, sweet heart.
If any danger threaten, send for me,
And wait not till it's imminent.
[Exit.
Vio.
Soul of gentleness
And truest equanimity, fare thee well.
If I should wrong thee in my lightest thought,
The devils would cry shame on't.
[Knocking.
Dost thou return?
Opens. Enter Malgodin.
Vio.
Who's here? My brothers, if you seek them, sir, left me some half-hour since.
Mal.
What, chamber-visiting? chamber-visiting? Hath your ladyship three brothers, or more brothers? I doubt very many brothers. Two I left in the hall filling wine-cups, and a third came out of this door, and ran over me in the corridor. Oh, mere leavings, mere leavings.
Vio.
What, there! attendance! Sir, I know in me
No hint of such behaviour as should give you
The right to intrude here. Leave me, I say!
What your words aim I know not; but, by your mien,
They are not less than insolent. Those are at hand
239
For a breath of wrong to me. Pray you, begone!
Mal.
A very round arm. “Pray you, begone!”
Where learned you this action?
Vio.
Will you not go? Nay, then, I'll bring those to you
Shall shake your trembling life out.
Mal.
Nay, you pass not.
Vio.
By heaven, I'll pass! tottering deformity!
[She thrusts him aside.
Mal.
I beseech you! I beseech you! I come from the King.
Vio.
From the King?
Mal.
Why, you did not think I came in my own behalf? Old—old! the days have been, have been—
Vio.
What says the King?
Mal.
A young king to a fair woman. He loves you, and beseeches you to grant him an audience.
Vio.
When? where?
Mal.
Here—now. Oh, I entreat you, use not these old tricks of shyness with him. He is a king, and young.
Vio.
Who and what am I,—rather, what have I done,
That should deserve this thing?
Mal.
Ah, good now, what d'ye stick at? I'll not see you, nor hear his coming. His majesty waits upon you.
Vio.
Why, this is what they told me. Hark you, sir!
240
Yet else thou dar'st not. But if the King did send you,
Go back. Tell him, he shames his majesty
To use so base a messenger; and that his breath
Is tainted in the passage. Tell him, he shames
My maidenhood. I am not of that sort
He loves in this new fashion. Go! no more words.
Mal.
Maidenhood! I'll tell him what you bid me, be sure of it. Those of your kind are proud. I have known many such. Well, well! I shall know it, though you manage it never so secretly; and I'll remember you scorned at me.
Vio.
Get you gone, aged corruption!
[Shuts the door on him.
Is't possible he should esteem me thus?
What fire is this that burns my proud cheeks up?
Did I appear like this? Not so much ceremony
As to affect to woo me! What, to me,
Whose veins do swell with a renowned blood,
The daughter of an earl!—what's more, a maid—
To-night! I'll call my brothers, let them know
What rate their master holds them. They would avenge it
Even with a king's blood—therefore I'll not tell them.
But, oh, beware, thou regal masked baseness!
Two noble hounds I hold but in the leash,
Which at a word will seize thee by the throat.
Ethel, less fiery—no less valiant,
And would with his determined sword hold back
241
I'll call no help. There is no danger nigh
Worthy to fright my spirit. Come, thou proud King;
Try all thy arts: my deep-inspired love
Like a bright shield I'll hang before my heart,
And scorn thy leaden arrows. Come, thou King!
ACT II.
Scene I.
A Hill by the Camp, near Engelborg. Break of day.Enter Ethel and Cornelius.
Cor.
Why are you so long silent?
Eth.
Stillness of morning,
And the ineffable serenity
And peace of young creation, bind my lips.
Oh, who would mar the season with dull speech,
That must tie up our visionary meanings
And subtle individual apprehensions
Into the common tongue of every man,
And of the swift and scarce-detected visitants
Of our illusive thoughts seek to make prisoners,
And only grasp their garments! Well, let's talk.
Cor.
Indeed, no language can express the hour.
Eth.
It is the very time of contemplation,
More rich for being instinct with coming life.
Short breathing-space between oblivion's sleep
242
Unmarried yet to action, nor made mother
Of all that brood of intricate consequents,
Quick progeny of her ephemeral womb,
That twining with their brothers of past birth,
Weave the vast web of circumstance. Oh, think of it!
We are creative gods, and whether we will or no,
Upon the present moment we beget
Shapes of the future time. Most awful present!
That swifter than the winged lightning flies,
And more irrevocable; subtly charged
With some small influence, some diminution,
Or fine accession to our immortal character,
Making a difference that shall never die
In what we might have been. Have you heard of it?
To-day we try our edges on the Swede,
For the relief of Engelborg.
Cor.
The rumour
Got wind last night. Many a young starting blood,
That never yet saw itself sluiced in battle,
Beats thick with expectation, and awaits
The trumpet's summons.
Eth.
'Twill not be till noon.
O peaceful morning-tide, with what rude deeds
Will they deface thy evening! Is it not heavenly?
The air is cool and still; soft dawn shoots up
Into the fleecy heaven, that, like a mother
Uncovering her rosy naked babe,
Looks down upon the tender new-born day.
243
Cor.
True, it is piteous,
And best not thought of.
Eth.
Piteous it is indeed,
And yet not best not thought of, so is nothing.
We dare not faint at woe and violence,
When we are sure our cause is with the right.
And gaping wounds, and the red skeleton death,
Painted in blood of many slaughtered men,
Though they may stir our gorge more, are in themselves,
And should be to our spirits, less abhorrent
Than living men, walking like sepulchres
Of their dead spiritual lives.
Cor.
I have seen such men.
Eth.
So sick, I have seen many, and some dead.
He is noble that can hang a shield of patience
Between himself and injuries, but most base
That sees injustices unremedied.
Cor.
That did you never.
Eth.
No, nor you, Cornelius,
Nor any man who doth believe in heaven,
But when he sees a wrong must war with it—
By sufferance, if sufferance best abates it,
But only then. And always in his spirit
Eager antagonism, not passive spirits,
Oppose the dangerous devil's mastery;
But sworded and aggressive warriors,
Who with swift charge beat down his mustered ranks,
And all day long maintain the weary war,
244
Cor.
Warriors of God; servants of God;—great titles.
Eth.
Oh, that we might be worthy to be such!
Our youth is like this morning, and we stand
Between the night of our unconscious childhood
And the world's monstrous battle, whose loud roar
Grows in our ears. Well, when we mix in it,
God keep us in his hand!
Cor.
Look, the great sun
Streaks all the orient.
[The sun rises.
Eth.
Glorious apparition!
Enter Haveloc.
Hav.
May I speak with you? You keep early hours.
Eth.
We love to breathe the morning; now you have joined us,
Is't not worth while?
Hav.
My brother writes to me
I must come back. That's a strange notion, surely!
Eth.
My lord, I dare not question it.
Hav.
But tell me,
Is't true we fight to-day?
Eth.
So it is commanded.
Hav.
Well, thus much my brief service will have gained me,
To have seen a battle. Will the General use me
To bear the news home?
Cor.
Pardon me, my lord,
245
Hav.
Why, then, I'll ride with you.
I am loth to leave you. Some of you soldiers learn
Too hardened and mechanical a spirit,
Prompt and unscrupulous in your obedience,
And too familiar with the change of death;
Yet in your tents here many virtues spring
The court and city know not; and some baseness,
Which there is drawn familiar as the air,
Shows here still strange and shameful. In your hearts
Self is less ingrained, if sometimes more violent.
Can I serve you in the court?
Eth.
Indeed you may,
And in a service where your least exertion
Shall buy my dearest gratitude.
Hav.
Pray, let me.
Eth.
There is a lady—
Hav.
The fair Countess Ingelwald.
I'll tell her you are well, and living here.
You write your heart to twenty different ladies.
Eth.
Play me no tricks; but in good earnest, sir,
If you will keep an eye upon her state,
And warn me if she is not well at ease,
You'll bind me very closely.
Hav.
I will serve her
In any way I can without obtrusion.
I know your drift, knowing my brother's temper.
Eth.
I have a private task for you, Cornelius.
Come to my tent.—Nay, go with us, my lord.
[Exeunt.
246
Scene II.
A Room in the Palace.Enter King, Malgodin, and Page.
King.
Did you see her, boy?
Page.
Not without labour, sire.
King.
I say—did you see her?
Page.
I did, sire.
King.
And left those jewels with her?
Page.
No, sire.
King.
How then? how then?
If with the saucy visage of a boy,And tongue of forwardness, thou didst accost her,
Break the least point of ceremonious bearing
And deepest reverence, knave, I'll set thee up,
A speaking warning to thy fellows. Now!
Page.
Upon my knee, I lowly did accost her,
And in the very shape of true respect
Offered your salutations. She to that
Made answer shortly,—she did humbly thank you,
And would have gone; whereon, with earnest voice,
And in my best of moving eloquence,
I broached your lingering passion, telling her
The royalty of Love had set you down,
And made of one that lately was a king
A trembling subject to a higher power;
Love had discrowned you, Love had broke your rod,
And put you at the bottom of his thralls,
Feeding you only on unfilled desires,
And broken rations of your bursting sighs,
247
And steeping them in rain of bitter tears.
King.
You were too cold. You should yourself have wept.
Page.
Why, so I did; more, and much more, I told her,
All of like import; and at every pause
Watered her feet with soft beseeching tears.
King.
When you had made an end, what said she then?
Page.
Sire, with a quiet scorn she answered me,
I was a good ambassador of love,
And bade me lie as well in mine own cause.
I asked an answer for your majesty;
She said, the King hath heard mine answer oft;
Tell him again, I am a maid betrothed,
And that he wastes his idle feigned cares.
Then of your costly gift I made presentment;
At which she not deigned look. I told her then,
King's givings were commands to take. She proudly—
They best obeyed such ill commands that broke them.
And when I would have left the casket there,
She from her window passionately flung it,
To lie in the open street.
Mal.
What! have you brought it?
You should have left it lying. She but waited
Until your back was turned to lift it.
King.
Go, boy,
[Exit Page.
This is the wildest hawk that ever yet
248
Like wind to the fire, blows in me so much heat,
As I will rather lose my herited crown
Than not enjoy those charms. I would gladly welcome
Conquest of half my realm, so I could win by't
The death of her beloved.
Mal.
What if he died
Some other way?
King.
There's murder in thy look.
We're not so base yet. Hoary iniquity,
Show me some easier way.
Mal.
I have already
Whispered abroad, and will yet more completely,
She is your yielded mistress. This being confirmed
On every side, and buzzed about her ears,
Shown in all acts—as you must make the life
Of all your court strictly conform to it—
She thus shall find her valued chasteness leaves her
(If she be a woman) more loved reputation
Not guarded from the stain; and, more than this,
The thought, which now being strange is doubly abhorred,
Shall sound familiar. That vice we think possible
Already's more than probable, when we stand
In junctures that fit with it. Add to this,
The news shall reach her lover, as I'll manage it.
May be he'll break with her, or, at the least,
Even if he disbelieve, show some such anger
As, being unjust, shall rouse a spirit in her,
249
King.
Subtly contrived, Malgodin. So we'll manage it.
Mal.
And if this fail, there's one way left.
King.
What's that?
Mal.
There's time enough to speak when the time comes.
Something it tastes of hell. You say you'll have her?
King.
Though I should write my soul away, I'll have her.
Mal.
Why, then, you'll have her. Men's souls stick in their way
More than most other things.
King.
I'll visit her now.
This hour, they tell me, she oft walks i' the garden.
[Exit.
Mal.
O my white lady! Good Madam Maidenhood,
We'll see you smutched yet; never doubt it.
Enter Cornelius.
Cor.
Sir, I seek the King: hath he gone hence?
Mal.
The young Cornelius, or I have forgotten
Features worth memory.
Cor.
He, sir; and a soldier.
Mal.
Charged with great news, I warrant, for the King:
The King is in the garden with the Queen.
Cor.
The Queen!
250
For the time being. Pooh! the lady-bird.
Cor.
I take you, sir, and rather than disturb him
Will do my other errand. Can you tell me
Where lodges the high-born Violenzia,
Betrothed of the noble Earl of Felborg?
Mal.
Why,
That's she.
Cor.
That's what?
Mal.
Tush! You are Felborg's friend.
And yet what matter? 'Tis a public thing;
And, as I think, you soldiers least of all men
Hang weight on women's fancies—she's this gardenweed.
Cor.
You speak it lightly!
Mal.
Ay, between ourselves.
Before the King she rules our eyes, our voices—
Is the only fair and honest, and commands
Our sanctimonious reverence. I have seen
Many such toys: soon our great baby breaks them,
And buys himself another—she's fresh yet.
Cor.
Ethel! when thou hear'st this, thy heart will crack.
Mal.
Oh no, sir.
Cor.
How he loved her! Can no love, then,
Buy truth in the hearts of women? Trust them never!
Mal.
It is the old and universal rule;
Yet every woman is her own exception
To some one man that trusts her.
Let it not move you thus.
251
Oh, how he loved her!
Mal.
The sooner he'll forget her.
Cor.
Hapless he
That in the bosom of a faithless woman
Lays up his all of joy; hangs on one string,
That rotten, all his gems of rich affection.
O ruined gamester, on how poor a chance
Didst thou set all thy heart. Forget her? never!
Mal.
You have some news for the King. I have the entry
To the private garden, and will adventure take you.
Cor.
I have a letter for her; I'll go with you;
It is from him. I'll mark her as she reads it,
As I have seen what's penned; if any shame
Inhabit yet her bosom, her hot blushes
Will burn the spendthrift beauty in her cheeks,
Ay, utterly consume her.
Mal.
Come with me.
Yet first we'll search her lodging; it may be
She is not still with the King. How moves the war?
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
A Garden.Enter King and Violenzia.
Vio.
Why do you love me?
King.
For thy beauty, sweet.
Vio.
O fatal beauty, which, like bloom on the fruit,
252
And for that cause would kill me.
King.
I! O heaven!
Vio.
Call it not love, for therein you blaspheme;
Like men that, from their own polluted thoughts,
Build up their worshipped deities. Love loves not
Self, but in the answering breast of the beloved
It consecrates a temple to its joy,
And therein ministering it finds true peace,
Though all be lost at home. Yours is not love,
But base self-liking, apeing love's fair guise.
Me you love not, but love yourself in me,
To use me for your passion and my shame.
King.
The folly of proud women! that love chastity,
That love their loss, or love to seem to do.
Some act, none think it. Seeming-sainted Dian
Best knew what coldness means. In heaven she showed
A virgin face; but stooping to green earth,
Couched often on the starlit Latmian hill,
Sucking the warm breath of Endymion.
The base boy blabbed—from me no breath shall move;
Trust me, I'll be as secret as the grave.
Vio.
You speak of that you cannot comprehend,
As you have never known it, and confound
Things different—chastity and reputation.
My silver reputation that should be,
You, that profess a secrecy after shame,
Have dared beforehand tarnish. Shame on liars!
King.
Ha!
253
You are not angry. Why, I do but say
You have broken truth's law—do you no such wrong
As you do me, when, with an artful tongue,
You would persuade me, being innocent,
To break the law of sacred chastity,
Which is the fostering air of the unstained soul;
And they that with foul thoughts dare cloud it over
Shut out the light and intercourse of heaven.
Nay, beyond this you wrong me—you would have me
Break my sworn faith. What boots it you to swear
With these thick vows you love me, when the same breath
Persuades to perjury? Who shall believe you?
More; I must offer up a love that beats
In my heart's centre, and a man that loves me
As truly as you do falsely, sacrifice
To the depths of shame and grief—that rich affection
Given to my keeping pour on the wasteful ground.
You ask me for my virgin innocence,
You ask me for my heaven-registered oath,
My deep-implanted love, my all of virtue.
What give you in return? Have you no voice?
And yet you call it love! You call it love!
Great Heaven, upon what ill-deserving heads
Hang'st thou thy crowns!
King.
Hark, thou detested girl!
No more I'll say I love thee; something I'll do
Shall make thee fear me.
Vio.
Nothing canst thou do.
254
If I in thought had fallen from my truth,
And swayed my inclination but one jot
To the alluring pictures of thy vice,
Then mightst thou speak of fear, then might I tremble;
But now I stand in the angels' circling arms,
Whither thy power not stretches, and thence tell thee,
Pompous in youthful beauty, and set up
With regal ornament and absolute power,
All that high fortune heaps on her beloved,
Yet-wanting one thing—virtue, that I scorn thee,
And think thee, when compared to my beloved,
Not worth to touch his hand. What! can love's brow
Hang in so fierce a cloud? Did you not say—
Or have you now forgot that you did say?—
You loved me or you hated? I forget which;
For I was thinking of my own beloved.
King.
Think of him dead; there feed your wandering love-thoughts.
Vio.
Touch not his life—touch not his life, O King!
For never walked so fiery eager a spirit
Of keen revenge as such a deed shall waken.
King.
Darest thou threaten?
Vio.
Oh, no! I dare not threaten;
For in the hollow of a kingly hand
Death makes his home. And what boots dull revenge?
What shall restore the irreparable life?
Be nobler than thy words. Upon my knees
I bend and supplicate. I was too proud;
255
That dared affront the eye of majesty,
And drown in tears the bold rebellious voice.
Have mercy! ah! have mercy! thou shouldst be
The life-giver; and that thy awful sceptre is not swayed
To guide the assassin's knife, though so to do,
Alas! it lacks not might. They that do murder
Never sleep more, never more taste of peace,
Quaff poison in their drink, see knives in the dark,
And ever at their elbow horror walks,
Shaking them like a palsy. Give me some sign
Of soft relenting grace, undo that frown;
I'll no more love him, no more look upon him,
If my love breed his death. Be merciful!
King.
Stand up. I spake in jest; I will not hurt him;
Nay, you must love me, then.
Vio.
Oh, never! never!
Only He that did create me can new-mould me,
And make this love not part: I cannot change
My mortal fashioning, and cast afresh
These eyes, these lips, this frame; I cannot barter
My hand with yours, and am as impotent
To bend the loving fixture of my soul
Upon another object.
King.
Neither can I, then,
Quench the hot flame that rages here.
Vio.
You may.
Call but your power about you. Budding affection,
256
That will whereon the conscience lays strong hand
Lacks not the force to vanquish; but where conscience
Smiles with clear front on long-fed pure affection,
Where the deep heart's, the eye's, the brain's emotions
Knit up two souls in a fair threefold knot,
You may destroy the lives round which they twine,
But no way else unlace them.
King.
Pish! you talk.
Come, I'll speak coldly with you, and what I say,
Look you consider it; for though the earth
Broke from its centre, never shall my act
Fall from its fixed intent. I will enjoy thee—
Fling not away—despite thy chastity,
Thy vowed love, and thy virtue. If by consent,
The better for thee, and the more concealment;
If not, there is no sin in hell's wide book
Shall stay me, and no blackening taint of shame
I will not smear my life with.
Vio.
Oh, the heavens!
How basely men dare write themselves; would you
Might hear another speak as you do now,
You would condemn him for the most debased
That ever yet left blushing.
King.
Who breaks in there?—
Look you, I'll keep my purpose.
Enter Malgodin and Cornelius.
Mal.
Sire, this gentleman
257
Victory hath blown upon your royal flag;
Engelborg is relieved, and the vexed Swede
Wheels his now fresh-recruited troops, and means
In a new battle to retrieve his loss.
Vio.
Cornelius! most of all men welcome!
Cor.
Say you?
Vio.
What says he? Quick, Cornelius!
Cor.
Here's his letter.
[Giving a Letter to Viol.
Vio.
Secretly, good Cornelius.
Cor.
Oh, ay! secretly.
Will you not read it?
[As Cornelius is giving letters to the King, Violenzia, putting the letter in her bosom, drops it, unperceived to herself, on the ground. Malgodin picks it up.
King.
These are all your letters?
Mal.
Covertly, covertly; aid me now, good devil.
[Exit, with Letter.
King.
Well, I'll go in and read them.—Follow me.
[Exit King, Cornelius following.
Vio.
Cornelius! hist! a moment, kind Cornelius.
Cor.
What would you with me?
Vio.
News!
Cor.
What news, and whence?
Vio.
O dull! you waste the moments. What says Ethel?
How looks he? lives he? doth he still remember
The girl he left? I dare be sworn he doth,
258
Cor.
Is she mad?
Or thinks me ignorant, or is so base—
Nay, that's not credible—as to think to make him
The cover of her shame?
Vio.
Cornelius, speak, I pray you.
Why do you mutter, and not answer me?
Cor.
I must to the King.
Vio.
Old friend! come, speak to me.
Cor.
Look in my eyes. So steadfast! May hot hell
Be peopled but with women!
[Exit.
Vio.
Stop, Cornelius!
[Exit after him, and returns.
Alas! he's gone. Dear Ethel, where's thy letter?
There's comfort there, at least. Where is't—where is't?
Not here! What, dropt! O carelessness! O heaven!
What was't Cornelius meant? On the ground? let's see;
'Twas here I took it, but where lost it? Oh,
I had rather lost my dowry; and Cornelius
Will tell me nothing. Folly, folly, folly;
If it had been a pin to stick i' the hair,
I could not have more carelessly bestowed it.
I'll seek without upon my steps. False bosom!
The heart within thee's truer.
[Exit.
259
Scene IV.
A Room in the Palace.Malgodin alone.
Mal.
(writing.)
A crafty device! I think there is
no sport in the world can equal the undoing of a woman.
What? Good virtue, have I no art? Can I
not reach thee? 'Tis rare to undermine these flimsy
palaces of purity. There, peevishness, wilt thou scorn
me again? Is't not like? Knowest thou the hand?
Canst thou smell a forgery? Here is some gall to mix
with the milk of your tenderness. Oh, to hear her cry,
Did Ethel write this? and see her weep waterfalls, and
then, in a passion, tear it to pieces, and never doubt it
the while! Ho! ho! But I must not show in it.—
Boy!—Softly, let me burn the original. So, so. Here's
a trap for a mouse! Bite, Chastity, bite! Bite, Faith!
—Boy!
Enter Page.
Take this to the Lady Violenzia. Say you found it
in the garden, blown away by the wind—swear it, if
need be. Dost thou mark me? It is the King's work.
Do it dexterously.
[Exit Page.
Enter King.
King.
Well, Malgodin?
Mal.
Will't please your majesty walk; I've news for you;
I have given her working medicine.
[Exeunt.
260
Scene V.
Violenzia's Room in the Palace.Enter Violenzia and a Page.
Vio.
(reading a Letter.)
“How dearly I loved you,
you best know. How falsely you have forgotten me,
none knows better than I.”—Give me my handkerchief,
boy.—Let's see, let's see; my eyes are dim; let's read
it clearly. Sorrowfully I should perceive my last hope
broken. “Is it possible thou shouldst prefer to be
the mistress of a king rather than the wife of thy betrothed
lover?” Impossible, Ethel. “What dost thou
think of me?” As of one sadly deceived. “Do I write
in grief? No, but in anger.” Patiently. “To be vile,
Violenzia. Shame! shame! shame!”—Where got you
this, boy?
Page.
I found it in the garden.
Vio.
“To be vile, Violenzia.” Was that well writ?
Page.
Blown by the wind, half hid among the leaves.
Vio.
Quickly I'll undeceive him. Nay, not so, perhaps;
He writes in certainty. Men before now,
Ay and the noblest, have been so embraced
By false suspicion, that no clearest proof
Could once unwind her charms. What did they then?
Some did wipe out that blotted life they thought it,
Which yet they loved. Oh, to behold those eyes
Knit in a frown of death; that flattering hand
Sworded against my bosom; to kneel, to weep,
Beseeching mercy from that loving breast;
261
Only to speak the truth—the truth, O Ethel!
I feel thy sharp sword's pang!—Ay, rain, sad tears,
Wash out the writing from so harsh a scroll,
Or rather turn your course and flood my brain,
Drown memory in your torrent, and dissolve
The apprehension of too great a grief.
I am not shamed. Shame, shame! a thousand times
On one that thus lacks faith: where's now that trust
That shows the generous spirit? On what light proof
Hast thou condemned me! Fie on false suspicion!
Have I for this stood proof against a King,
Scorned all delights, lived like a weeping nun,
Shook off the gauds of flattery, gone without
The common entertainments of my years,
That my behaviour might betray no crevice
Through which a doubt might peep? Have I done this?
And now, when I am set about with wiles,
And first begin to tremble, and not see
Means of escape, dost thou desert me too?
These men, these men! Look, if the boy not weeps.—
What, boy, so young, hast thou too loved?
Page.
Even I too.
Vio.
And she you loved proved false?
Page.
I weep to think it.
Vio.
I knew the boy would say so! On my life,
She was as clear as crystal, and false doubt
Mudded your heart's sworn truth.—Would I have doubted?
262
King.
What! so loud, Violenzia?
In tears too! What thus moves you?
Vio.
Pray you go, sire.
I am not what I should be—Oh, most desolate,
And wronged that ever stepped yet! Read, read here!
This is your handiwork. I know it, I.
Give it me again; I will not have you see it.
King.
Softly, Violenzia. Why, he blames you here
That you are false. Is this your truth's reward?
Vio.
He nowhere says I'm false; show me the word.
Wilt thou exchange me for a King? he says.
Be sure I will not. If he did say so,
Who was it sowed these mushrooms in a heart
Worthy beyond expression—who? I say.
King.
I know not, save that it shows plausibly
He needs some pretext to break faith with thee.
Vio.
Thou liest in the thought, King! Why do I keep
Terms, and my swelling breast dissemble to a wretch
As base as thou art? Dost thou hear me, King?
Thy base arts bred these mischiefs; come, deny it!
And for thy pains again I'll say, thou liest!
Oh, noble end of royal machinations,
To ruin a weak woman. Look, look here,
Read in this glass the picture of a craven.
Is it base, is it mean? Where were thy wits, good Ethel,
That such a shallow slanderer could beguile thee?
263
Art thou mad, woman?
Vio.
Ethel! my last resource!
Harbour of safety! sole security!
Sustainer of my hopes! part of my life!
Of thee too have they robbed me? Now let fate
Blow where it will, I'll no more hold the helm,
But on these sunken rocks of treachery
Let drive, and go to pieces.
King.
What boots truth,
And never-scarred fidelity, that cannot
Secure from base mistrust?
Vio.
Why, much it boots.
Are you not shamed yet? Ah, if you dare think it,
Out of this grief to shape me to your ends,
Widely you miss your aim in it. Why, how?
Shall I, with colour of my own disgrace,
Paint false suspicion true? Because my hopes
Are slendered to a thread, shall I slit that?
More the least chance of his returning love
Is worth than all the world else; and his wrongs,
Unjust suspicions—hatred—sharp revenge—
Sweet opposites to your detested passion.
[Exit King.
Gone without speech, so guilty proven go.
I'll seek Cornelius; perhaps he is not gone.
How should my Ethel doubt me? Oh, that hearts
Should need interpreters, and not be read
Even as they beat! Would mine were cased in glass!
[Exit.
264
Scene VI.
A Room in the Palace.Enter King and Malgodin.
King.
Force! Malgodin.
Mal.
Ay.
King.
Violence! why that's—
Mal.
Trivial.
King.
That's death by the law.
Mal.
In subjects, ay.
King.
In subjects—and in kings?
Mal.
Not punishable,
And when a girl turns peevish, a most lawful
And necessary device.
King.
Lawful! Malgodin.
Mal.
Bah! are we children still? Kings are not paled.
King.
Having once passed the fire, she's malleable
To all my future wishes? D'ye hear, Malgodin?
Is it once for all?
Mal.
Doubt it not.
King.
Why, I'll do it.
Mal.
You stand as if you trembled, and look pale
At a trick of youth. Why, so much dreaming on't
Might usher in a murder.
King.
Ay, Malgodin;
Murder's a worse thing—
Mal.
One thing's worse than either—
To go without one's wishes.
King.
Nay, I'll do it.
[Exeunt.
265
Scene VII.
Violenzia's Room in the Palace.Enter Violenzia alone.
Vio.
Cornelius is gone ere I can see him.
I met the old Malgodin there; his eyes
Did frighten me. Enter Page.
Well, boy, what fresh grief now?
Page.
Madam, the prince asks leave to speak with you.
Vio.
Who's that?
Page.
The King's young brother.
Vio.
The King's again!
Tell him, I dare not, cannot if I dare,
Deny him entrance. Did it stand with me,
I have no dearer wish than privacy.
[Exit Page.
Enter Haveloc.
Hav.
Pardon me that I break upon your quiet,
In spite of your dissuasion; but a matter
Lies in my hand that touches you so nearly,
And I have such scant chance of speech with you,
That I will rather brook to be called rude
Than do you wrong by courtesy.
Vio.
Alas, sir,
It is the fashion of your brother's court
To do us wrong by courtesy.
Hav.
Do you know me?
Vio.
By report, for one that holds the secondrank here
266
Ne'er showed the bud of vice yet. But report
Lies mostly; and when gods drop from their height,
We think no mortals steadfast.
Hav.
I am grieved
If any act of mine have lodged distrust
Where now I seek belief.
Vio.
There's no such act, sir.
Yet here's a letter, penned to break the heart
Of childlike confidence.
Hav.
Believe me thus far,
I honour you; and trust me when I tell you
There's danger near you.
Vio.
He who came to tell me
There was no danger, would bring fresher news:
Tell me I breathe.
Hav.
I say it's imminent.
Put by these false suspicions, and be bold
Rather to leap at safety, though in the dark,
Than chain yourself to ill. The King, my brother,
Plans something that by his brow should seem unusual.
He swears to break that virtue which you hold
(And which hold ever!); and that hell-souled wretch,
Malgodin, drives him past all bar of pity.
I bid you fly!
Vio.
Whither? and when? and how?
Hav.
Whither, you best know. When, when best you may.
On you the doors are fast; but this my ring
267
Vio.
An hour ago,
If you had given me this, I would have blessed you,
And called you my deliverer.
Hav.
And now?
Vio.
Oh, now, the open way I so much longed for
Leads nowhere. Oh no! no! I dare not see him,
For being moved he might be terrible.
Before I loved, I feared him.
Hav.
Go to your brothers.
Vio.
Alas! why, if my Ethel could believe
The miserable stories that are vented,
What will a brother's quick suspicious ear
Not give a welcome to! No, well I knew
To them I must not flee. But I believed
There was one place of refuge in the world—
One arm, pressed in whose loving sanctuary,
I might defy the malice of a King,
And passionate brothers' rage; and one true heart,
Upon whose roof malignant slanders would
Beat impotent.
Hav.
Felborg believes you false?
Vio.
Ah! woe the day that I must say he does.
Whither, then, can I flee?
Hav.
He is not noble!
Vio.
How, sir!
Hav.
I say that it discredits him,
Upon mere rumour to believe you false.
Vio.
Well?
268
I'll visit him, and make your peace with him.
Vio.
No, pardon me; I'll have no go-betweens.
I'll write to him, and as I hear from him
Perhaps go to him.
Hav.
Cornelius will carry it.
Vio.
Cornelius is gone.
Hav.
Well, let me have it;
I'll see it well delivered. To your Ethel
I promised to assist you in your needs;
Indeed they are come now. Therefore be careful,
And scruple not to use me. I am honest.
Longer I dare not stay; therefore, good night.
Vio.
Good night, my lord, and for your courtesy
Take my best thanks.
[Exit Haveloc.
I'll cut this babbling tongue out!
Must I complain to every silken boy
That gives soft words; and speak so of my Ethel
That he shall dare to say he is not noble?
Shame on my shrewishness! Come, I'll be patient,
And write to him. A little biding time,
And I dare swear all will be well again.
[Exit.
Scene VIII.
Night. A Corridor in the Palace.Enter King and Malgodin.
King.
The air's cold, Malgodin.
Mal.
Tis the fitter, then,
For a bedfellow.
269
Hell! hell! May kings be damned?
Mal.
Doubtless, your majesty.
King.
I hate you deadly!
Look you continue necessary, for sometimes
I have a madness nothing will assuage
But to see you dead and earthed.
Mal.
Ingratitude
Is a common vice of kings.
King.
Ingratitude!
Such gratitude I owe thee as lost souls
Owe to the devil. And grant it be a vice,
Is't the worse for that, old mischief-maker? ha?
Mal.
A good and sober night to your majesty.
I'll in, and pray to Heaven that your repentance
May be as sound as sudden.
King.
Where's the key?
Mal.
I beseech your majesty, forego this act.
The lady's of a fiery temperament,
And the brothers quick and bloody.
King.
Where's the key?
I am likely to be angry.
Mal.
Here it is.
You know the trick of the lock. The busy world
Is drowned in sleep, and no one lies so near
As to hear her shrieks, though they be louder than
Those that ghosts vent in hell. Go, if you dare;
But go not, if the passion of a girl,
Weak fears of another world, or such diseases,
Eat up your trembling will.
270
To bed! to bed!
[Exit Mal.
The flaring candle backward bends its beams;
My passion backward bends, but fiercelier burns.
I love and loathe. Proud girl—that didst invite
War and not peace, rude storm for soft surrender—
Yet, oh, forgive me, sweet—no more—Again
The passionate fever surges in my veins.
Out, curious spy of day! And, oh, dark night,
[Extinguishing the light.
Be deaf and patient, like a wicked slave,
That watches while his master fills a grave.
ACT III.
Scene I.
The Camp. Ethel's Tent.Ethel and Cornelius.
Eth.
And now, Cornelius,
Let's drop our mask of business, and be friends.
Welcome again. I missed your talk o' nights,
For through these tents the cold wind whistles lonely.
How stands my loved Violenzia in the court?
Uneasily, I fear. She's well, you say?
Cor.
Strange we should say, “he's well,” and mean thereby
The least part of him! Ay, as men speak, she's well.
Eth.
And ill, as who speak?
271
Alas! why, as the angels.
Eth.
She is not dead!
Cor.
Not dead.
Eth.
Not dying? Oh,
You waste me! Speak!
Cor.
Untouched she lives in body and in spirits.
Eth.
In spirits? Then not troubled by the King?
Cor.
Oh, no! not troubled.
Eth.
Healthful and in peace;
Why, then, I think there's nothing in the world
Can shake me far. Nay, clear your brow, Cornelius;
Give it a voice, and you shall find me bold,
With such endurance as becomes a man,
To bear the strokes of fortune.
Cor.
Well I know you
For one whom no light touch of outward things
Can stir from wonted temperance. Yet I fear you;
For I do know you too for one whose heart
Beats deeply in his bosom, and who leads
In those he loves a more essential life
Than in himself takes root.
Eth.
Those I love best,
Herself, yourself, her brothers,
Sit in the house of safety. Speak, Cornelius.
Cor.
O forward spirits of men! whose airy hopes
See fortune rising ere a crimson cloud
Break in the east; but when the thick clouds gather,
Forego their prescience;—only the lightning wakes them.
272
Eth.
And is this all?
Of how great weight have you unbosomed me!
Bring me no ill news lined with greater truth,
I'll never style you raven.
Cor.
Why, what's this?
You'll not believe it, then?
Eth.
Why, no, Cornelius.
And though I laughed, I'll ask you yet in earnest,
How you came to believe it. Trust me, an answer
Not showing some excuse for't will go far
To scar our friendship.
Cor.
False with the King, I say!
Eth.
Say it no more, I charge you, by my love.
Cor.
What! must I stretch you on particulars,
And rack you with the items? When I gave her
Your letter, she, being private then with the King,
“Secretly, good Cornelius,” she cried,
Her finger on her lips; and when she saw
The King marked all, she played her part aside;
In her false bosom feigning to conceal it,
She let it drop to the ground. Oh, not an act—
No word—no gesture—but did o'er-confirm,
Beyond the power of doubting, that was true
Which the court buzzed with;—the warm King had won her
To all his wishes aimed at.
Eth.
Look, Cornelius:
If I should say you lied in what you tell me,
273
Cor.
Your close friendship,
And knowledge of my truth.
Eth.
Why, so I do.
Therefore I say not, in your facts you lie,
But in the consequents you idly draw,
And base suspicions. Yet, if thus far I trust you,
How much upon the faith of my beloved
Shall I not more be bold, and to more knowledge
Accord an answering confidence! Go, Cornelius!
I never thought to find a cause to say
You were so much unworthy. You that knew her,—
Cornelius, whom she called her friend! Nay, go!
And till your slanderous thoughts be burnt away,
Look not upon my face to call me friend.
Cor.
You do me wrong. I'll go, not to return.
I seek no love of one who dares discredit me
Even a hair's breadth. [Exit.
[A storm; heavy rain.
Eth.
How the wind rushes, and the gusty rain
Comes pattering in the pauses of the blast!
Cornelius will soon repent of this.
Meanwhile Violenzia lives at ease in the court;
And when these tardy-footed wars are past
I'll knit her mine for ever. What a spirit
Of undisturbed peace makes visit here;
And in my soul a calm delight keeps house,
Ranging its chambers like a white-stoled babe:
As if no jarring of the ill-fitting world,
274
Could ever more invade me; and those thoughts
Brooding imagination doth invent,
Of perfect harmony and bliss unstained,
Were real, and the dusty time-worn world
Hidden in second spring-time! Can it be
That these soft spirits may make apes of us,
And, while we nourish sweet content at home,
Calamity strike abroad? As I have heard—
What's that? Is't true that spirits ride the wind?
Most melancholy ones, then. Hark, again!
The sound of weeping, making awful pauses
Of the short hushes of the storm. Who sighs
Against my threshold? My warm blood runs cold,
And gathers at my heart. What, am I mad?
Let's see what may be seen.
[Goes out, and returns.
The empty dark,
Wherein no star doth pierce the thick eclipse,
But all is shrouded in a watery veil.
Again! again! That's human! who goes there?
[Exit. Returns, carrying Violenzia. She throws herself on her face before him.
Eth.
Violenzia!
Vio.
Oh, hide me! Oh, my misery!
Eth.
What art thou, that thus bred of sudden night
Shakest my knees with sobbing? Stand! stand up!
Vio.
Lay not thy hand upon me.
Eth.
In my breast
Strange thoughts take substance, and begin to shake
275
Vio.
I am! I am!—The King!—
Eth.
Away! away!
Hell hath no words for it.
Vio.
Alas! alas! alas!
Eth.
By heaven, 'tis midnight, and the lunatic moon
Peeps through my tent-holes.
Art thou the thing that thou pretend'st to be,
Or some accursed midnight wandering ghost
Come to afflict me? With my bright sword's point
I'll try thy substance.
Vio.
Mercy! oh, have mercy!
Eth.
Where's mercy, since she hath forsook the heavens?
Who guides—who guides the terrible machine?
O Violenzia, take back thy words,
And make me subject to a false alarm,
Or with my sword I'll break these gates of life
That shut in living death.
[Pointing his sword against himself.
Vio.
Alas! alas!
Eth.
I dream! I dream! It is not yet near day.
[A long pause.
Vio.
Speak, speak to me!
Eth.
Say'st thou? Stand up, I say!
Why beat'st thou with thy forehead on the ground?
This is no shame; this is our misery.
Lift up again that streaming face of thine,
Wet with unutterable woe. Look up!
276
Touch me not, Ethel! Oh, your touch is fire,
And burns my abhorred miserable flesh!
How shall I break these walls, or how get free?
I am cased in such pollution as makes sick
My soul within me. Oh, that these my tears
Could quite dissolve my substance, and the ground
Soak up my detested being. Would I were dead!
Would I were dead! were dead!
Eth.
Peace, shaken child!
Control the greatness of your agony.
Alas, I cannot! My perturbed soul,
Like an imprisoned mist, doth shake and wave,
And I perceive no light.
Vio.
To doubt my truth!
Oh, it was base in you! Nay, to make surety
So strong that you dare call me vile! Ay, now,
Now call me vile,—it suits,—now call me stained!
Heap epithets upon me, none so foul
As can express my misery: but then—
I was as clear as daylight.
Eth.
Alas! what mean you?
Vio.
Your letter! oh, your letter! Did you not write it?—
O most egregious fool! he did not write it.
Eth.
Nothing but love; what did you get from me?
Vio.
O me, I nothing know; only I think
The heaven above's unroofed, and there's no bar
277
Eth.
Oh, be patient!
Go in with me. I hear friends.
Vio.
Where? oh, where?
Hide me, sweet Ethel; let me not be seen.
[Exit Ethel and Violenzia into an inner room.
Enter Olave and Cornelius.
Ol.
Do you believe it? why, man, let me tell you,
I, that did never more than once enjoy
The touch of her frank hand,—that in such courtesy
As one, till then a stranger, might exact;
And never more than once looked on her face,
A garden where the flowers of beauty sprang,
Troubling the sense with richness; never but once
Took through the dazzled windows of my soul
Her proud and innocent gaze; I, that not knew her,
And of her musical speech heard no more tones
Than go to make a greeting,—I'll believe
Rather the diamond should fade and rot
Than she be turned to folly.
Cor.
Be it so.
And were it otherwise, I was a fool
To seek to make him think so. But this message
Puts it beyond dispute—whether by force,
Or slipped by inclination, she is ruined.
This he must know that all the world now knows.
Ol.
Ay, or he'll hear it coarsely.
278
Ol.
Look! he knows it!
Eth.
Good morrow, friends. Give me your hands
Let's see—
This should be Olave, this Cornelius.
Hath any deadly mischief come to you?
You shake your heads. No plague-star stands i' the sky,
And rains disease? I know it is not so;
No earthquake gapes. I know—I know it, I.
Open the door. The jolly sun mounts up;
Why should he stain his glittering cheeks with tears?
O dewy grass! O voice of birds! O friends!
Look, I can smile too; but within me here,
Ay, in my heart, there's fire—there's fire—there's fire!
Cor.
O piteous voice!
Ol.
Will you not cut his heart out?
Eth.
Revenge—revenge—they say that word's not lawful,
And sweet Religion weeps at it. Dark, dark,
O God! I know whom Thou afflict'st with griefs
Thou look'st for great things from him. If my acts
Must grow up to the measure of my woe,
I shall amaze the world.
Ol.
Ay, with revenge!
Whose fiery wing shall overtake your shame,
And blind the eyes of them that look on it.
Eth.
Who plagues me with revenge? Am I not mad enough?
279
Is it not said we must forgive our foes?
Cor.
So it is said.
Ol.
For priests! for priests! not men.
Eth.
For mine own wrongs, I could as soon forgive them
As dip my hand in water; but that she—
O most accursed monster! why, the sun
Would not too boldly look on her. Foul thoughts
Did from her presence and fair virgin eyes,
Like ghosts from daylight, fly ashamed. Alas!
Was there no way to strike me singly—none?
But for my sins must needs another soul,
And in myself a dearer nobler self,
My life's life—my heart's blood—my air—my centre—
Must that for me be shattered? Oh, yes! yes!
I had no crown to lose but my heart's crown;
No wealth but my heart's wealth—unpriceable;
Rich reputation none; no mother's eyes,
But my love's eyes did ever look upon me;
Here was I graffed, here grew, and since the stock
Is blasted, here must wither!
Ol.
Will you bear it?
I would you were dead sooner! Have you heard?
He sends to seek the lady,—ay, sends here
To you and to her brothers, threatening death
To any that detains her. Is't enough?
Eth.
Did my brothers hear this? Robert and Arthur both?
280
Ay, and so heard as if the shameful words
Were javelins in two angry lions' sides,
And gnashed their teeth, and could not speak for rage.
But you'll forgive,—you'll bear it?
Eth.
What I shall do,
As yet I know not. This I will not do,—
Now, when my soul is mad, and I perceive not
The right from wrong, let my blind rage take wing,
And the great tasks and terrible purposes,
With which Heaven sets my soul and martyrs me,
Mix in confusion irretrievable.
Yet not the less, for this my slow delay,
Will I be swift in execution,
Steadfast, and frightful to the guilty soul
Of him that did this thing. Leave me, good friends.
[Exeunt Olave and Cornelius.
Why so.
Oh, horrible! detestable! I'll not think of it.
Oh, pitiful! oh, wondrous pitiful!
I shall go mad if I do think of it.
What's to be done? Back, back, you wandering thoughts,
That like whipt hounds hang with reverted eyes,
Back to the carcass of my grief! O villain!
Away! It is some devil whispers me.
What! no revenge? Young, young too, and a soldier.
No noble rage? Must we endure like clods,
Under the heavy tread of tyranny?
Whereto, then, had we this quick fiery spirit,
281
And man, framed delicate and sensitive,
On whose fine soul injustice drops like fire,—
Must he bear all? Stay there, Ethel of Felborg.
Art thou so personal? affects it thee?
Such deeds strike deeper. This is not a thing
The impulsive moods of angry men may mix in,—
No, nor admits a passionate remedy;
But an occasion when, men standing amazed,
The visible hand of awful judgment should
Crush up iniquity, and retribution
Divine walk on the earth. No; no revenge.
Teach me, O terrible God!
I do believe—witness these swift hot tears—
I do believe Thou lov'st me even in this;
And therefore now thy sovran hand put forth,
And my dejected desultory soul
Bind up to thy great meaning. I believe.
I'll go and seek my brothers.
[Exit.
Scene II.
Robert's Tent.Robert and Arthur.
Robt.
Ay, when he's dead I will be calm.
Enter Olave and Cornelius.
Where's Ethel?
Ol.
He takes it coldly.
Robt.
By my father's blood,
282
[Olave makes a show of anger, half drawing his sword.
Cor.
Have patience! he is mad.
Robt.
Saddle my horse! Plague take these loiterers!
Who rides with me? Death! I'll endure no more
These slow delays; each moment that goes by
Puts daggers in my breast. Arthur, go with me;
Upon our foaming blood-embathed steeds
Up to his throne we'll ride, through all his rout
Of scattered courtiers. Come down, thou King!
I think I see his face upon the floor
Crying for mercy. Mercy!—Ha! ha! ha!—
What is it, gentlemen? Saw you never yet
A man made infamous? Well, well! I look
To see my sword peep through his back.
Arth.
For shame!
Forget yourself not out of reason thus.
Robt.
Are you ice-tempered too? I shall go mad!
Arth.
I nurse as fierce a temper as you do;
But such a rash unsteady course will mar
Certainty of completion. My revenge
Shall step as sure as life-blood through my veins,
And to a certainty as dead as death.
We'll run no risks; take all advantages;
Gather our chances with as strict a hand
As sureties; cherish our meanest hopes,
And knit the poorest opportunities
All to one end: so that no loop remain
For failure to slip through.
283
Ay, but be swift;
For time lets in a thousand obstacles
Worse than the worst foreseen.
Arth.
Both swift and sure.
Robt.
Ay, but be swift. For all the air about me
Is heavy with ancestral countenances,
Looking to me for blood with frowning brows;
A thousand whispers of the shame-stirred dead
Cry in my ears, Revenge! Enter Ethel.
Ha! welcome, Ethel!
Ay! such a countenance becomes a man
So wronged as you are. We shall have it now;
A most sufficing vengeance.
Eth.
Oh, not vengeance.
Robt.
Is there another name more terrible?
Eth.
I will not have it so.
Robt.
What, will you not?
Arth.
Listen to me. This is our safest course.
You are the general, Robert, and beloved
Of all your soldiers. Take them over with you—
All the whole army. Who dares stay behind?
Make one with the enemy, on the sole condition
That they march straight unto our common end,
And seize the King; resistance he can make none,
More than a straw against fire. Once in our hands,
But for the time that I can stretch my arm,
Then I'll be swift!
284
And I'll be careful then!
Most wisely planned.
Eth.
Oh, monstrous! what will you do?
Have you forgot all virtue? Will you bring in
Strange conquerors upon your native land,
Let bloody war and ravage feed themselves
Upon the bodies of your countrymen;
And, to avenge a wrong done to yourselves,—
But how much more to mighty throned justice!—
Let in a thousand wrongs as terrible,
And give injustice scope?
Is this a cure? Tears and the sighs of orphans,
The shrieks of women, groans of ruined men,—
Will these heal wrongs, or rather make of you
Ten times the nurses of that wickedness
You thus avenge in others?
Robt.
Now, I swear!
Although the eyes of dead unburied men
Should stare the bright stars out of countenance,
And tears of children be so plentiful
That their warm rain would melt the ponderous ice,
And set the winter-frozen Baltic free;
More women groan their bitter souls away
Than would make populous the empty air
With weeping ghosts; ay, though this native land
Become a dish for horror and despair
To glut themselves to overfulness on,—
I care not, so I drive along with it
Unto my end.
285
Well spoken, brother Robert!
Eth.
I say this shall not be!
Robt.
Thou say'st!—thou! thou!
Art thou the pander to these love-tricks—thou?
Eth.
Peace, you passionate insolent!
Arth.
Robert, be calm.—
Ethel, if you are that tame-spirited thing,
That colder than the lizard, that you feel not
The greatness of your injury, be it so.
We that are not so natured will do that
Which shall suffice for all.
Eth.
I say you shall not!
This wrong is mine a thousand times more deeply
Than it is yours. I do not wink at it,
Nor do I see what other instrument
Can work the great intents of wounded justice
Save this weak spirit of mine; but to that end,
And that I may not stain the holy hand
Of this my mighty mistress, nor let doubt
Check at her just award, I must put off,
Like robes unconsecrated from a priest,
This temper which you nourish. I have controlled it,
And so must you. For this most traitorous plan
You have conceived, think nothing more of it;
I'll fight against it to the death.
Robt.
Fight well, then;
You'll fight alone.
Eth.
Not so. The God of battles
Shall on my side put forth his hand. And fear me.
286
For wilful wickedness.
Robt.
Brother, away!
It irks my soul to stand here chaffering
With this dull metal. What, Ethel, whom we thought
Honourable! oh, how much past our apeing!
Arth.
Go with us.
Ol.
Not I. You'll pardon me.
Robt.
You will not? Ha!
Bring me the man that will not go with me;
I'll trail him after at my horse's heels.
Arth.
Peace! you mar all. Think of it, gentlemen.
[Exeunt Robert and Arthur.
Eth.
How say you, Olave and Cornelius,
Will you too join the Swede?
Cor.
I'll fight with you,
Wherever that may be.
Ol.
I'll not take arms
Against my country with the rascal Swede.
Had I your cause, I might.
Eth.
Are you firm now?
Ol.
Ay, I have chosen. There's nobleness moves in you
That takes me, though I be no match for it.
Eth.
Go to the officers of each regiment;
Tell them the objects of the General,
And say, I, in his traitorous default,
Now claim to lead them. Those that would not be traitors,
287
Bid them assemble in my tent to-night,—
No, in yours, good Cornelius, let it be.
Ol.
Ay, maybe the officers will stand firm enough;
But what boots that, if the men go? About Ingelwald
They'll flock like hiving bees, and where he bids
Follow like sheep. I will not answer even
For my own men.
Eth.
Go to the officers.
If the men mutiny, I'll speak to them;
And Olave, the new levies that are coming,
Stop them at distance. Send a trusty officer;
Let them not mix at all with the other men.
I nothing fear the victory.
[Exit Olave.
Cornelius,
You have a woman waits upon your wife,
And did once on the Countess Ingelwald;
Send her into my tent. You guess at it.
Be silent, good Cornelius.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
Ethel's Tent.Violenzia and her Waiting-woman.
W.-wo.
Take comfort.
Vio.
Ay, take comfort! Bid me take
Ice out of fire,—or bid me sleep,—
Or eat,—or die,—what's most impossible
And most to be desired; or bid young peace
288
And make her home with me—her sepulchre.
Methinks these eyes should be too eloquent,
And sadder with the saltness of my tears,
Not to persuade you out of that word comfort.
Comfortless comfort!
Will he come back? I do not think he will.
Why, what am I, that any living thing,
And least of all a lover, having power
To move away, should ever turn to me,
Being that thing I am?
W.-wo.
Maybe he'll come again.
Vio.
Maybe! The girl speaks doubtfully.
Base minion! if thou darest even imagine
He will not come again, I'll kill thee.
And yet I wish he would come back again.
I would not ask to touch him—only—only
At his feet to die, that dying I might tell him
How past imagination was my love;
For never once did I in all my life
Tell him how much I loved him.
I love him!
As if a yearning dead man in his grave,
Cold in corruption, should be sensible,
And wish to whisper in a living ear
That yet he loved.
What's this? a sword! Helena,
Whose sword is this?
W.-wo.
Madam, whose should it be,
289
Vio.
My lord's! Well, well.
Yet once he was my lord. Does the sun shine?
W.-wo.
Ay, madam.
Vio.
Ay, and the moon; grass grows;
Men go about their business, all things move
In the old accustomed circle, and no hinge
Of the great earth creaks; and I!—Oh, the word desolate
Hath lost its meaning in all mouths but mine.
Misery and shame, wretchedness and despair,
Were but the types of that which was to be,
And I, fulfilment. Men shall point at me
In their distresses and their bitterness,
And hug themselves with comfort.
W.-wo.
O my lady!
Such things have been before.
Vio.
I'll not believe it!
Twice such a thing, and the great frame of nature,
Though physical, would have cracked—not borne it.
Ha!
Gone! and his sword left here. That's a shrewd hint.
Is't sharp, Helena?
W.-wo.
'Tis a good sword, I think.
Vio.
Could he have meant it? Prick me, Helena.
W.-wo.
Not I. Indeed I will not.
Vio.
Is it painful?
W.-wo.
No; but blood makes me sick.
Vio.
Sick! I am sick,
Beyond all med'cining but the great physician's,
290
O death! O dreams! mortal imaginations,
And spiritual hopes! What things are we,
That, like an infant groping in the dark,
Feel not the edge o' the bed? Bright instrument!
I can unloose with thee the threads which bind me
Unto this mortal state, and go—Oh, whither?
What is the dark that clips us round about,
And the veiled power whose irresistible mood
Plays with our helplessness? What I believed,
Or dreamed I did—the lessons of my childhood—
Are words to me. I stagger and am lost.
Alas! my tongue blasphemes. What shall I do?
I am anchorless, and drift upon the waters.
W.-wo.
What shall I do with it?
Vio.
Give it to me.
I do not think he meant it to that end;
He is compassionate. Oh, if I die,
Shall I behold that face of his again?
Merciful Heaven! be thou pitiful;
I do not say, let me be happy there.
I ask not much, you merciful sweet Heavens;
I have deserved much pain, I will endure.
But only once in many a thousand years
Let me behold his face in bliss serene.
Ah me! ah me!
W.-wo.
Wring not your hands so cruelly,
Unhappy lady.
Vio.
Would I could wring my heart!
291
He has returned!
Eth.
Have patience, Violenzia.
Go in with me. Dry up these passionate tears.
Great are thy trials, O afflicted child;
But merciful the hand that sent them. Use them
As an obedient infant bitter medicine;
Or the poor dog that yet licks the painful hand
Of his kind surgical master. Shall he have faith,
And we, my Violenzia, that know
Perfect beneficence holds the scales of the world,
Shall we be too much troubled, and forget
It is a Father who thus touches us?
This is not misery, nor any grief
That on the outside lances us is not:
Sin and rebellion, this is misery.
Vio.
I have rebelled, I have rebelled, O Ethel;
But in my passion and my bitterness.
Speak to me, teach me; I will conform my heart—
I will be patient. We, that late were lovers,
May yet be friends; may we not? Say, oh, say,
You do not loathe me.
Eth.
Violenzia!
That honour and that love I have for you,
Deep, deeper than my tongue can signify,
I never will renounce, and when you doubt it,
You wrong yourself and me.
Vio.
Ethel! my Ethel!
These are not bitter tears.
[Exeunt.
292
ACT IV.
Scene I.
Ground near the Camp.Enter Ethel, Cornelius, Olave, Officers and Soldiers of Ethel's Regiment.
Eth.
Stand, there!
Cornelius, are these new levies come?
Cor.
They are drawing down now, and still ignorant
Of all that's passing here, but the officers
Are with you quite.
Eth.
The Swede's alert, I hear.
Ol.
Ay, and if these men under Ingelwald
Join with them, we are lost.
Eth.
What think you, gentlemen?
May not this single regiment hold back
Ingelwald's troops, unofficered as they are,
Till the new levies join us?
[Offic. show signs of dissent.
Tut!
Let's hear what the soldiers say.—How say you, friends?
I have seen you fight at odds; will you do it now
In a good cause? will you not, my own soldiers?
And never yet was there a nobler cause
For men to die in, than when treachery,
With confidence of overwhelming power,
Strikes at your land and homes. Will you stand by me
Against the traitorous general and his troops,
Should they attempt to face us? In your needs
293
Have not been backward—and no man can say
I was not just. To-day it is my need,
My dearest need, and those that stand to me
Shall be my friends and brothers—not my soldiers.
I think I see a fervour in your eyes.
Why, battle-field is a great game for the spirit,
Only against vast odds. What, gallant friends!
These officers shake their heads, and say—too dangerous!
You and I will fight it out.
Sol.
To the death! to the death!
Eth.
Stand firm; look where they come.
Enter Robert and Arthur, leading forces.
Robt.
What! is he mad,
To think with these to stop us? Felborg, give way!
Draw back your troops, and make us room to pass,
Or else be cut to pieces.
Eth.
Ingelwald!
Traitors are not strong in heart, though strong in seeming.
There is no man that stands upon this side
Into whose bosom death can thrust a fear.
For God and Right we stand, and fear you not.
Robt.
Cut him down!
[Robert's Soldiers hesitate, and murmur.
Eth.
Hear me, fellow-soldiers!
Robt.
Hear him not, I say!
Sol.
Hear him! hear him! It is the Earl of Felborg.
294
His father was a great man. Hear him!
Sol.
Hear him speak!
Eth.
Who brings you here thus armed, and whither march you?
Do you not know this is rebellion?
Do you not know it, and you that late were soldiers
Take each a traitor's shape? Oh, yes, you know it.
Think, then, before you put your feet too far,
What 'tis you do. Where are your officers?
They have fallen from the traitors you yet cling to.
I am your general. Here are your officers.
Will you be officered with Swedes, your foes?
Ay, and they shall rebuke you with sharp taunts,
Calling you rebels and base mutineers.
And will you not be? raising wicked hands
(As they will stick you in the front of battle)
In shameful execution against those
With whom but yesterday you drank, shook hands,
And who in true companionship have seen
Many rough days with you, and all for what?
Sol.
For Ingelwald!
Robt.
Well shouted, fellow! I'll remember you.
Eth.
Ingelwald is a traitor, and those that join him
Shall have the meed of traitors. Many among you
Have fought under old Felborg's honoured sword;
You may remember how he dealt with you.
Those that were true, he loved them like a father;
Those that were false, they too remember him.
Beware! for I have something of his spirit.
295
So shall the victory be mine. Look to it!
Sol.
Down with him! Does he threaten?
Sol.
Stand away! No man shall touch him.
[The Soldiers crowd about him; his own Men come forward to the rescue.
Eth.
(to his own Men).
Stand back, you fellows there! stand back, I say!
Obedience is your best love. Draw back again!
Sol.
Speak again, noble Ethel; your dead father
Speaks on your lips.
Sol.
Speak not, upon your life!
Eth.
I am the son of that old Earl of Felborg
That never yet looked danger in the eyes
But he outstared him; and shall I, his son,
Shrink from the pale brows and unhearted arms
Of mine own soldiers turned to traitors? No!
With my own arm I will make good the day
Against a thousand such. And after defeat,
Look for the punishment of mutiny!
Ay, look for it!
For as you know me mild and pitiful
When you deserve it, so, being turned to traitors,
Believe I can put on a mood most terrible
And less compassionate than famine. Look—
Robt.
What, will you hear him?
Eth.
I say peace, Sir Robert!
I will not have you mix your tongue with mine.
Here are some souls that for mine own sake love me,
296
Upon my side. Most, and I value most
Those that abhor the vile name of a traitor
Unto their country, and have too much wit
To raise dishonourable godless arms
Against their dearest duties. Lift your faces up,
You that are true and honourable soldiers—
Not hirelings, not assassins. Draw your swords,
And shout, God and the Right!
Sol.
God and the Right! Long live the Earl of Felborg!
Eth.
What! so many?
Arth.
Away, good brother Robert!
Draw, and strike for it.
Eth.
Ho, there! seize these traitors!
Arth.
This way! this way! Well struck, good friend!
Stand round us
Until we reach our horses.
[Exeunt fighting.
Re-enter Ethel and Olave.
Eth.
They have escaped. Whose regiment went with them?
Ol.
Arthur of Ingelwald's.
Eth.
Away! let the officers
Rejoin their men. Send in Cornelius to me.
We'll fight the Swede now, while the blood's up.
Get me a horse. We will reserve these levies.
Was not Cornelius hurt?
Ol.
Only a scratch.
[Exeunt.
297
Scene II.
The Field.Ethel armed, save his head; his sword in his hand as from battle. Cornelius, Olave, and Officers, &c. apart.
Eth.
What! against majesty?
Does the great King choose his vice-regents here
So carelessly, that we weak atomies
May judge them, and condemn? I tremble at it.
Shall power exempt? When ministerial kings
Handle iniquity, and stain their brows,
Which should be crystal, who shall punish them?
Heaven.
Ay, but by instruments. What influence is't
That whispers me, “Thou art that instrument”?
O sacred Justice, warrior of God,
Strong brother of the precious weanling Mercy,
Evener of the Fates, thou passionless arbiter,
That with a forceful and unsparing hand
Knittest me up into thy purposes,
Make me not only a base instrument,
And sword of execution; enter me
Into thy secret counsels; clear these eyes,
That are so bitterly possessed with dark,
That only in the blindness of my night
I sometimes seem to touch thy guiding hand,
But see thee never.
[Exit musing.
Ol.
What is't, Cornelius?
Cor.
I think he broods
298
His sword unwiped, his reeking hair thus matted
About his brows, his face begrimed with dust,
Plashed with the blood of others—for he took
No touch himself,—unrested, nay, not asking
Particulars of our victory, he falls
Into this musing humour. You may speak to him;
He hears it not.
Off.
I came with the new levies.
How went the battle? It was short at least.
Ol.
Ay, and a perfect rout; the Swedish King
Lies on the field. The Ingelwalds have fled,
Though they fought well.
Cor.
They had good cause for it.
Ol.
Yet we fought better; and for our reward
What shall we reap? cold looks, thin smiles at court,
And the white faces of smooth table-servers
Thrust in before us. We must keep our distance,—
We, but for whose bold lives, set in the breach,
His breath were stopped ere now. Go out and look
How many slain unburied men lie cold,
Brave hearts too, ay and noble ones among them,
And all for what? Why, for a King that is not
Worth the least spirit among them. While we bleed,
He lies in the lap of riot. That breeds plaguy thoughts.
First Off.
Ay, and makes free with our wives too.
Sec. Off.
Curses on him!
I had a daughter. Well, she was a light girl,
And I thank God she is buried.
299
Had you so?
I have a tender loving wife at home,
I think there is no woman kinder, truer,
And yet she fain would go to court to see
What 'tis this King is made of, that so takes
The hearts of all her sex. She says she hates him,
And yet would gladly see him. Trust me, I'll see her
In her coffin first.
Third Off.
D'ye think so, my good captain?
While you are here she may slip there unknown.
Will you trust her, then, good Olave?
Ol.
I'll trust fools
With a taste of my sharp sword, sir!
Fourth Off.
I'll be curst,
I think the women love him for his wickedness.
Cor.
'Tis not the women only;—he taxes us
For his luxurious feasts, and nourishes
Flatterers and devils for his favourites.
Why did our Ethel make us fight for him?
Ol.
Why, let us think 'twas not for him we fought,
But for our country and ourselves against
Foreign invasion, and which not to have done
Were indeed treason.
Cor.
I think Felborg means yet
Something against the King.
Ol.
I would he did;
I would he would depose him, and get up
Into his place.
Off.
That were a king to live under!
300
Ingelwald would well join in such a scheme.
Cor.
What, for another?
Ol.
Ay, for he would see
The best must be put up; and Arthur too.
Well, for my part, if he should aim at it,
My best aid shall not fail.
Cor.
Nor mine.
Officers.
Nor mine.
Ol.
How gallantly he showed i' the field to-day!
Where did he lose his helmet?
Cor.
'Twas the clasp broke.
I would have picked it up, but he stopped not.
“Let it lie,” he cried; “I shall not die to-day.”
Off.
I saw it too; and still in all the battle,
Where there was stand of men or desperate charge
His unarmed face shone like a morning-star
Gleaming among the drifting clouds of war.
They were bold men that met his angry eyes,
And dared the terrible swiftness of his arm;
And yet instinctive mercy clung to his sword,
Over defenceless and disarmed heads
It hung i' the air.
Enter Ethel.
Eth.
Cornelius, come hither. Speak to me;
May I do justice on this King?
Cor.
Do justice!
Surely you know he's dead?
Eth.
Dead!
301
Ay, as dead as
A well-thrust lance sent through a man could make him.
'Tis not yet known who did it.
Eth.
Not the Swede;
I mean our own King.
Cor.
May you punish him?
Eth.
Ay, may I punish him?
Cor.
I think you may;
'Tis easy, if you will.
Eth.
I know I can,
And I conceive I may. Alas! I must.
Cor.
You will do good service to your country by it,
To free it from a most pernicious tyrant.
Eth.
The Lord doth lay his hand upon my head,
And says, Do this. Shall I refuse the Lord,
Who through great toils and tears, heavy affliction,
And trials touching to mortality,
Moulds me unto his mighty purposes?
Shall I, that am his child, tremble at it?
Alas! I tremble at it. Who shall believe me?
Shall I not be alone in all the world?
Oh, if in meditation of this act
I melt with ruth thus, and my flooded eyes
Rain these afflicted tears, what shall I do,
When, in the face of scorn and keen contempt,
These little, but the misconstructing hearts
Of dear-loved friends coldly confirmed against me,
And good men's faces turned away, and even
God's face sometimes (oh, grievous!) hidden in mist,
302
O Thou that shak'st me with these thoughts, put in me
The power to execute them!—I am resolved,
And all my mortal being dedicate
To this great service, that all men may see
The hand of God reaches iniquity.
Enter an Officer hastily.
Off.
Where is the General?
Eth.
Here. What seek you with him?
Off.
Earl Robert, my good lord, and Arthur of Ingelwald
Are brought in prisoners.
Eth.
Prisoners! to me!
Oh, no, great God! not that! oh, add not that!
Off.
Shall they be brought before you? Those that took them
Await your voice.
Eth.
(hurriedly.)
They are traitors taken in arms;
I am the judge and executioner.
There is no doubt, no question, no escape.
Off.
They were not taken without long pursuit
And stout resistance.
Eth.
Idiots! dolts! madmen!
It is the over-forwardness of fools
That spoils the world.—Give me a seat, kind sir.
[He sits.
Cor.
What is it, sir? Ingelwald prisoner?
[To the Officer.
303
Ay, both of them.
Ol.
By cross! that's mischief done.
Off.
You look askance at that which should rejoice you.
Cor.
Should we rejoice? What will he do?
Eth.
Cornelius!
Robert of Ingelwald and his brother Arthur
Are taken prisoners; bring them in here.
[Exit Cornelius.
Olave and gentlemen, stand round about me.
Enter Cornelius, with Robert and Arthur brought in guarded.
Rob.
Ethel, the fortune of the day is with you.
Fools, to make compact with the dastard Swede!
You are generous, and therefore I must tell you,
If you should say, go free, it cannot win us
To change our aims.
Arth.
Peace, man! there's death in his face.
Eth.
What is the doom of traitors taken in arms?
Arth.
Death.
Eth.
Death let it be.
I do not see how I can show you mercy.
Arth.
We do not ask it. Yet, until the morning
Grant us reprieve.
Eth.
Until the morning be it;
And make your peace with Heaven.—Cornelius,
Remove them hence, and have them in your charge.
[Exeunt Cornelius, Robert and Arthur guarded.
304
Silent, gentlemen?
Have I not acted well? was it not just?
Ol.
Most just, and yet most bloody.
Eth.
O bloody justice,
That break'st the heart of the world!
They were my only brothers.
[Covers his face.
Leave me, gentlemen,
And draw into the town of Engelborg.—
Good Olave, stay awhile;—and, gentlemen,
Look well to the wounded; be as diligent
As if your children lay with frosted sores
And quenchless thirst, waiting your charity,
On the cold remorseless ground. Spare not for means;
What any man expends I will repay him,
And think he honours me.
[Exeunt Officers.
Let me lean on you;
[To Olave.
I am weary past imagination.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
A Guard-room in Engelbory.Soldiers drinking.
First Sol.
Humphrey shall sing.
Sec. Sol.
Humphrey'll be damned first!
Third Sol.
Let him be; he'll sing when he's drunk.
First Sol.
Ay, and better when he's damned. The
305
Sec. Sol.
I believe not in damnation.
First Sol.
Then thou art a worse heathen than I took thee for.
Sec. Sol.
Didst thou ever see a man damned?
First Sol.
Never yet.
Sec. Sol.
On whose word dost thou believe it, then?
First Sol.
On the word of the clergy.
Sec. Sol.
Good! Didst thou ever hear one of the clergy say that he — id est the clericus — should be damned?
First Sol.
Never.
Sec. Sol.
Then thou that believest the clergy, believest they shall not be damned. What then? Why this. Shall a monk be saved, and a soldier be damned? Quod est absurdum, which is absurd. Ergo, Q. E. D., quod est demonstrandum.
First Sol.
I am stranded indeed.
Sec. Sol.
Anglice, which was to be proven. Videlicet, a soldier shall be saved. Come, fill me a cup of wine.
Third Sol.
When wert thou at the university, Humphrey?
Sec. Sol.
In the year when Noah encountered the dragon, which being interpreted by Scripture history, is—never.
Third Sol.
Where gott'st thou thy learning, then?
Sec. Sol.
My mother ate lollipops wrapt in the
306
Fourth Sol.
I'll sing you a song.
Sec. Sol.
Away! thou hast a little piping voice like a sickly weasel; I had as lief hear a grasshopper. We'll none of it. It turns the wine sour on the stomach.
Third Sol.
“Where horny Sigfrid handled—”
Sec. Sol.
Stop him! appease him! quiet him! Why, man, are our ears anvils, that thou hammerest them thus? If thou must needs sing, go out to sea a quarter of a mile or so, and sing to them on shore, and let them see that the wind be against thee.
First Sol.
Edmund shall sing.
Sec. Sol.
Oh, he sings beastly out of tune. Nay, if you will have it, I'll sing myself; and do thou with the little tiny voice sing with a helmet over thy face, and let him with the big horrid voice sing from under a cushion and so keep chorus.
To the scholar a book,
To the bishop a crook,
And much good may his lordship do with it;
To the miser his store,
To the sailor the shore,
To madam her painting and civet;
But we soldiers opine
The best thing to be wine.
Tra-la-la.
To the bishop a crook,
And much good may his lordship do with it;
To the miser his store,
To the sailor the shore,
To madam her painting and civet;
But we soldiers opine
The best thing to be wine.
Tra-la-la.
CHORUS.
But we soldiers opine, &c.307
Eth.
No rioting, knaves.
Sing if you will, but no drunkenness.
Who guards the prisoners?
Sec. Sol.
Two steady men within, sir.
Eth.
Show me the room, one of you.
[One goes out with Ethel.
Sec. Sol.
There goes a fellow now. Whewgh!
Re-enter Ethel.
Eth.
Who are they that took these gentlemen prisoners?
Why do you look at one another?
Sec. Sol.
They heard you called them idiots, and chafed at them.
Eth.
If I said so, I was not temperate;
They have done good service. Let them come to me,
And look to be rewarded.
[Exit.
First Sol.
I am glad of this. I thought it was a lie that he was angry with poor fellows for doing their best.
Third Sol.
Ay, and it was a tough job they had of it too. But what means he now by going in to them? Will he let them go free?
Sec. Sol.
Look you, this he means. Do you know tomorrow we march against the King, our own King?
Sols.
Against the King!
Sec. Sol.
Ay, he shall be deposed, and his head chopt off: so say I that know. And who shall be king
308
Third Sol.
Then will they say yes?
Sec. Sol.
Will you hear it? or will you tell it? If you know it, tell it. I say, they shall not say yes; but tell it you.
Sols.
Tell us you, Humphrey, what they shall say.
Sec. Sol.
Let him hold his tongue, then. They will say, “No;” or, they will say, “Ay, we will.” If they say no, then he saith, “Die and be” what I believe not: for he believeth it firmly. If they say, “Ay,” he shall say, “Cut and run;” and then shall they cut and run, but first shall our friend in the cloak have told the two fellows on guard they are not wanted, and bid them come drink with us.
First Sol.
And what shall fall to them when their prisoners escape?
Sec. Sol.
What, the guard? Oh, they shall be hung by Cornelius, look you, for deserting their post; and their story of Felborg coming in will be a monstrous and inconceivable lie; and we, mind you, we shall have been very drunk, and mistaken the devilknows-who in a cloak for the Earl of Felborg. For my part, I shall have been so drunk, I shall not have
309
First Sol.
The General will play no such scurvy tricks. If he mean to let them free, he will bring them out through the middle of us. I can tell you the General loves fair play; ay, and will see it too. Dost thou remember, man, when we were had up on a false charge of plundering after proclamation — how he that is in prison there for joining the Swede would have hung us out of hand, and how Felborg made him take time, and how he ferreted and laboured and toiled till he got at the truth of it?
Third Sol.
Ay, ay.
Fourth Sol.
I remember this much of him, when I was left for dead in the field, that if he should bid me cut my throat, ay, or another man's for the matter of that, look you, I would do it and never wink.
Sec. Sol.
Ay, as far as that goes, I too would do what he bid me; for a man would look queer that should disobey him. Let him say to me in his way, “Humphrey, thy father's head tomorrow!” Lord, I should bring it him, like John the Baptist's, on a battlehorse.
Third Sol.
Why on a battle-horse, Humphrey?
Sec. Sol.
Nay, I know not; but so it is written.
Third Sol.
A charger, man; it is written a charger.
Sec. Sol.
And if a charger be not a battle-horse, thou art not an ass, which is absurd. Q.E.D., which was to be proven. Ergo, thou art an ass.
310
Thy father would think thy obedience over-exquisite.
Sec. Sol.
Tush; I would convince him. I would say, Pater reverendissime, which is, God bless you, father. Unto different men are different dispensations; to dead men and robins worms, and to live men meat and raiment,—the godly preach, and others have their infirmities.
First Sol.
This will convince us that thou art drunk, but scarcely thy father to lend thee his head for ever so short a while.
Sec. Sol.
Nay, but look you, the General would not bid me do it without good reason; and I would tell him the reason.
First Sol.
And that would convince him?
Sec. Sol.
That and the other would convince him, which is in Latin. I know not what it is in Latin.
Third Sol.
But is't good truth that we march against the King?
Sec. Sol.
Ay, is it.
First Sol.
I thought he was not born so leadenspirited as to endure his injuries.
Third Sol.
And yet he wears an even face.
Fifth Sol.
An even face, my God, but such a sad one!
Sec. Sol.
Loquitur, he speaketh; try again, Silence.
Fifth Sol.
'Tis a strange temper; I can tell you that. I have seen him passionate, too, with a peevish drummer lad that struck an innocent child for begging
311
Third Sol.
What did he do?
Fifth Sol.
He stood a moment; then with mild eyes,
But steadfast, that I trembled, and calm voice
Remonstrating, but oh, the music of it!
He spoke to me; with one arm, like a father
He lifted to his breast the naked babe:
“What, fellow!” said he, “do you strike these helpless ones?
Think of it, boy!” his hand laid on my head.
The action, the endearment, the white child
Weeping in's breast,—oh, if a man had seen it,
He would have thought that Charity and Mercy,
Not two, but one, had left their homes in heaven,
And in a soldier's coat went to the wars.
To me he seemed an angel; my repentance
Rained itself down in tears.
Sec. Sol.
Is that the lad that goes about with you?
Fifth Sol.
Ay, the same child. God knows he shall not want while I eat bread.
Third Sol.
You served Felborg?
Fifth Sol.
I was his body servant after that. You say you love him; I wonder if the heart of any other holds him as dear as I do.
First Sol.
What's this about the Lady Violenzia? Is't true they ravished her at court?
312
She was naught.
Fifth Sol.
You lie!
Third Sol.
By all the fiends in hell! are you mad to die? I would not have her name in my mouth in the same continent with yonder cloak—not for gold pieces. Let him hear you!
Fourth Sol.
I'll in and sleep.
Third Sol.
There's a big fire in the anteroom: get another bottle, and Humphrey shall finish his song.
First Sol.
Ay, he's singing drunk.
Sec. Sol.
I am as drunk as an owl; which is, to be sapiently intoxicated. Come away.
Third Sol.
How those dogs of Swedes ran today!
[Exeunt.
Scene IV.
A Room.Robert and Arthur asleep. Enter Ethel in his cloak, bearing a light.
Eth.
They are asleep;—asleep! and by tomorrow
They will have looked into the mystery,
And seen the other side of awful death.
O me! what men or immaterial shapes
Walk by the rivers of that unseen shore?
What fates, what accidents, what circumstance,
Await the wasted and time-wearied ghost,
That, melted from impediments of earth,
Lifts the black curtain up of monstrous night,
And finds itself—why do I tremble at it?
313
In dim forebodings of what is to be,
For them, or me, or any other man?
It is enough I know, and ache to know,
What on this bridge of time I have to do,
Not overlook the abysm, till my head fail.
What, can they sleep like new-baptized infants,
Who have sinned deeply? Yet be charitable;
That which in me had been a crime unspeakable,
Their heady and fierce natures could not consider.
I'll think in part they erred; yet they must die for it,
And I must execute.—Brothers, awake!
Brothers, I come to touch your dear loved hands
And be at peace with you before you die.
Though in the world I wear a hateful face
And brow of judgment, I may forget them here.
Repent your sin; forgive and pity me,
That the sad fates, which no man may gainsay,
Have put me to this duty.
Arth.
Why, will you murder us?
Eth.
Call it not murder; be more merciful.
Say you have not deserved it; make that clear,
You shall walk free as air.
Arth.
We have deserved it
As the world's judgments go, but not from you.
Eth.
Oh, how can I escape? Do you not know
I must do that which, howsoe'er I tread,
The world shall wonder at, and scarce believe.
Reverence and loyalty shall look pale to see me
314
And from beneath the shelter of a crown,
Under whose sacred circle sits a king,
Pluck forth the sheltered wrong, and punish it;
Ay, in the person of anointed majesty.
Robt.
By Heaven, we'll help you in it! Let us go free!
Eth.
Too late, too late.
Robt.
When we are dead, indeed,
Then it will be too late.
Eth.
It was too late,
When first you raised your swords against the right;
Then it became too late.
Robt.
Is this our Ethel?
That he was true and loving, this we knew,
But never pitiless.
Eth.
I am that Ethel,
On whom the rigorous powers lay such stern hands,
That of my dearest duties they make fires
To burn my friends. She that makes heaven terrible,
Yet only trustworthy, immaculate Justice,
Who dares not overlook unpurged offences,
Hath chosen me to be her officer;
And I, who am a man and son of God,
Have dared to undertake the high commission.
Can I, then, tamper with her least decree?
Can I,—
Who tread the mixed and intricate confines
Of punishment and personal revenge,
315
Have dared to weigh delinquencies of kings,—
Can I play fast and loose, wink with one eye,
And when disorder comes within my scope,
Because it is my kinsmen suffer it,
Let the soft witch Affection sway my acts,
And melt the life of Conscience?
Arth.
It is enough;
Our deaths more than our lives are serviceable.
You'll not forgive that we disdained your counsel,
And dared to fight against you.
Eth.
Nay, but stay;
You are not innocent that speak thus with me,
Nor against me have sinned; I have no choice
To say go free. Taken in arms you were,
Against your country, leagued with foreign foes;
And, set aside the task I have in hand,
My duty is as open as the day;
I cannot pardon traitors.
Arth.
Ay, so call us;
And when you march against your King tomorrow,
You are no traitor!
Eth.
Oh, the difference!
Arthur, play not the casuist with me;
That which we feel down in our heart's deep centre,
Let us not mess with words. The time is awful;
I neither can forego your punishment
Nor quench the love I bear you. Look upon me.
Arth.
Nay, I care not.
316
Be patient with me, brothers!
Is it so much to die? I think it is not.
Oh, pity me the greatness of my woe,
Which, like the central subterranean fire,
Burns in my breast, and not abides the day.
Your sister, oh!
Arth.
Doth she yet live?
Eth.
Ay, I thank God she doth.
Arth.
Dost thou thank God for that? Where is she now?
Eth.
Now here in Engelborg.
Robt.
In Engelborg!
Before I die—
Arth.
Hush, Robert! on your life!
Eth.
What is it, Robert?
Arth.
Robert!
Robt.
Well, no matter.
This is the end of a most noble house.
Eth.
Indeed, I pity you; give me your hands.
Arth.
Sir, if you love us, cease to trouble us;
You are that Earl of Felborg we thought honourable,
That Ethel whom we loved—
Eth.
Oh, love me still!
Arth.
And now you are, I know not what, a priest,
If you be true, or madman; and, if you be not,
The murderer of your brothers. Fare you well,
And let us sleep.
Eth.
Now could I break my heart,
And with the baby-droppings of a boy
317
And do, beyond my utterance; for, indeed,
I ever was cold-tongued, and therefore I think
No man in all the world did ever love me.
Robt.
Yea, that did I, and dearly.
Eth.
Didst thou, Robert?
Ah now, then, when I kneel to thee, forgive me,
And think me not a brother, but a sword
In the hand of Justice. Had it been your lot
To have slain me—as, oh, rejoice it is not—
I would have thanked, not cursed you.
Arth.
Oh, have done!
Do you come here to play the hypocrite?
Eth.
I do not, Arthur; by my soul, I do not!
Now I forget myself to kneel to you,
For you are stubborn and impenitent,
And will not see the greatness of your sin.
Farewell, I never more shall see your faces;
But oh, repent, repent before you die!
[Exit.
Arth.
Now, Robert—
Robt.
I was sleeping.
Arth.
So was not I,
For I have sent for young Cornelius,
And feared he might arrive ere Felborg went.
Robt.
Why should he waken me? Is it not cold?
I wonder shall we feel it in our graves.
What time of night is that? What, ten? no more.
I would tonight, and half tomorrow too,
Had been brushed off the dial; the clocks then
318
Arth.
Listen to me.
Robt.
I will not listen to you.
For God's sake, let's have done with talk at last.
You are a talker, and a great adviser,
And you it was that brought us to this pass.
Why did you join those ever-damned Swedes?
You spoiled the game my boldness might have won.
Oh, I could eat my heart out of my breast!
The King that hears of it shall sweetly smile,
His arm about my sister. Oh, this Ethel!
Arth.
That which we did, we did it for the best,
And were't to do again, I would not change:
These idle lamentations are mere air;
The past is done, there leave it. Have you a spirit
To meddle with the future, and wash out
The golden grains of hope there?
Robt.
Bah, what hope?
Arth.
I trust Cornelius has not met with Ethel;
He stays too long.
Robt.
What will you do with him?
Arth.
This will I make him do. Give us our swords,
Open these doors, and let us walk as free
As morning out of night.
Robt.
Can you do this?
Arth.
I think I can, for he is weak and changing,
Borrowing his mood, like a contagious fever,
From him who touched him last. Trust me, we'll find
A way to move him to it.
319
What! do you think
Tomorrow we shall breathe the air of heaven,
And not lie under ground? I laugh at it,
And am a man again. Then to the court;
We'll trust our own arms, Arthur.
Arth.
Ay, but stay!
Robt.
By Heaven, a little while ago it seemed
A dreadful thing to die; by how much more
Doth it now seem a glorious thing to live!
Ha, ha! Ha, ha!
We'll bathe in morning, and the mounting sun,
That feared to have beheld us pale and cold,
Shall laugh to see us under open sky,
Feeding on light and blown by early winds.
Ha, ha! Ha, ha!
Arth.
Be patient yet awhile;
There's more to do.
Robt.
What is't?
Arth.
Violenzia.
Robt.
What dreadful thought possesses you?
Arth.
Must she live?
Robt.
I am a clod again. What! murder her?
And yet I do not see how she can live.
Arth.
To be a standing index of our shame;
A breathing monument, drawing men's eyes
To gaze on our disgrace. No, she must die;
Blood washes clean, at least. Nay, in mere pity
'Twere best to kill her.
Robt.
Oh, the sadness of it!
320
Would I were dead, and this were not to do!
Arth.
A harlot of our house!
Robt.
Shut, shut your lips.
She dies, and there's an end on 't.
Enter Cornelius.
Arth.
Ha, Cornelius!
Why did you stay so long? have you met Ethel?
Cor.
I have not seen him. He was here with you?
Arth.
Ay, not a moment since. Quick, good Cornelius!
Cor.
What would you have with me?
Arth.
We would be free!
And we would have you open these our doors;
See us safe through your guards; give us our swords;
And put our horses under us.
Cor.
Is this all?
Give you good night, then.
Arth.
Be not mad, Cornelius!
Your folly will mar all, and kill us indeed.
You do not think Ethel intends our death?
Cor.
He acts it well, then.
Arth.
Palpably he does.
Because the thing was open, and we taken
In the very act, he needs must sentence us;
But to suppose he left no loophole for us,
Would be to think he'd murder us. Are you so dull?
Why did he visit us now, but to say this?
321
On whom he might rely to guess his meaning,
And do it without questioning?
Cor.
By my faith,
He gave no hint of this.
Arth.
A hint, Cornelius!
What would you have? Will you go speak to him,
And drive him by plain questioning to deny it?
Do it, and murder us. By holy cross,
It makes me mad that we must lose our lives
Because this man is witless!
Robt.
Nay, good Arthur,
Be not so hot; he knew not Ethel's meaning;
He cannot miss it now. By mass, Cornelius,
'Twas well we sent for you; you had not come else.
Cor.
Nay, I remember when you first were taken
He groaned at it, and cursed at them which took you.
Arth.
Ay, and controlled himself before we came,
And so condemned us; did he not? Why, think!
Would he so coldly have passed sentence on us,
And thought it carried death?
Cor.
Hardly, I think.
Arth.
Nay, if you lack the heart to venture out,
Back to your bed. He'll frown on you tomorrow,
And you would take't for earnest. Fie, Cornelius!
Cor.
I'll move the guard away, and send you swords.
Arth.
And have us horses ready. And, Cornelius,
Show us our sister's lodging; we would speak to her
Before we go.
322
Without there! open the door!—
I'll send to you straightway. Avoid these drinkers.
I am glad to serve you in it.
[Exit.
Robt.
By Heaven, it's done!
Let's flee at once!
Arth.
No, no; he sends us swords,
Without which we are nothing. Listen to them.
[Soldiers heard singing.
Those that are dead
Lie still in their bed,
And care not for sorrow or scorning;
Life's but a day,
Drink while you may,
And be ready to die in the morning.
Meanwhile we opine
The best thing to be wine.
Tra-la-la.
Enter Soldier with swords.
Lie still in their bed,
And care not for sorrow or scorning;
Life's but a day,
Drink while you may,
And be ready to die in the morning.
Meanwhile we opine
The best thing to be wine.
Tra-la-la.
Sol.
Look you, some of us will be hung for this.
Arth.
Do you think so, fellow? Oh, no.
Sol.
Ay, you may laugh at it; but I must obey Cornelius, though I see I shall hang for it. That's my duty, and the gallows will be my payment.
Arth.
Well, lead on, fellow.
Robt.
Will he not hang Cornelius?
Arth.
Like enough
[Exeunt.
323
Scene V.
Ethel's Quarters in Engelborg.A Council of Officers.
Ethel, Olave, Cornelius, and Officers.
Eth.
Speak, gentlemen.
Your duty lies not in your neighbour's eyes;
Search your own breasts; he that falls off from me,
And does it simply from his soul's conviction,
I will believe he is as true a man,
As tender of the right, and as courageous,
As those who most applaud me;
He that hangs doubtful,
Oh, let him think, before he turns away,
Unredressed wrong grows rich in his defection,
And mighty Justice like a beggar stands,
Craving his alms. Who speaks? Who goes with me?
[The Officers whisper together.
Old Capt.
My lord, we are plain men; deal plainly with us;
Tell us in bold words you desire the crown,
We'll aid you faithfully.
Sec. Capt.
Ay, do; you wrong us,
To muffle up your secret purposes
In these fine words.
Third Capt.
Be open with us, sir;
Many are here that love you.
Eth.
In dear truth,
And as I am a soldier and a gentleman,
324
That hopes to win a gain by my advancement.
Third Capt.
He will not trust us.
Sec. Capt.
Tell us, General,
Will you set free the Earls of Ingelwald?
Eth.
I will not free the Earls of Ingelwald.
Sec. Capt.
Nor I, then, will not countenance a man
Who scruples not in death of dearest friends
To root the ambitious ends he mis-styles virtue.
Go to, you fair-faced lord, we are not children!
Eth.
Be it so;
Some of you present judge me worthier.
Yet think not by your hanging back to move me
From my first course—nor by worst opposition.
If every man should turn his back on me,
Unto the rough breast of the common soldier
Will I appeal. Judge as you will of me,
And send me word how you will deal with me.
Oh, that a man might take sincerity
Out of his breast, and lay 't before your eyes!—
Cornelius, take my place here.
[Exit.
Ol.
Let me speak:
I tell you, he is made of simple faith,
And what he says he means.
Cor.
Tush! not a whit.
Ol.
What, do you not believe it?
Cor.
I? oh, yes.
Fourth Capt.
Cornelius knows his mind; let's hear Cornelius.
325
Nay, gentlemen, so much I cannot say;
And what close policy lies in these masked speeches
I guess not; only these two things I know,—
Unto his friends was Felborg never false,
Nor ever knew the vice ingratitude;
His bounty flows as liberal as water
To his least servitor. And for those gentlemen
That fear for the two noble Ingelwalds,
Let them not trust me if he means them harm.
He'll not acquit them; is't not possible
Their doors may be ill-guarded?
Ol.
Now, by Heaven,
You wrong him wickedly, Cornelius!
And though their love did lie about his soul,
He will not spare them.
Sec. Capt.
Look to yourselves, gentlemen.
Fidelity, long service, true attachment,
Weigh not a grain against his fantasy,
Nor earn you any liberty.
Ol.
Not to be traitors!
Sec. Capt.
Who dares to talk of traitors? All are not such
A rambling fancy styles so. Ha!
Cor.
Come, come;
He's not so strict. Maybe I should not name it,—
They have found open doors!
Ol.
Who? by whose means?
It's false! most false!
Cor.
What will you wager on it?
326
My life.
Cor.
Your purse?
Ol.
Ay, all I'm worth i' the world.
Enter Soldier.
Sol.
My lord! the General, where's the General?
Cor.
Your news, fellow? your news?
Sol.
Away! they are loose!
I saw them o' horseback. Where's the General?
[Exit.
Cor.
Ha! ha! ha!
Ol.
If this be true, and with his cognisance,
Farewell, fair faith; I'll break my sword and leave him.
Enter two Soldiers.
Sol.
The Ingelwalds have escaped! The Earl of Felborg
Calls out aloud for you.
Ol.
For me?
[Exeunt Olave and Soldiers.
Cor.
Now, sirs,
Will any man refuse to go with us?
Third Capt.
Humph, what he says is true; the men will go;
No man can doubt that he will gain his end.
I ride, for one.
Sec. Capt.
And I.
Fourth Capt.
Would he were honester!
327
We must go on with him.
Fifth Capt.
Thus much for me,
Where Felborg leads, I'll follow.
Sixth Capt.
Do! to hell.
Well, I'll make one with you.
Cor.
Thanks, gentlemen;
And when his head lies in the golden hoop,
Power will enrich his gratitude.
Old Capt.
For me,
I pin my faith with Olave, and believe
He nothing seeks himself.
Cor.
But will you join us?
Old Capt.
Ethel I'll join; not you, nor any such.
Cor.
No man says nay; I'll tell the General so.
Break up; we shall be moving with the morning.
[Exeunt all save two Captains.
First Capt.
You are not one of them?
Sec. Capt.
I hang. 'Tis monstrous odds
If the King can stand against him.
First Capt.
If he should, though?
Sec. Capt.
Let's send him a messenger and give him warning;
If Felborg fail, that might make peace for us.
First Capt.
And stay ourselves?
Sec. Capt.
Why, it's the likelier side.
First Capt.
Unless his heart should fail. Well, we must risk it.
[Exeunt.
328
Scene VI.
An Anteroom to Violenzia's Bedchamber. Dark.Enter Robert and Arthur, with their swords drawn.
Arth.
Hist!
She sleeps within there.
Robt.
Let me breathe a moment;
What we are doing is not known in heaven yet;
The night is balmy fair, and the stars shine.
Arth.
Knock at the door.
Robt.
Oh, peace! listen awhile.
Arth.
No creature moves.
Robt.
Silence is audible,
And buzzes in mine ears. Hark where she comes!
Enter Violenzia in a white undress, bearing a light.
O frightful apparition! this is her ghost.
Vio.
My brothers!
Robt.
Hark! it speaks! O dreadful thing!
Vio.
Why do you stand with drawn swords and white faces,
Like wintry ghosts set in the gleaming moon?
You will not murder me? Help! help!
Arth.
(threatening her with his sword.)
Be still!
Open your lips again only to breathe,
I'll—
Vio.
I will not cry again, indeed I will not.
Why are you come? Have mercy! Why will you kill me?
329
What boots the reason? you must die tonight.
Vio.
Oh, not tonight! good Robert, not tonight!
Kind Arthur, courteous Arthur, not tonight!
Arth.
This hour, this moment.
Vio.
Oh, a moment spare me!
What have I done?
Arth.
What did the Roman matron
When the base tyrant shamed her? Ha! are you noble?
Vio.
Where's Ethel, who did tell me that to dream of it
Was sin beyond redemption. He speaks truth.
Arth.
He is the damned'st slave!
Vio.
O bitter villains!
When you were traitors merely, I wept for you
More tears than you were worth; now I perceive
You are but hardened ruffians. Well, despatch.
I do not fear to look on death. O brothers!
When the great King sits on his awful throne,
What will you plead? All the vast judgment-crowd
Shall shrink when they behold your crimson hands,
Wet with a sister's blood, held up for mercy
In vain, as mine are now.
Arth.
Prepare yourself.
Vio.
Let me retire into my chamber here,
And pray before I die; so much your rage
May yet grant to a sister.
Arth.
Well, be swift.
You will not seek to escape?
330
Oh, no! I will not.
God pity me! for I am innocent.
[Exit.
Robt.
God pity me! she said, God pity me!
Sweet Arthur, I have loved you tenderly
Since we were nothing higher than our swords,
And of my joys made common harvest with you,
And carried half your sorrows. Once, remember it,
When the fierce bear had got you in his gripe,
I thrust my arm into the monster's jaws
And stabbed him with my knife. This is the mark;
I swear, this is the mark.
Arth.
Well I remember it.
Robt.
Do you indeed? And many a time in battle
I have stepped in between an imminent sword
And your dear life. Do you remember this too?
Why, then, I see you have a grateful heart,
And kind affection hath her mood in you.
Now, then, repay the good that I have done you
More than a thousandfold told thousand times.
Let me lie here upon the earless earth,
And torture up my eyes, and seal my hearing,
And go you in alone and do the deed.
Joy of my soul, sweet Arthur, will you not?
She loved me most. Christ! I remember her
A little earnest child, whose secret lips
Would steal to kiss my hand. I cannot do it! [Throwing himself on the ground.
[Exit Arthur into the inner room.
Robt.
He is gone in to do it. O just God!
331
Hark! she will cry soon.—Will it never come?
Let him be quick, not cruel. Re-enter Arthur.
Is she dead?
O damned murderer!
Arth.
Let's fly from hence.
Robt.
Murderers and fratricides! The damned will start,
When we with bloody swords break into hell!
Arth.
Rise up, I say!
Robt.
My ears drank up her voice
When she did cry for mercy, yet I heard it not.
There is no devil in the waste of hell
But would have melted when she cried for mercy.
Arth.
For God's sake, come away!
[Pulls him; Robert strikes him.
Robt.
Stand off, you devil!
I am not damned yet.
Arth.
Is he mad indeed?
Hush! I hear footsteps in the corridor.
Be still as death.
[Robert rises; they listen.
Robt.
Ay, death is still indeed.
Arth.
Hark! they draw near; no whisper!
[They listen.
Robt.
Oh, have mercy!
She moves in the inner room.
[Knocking.
Ethel.
(outside.)
Who speaks within there?
332
Be ready for a rush.
Eth.
Violenzia!
Robt.
Hark! she will answer. I can bear no more.
[Knocking.
Come in, I say. Why do you beat the door?
Come in, and see two pale-faced fratricides
Shaking their palsied swords.
Enter Ethel and Soldiers; they rush on Robert and Arthur, and secure them.
Eth.
O bloody-hearted brothers! what have you done?
[Ethel goes in, and returns with the body of Violenzia, which he lays on the stage, and stands looking at it.
Robt.
Let me look on her.
O God! that this thing were to do again!
Ol.
(to Arth..
This monster! Do you not repent?
Arth.
Repent!
Let those that have let opportunity
Slip through their hands repent; I cannot do it.
Ol.
Cold-hearted wretch!
Arth.
Ay, cold. And yet I'll tell thee,
Could I have stretched my arm into the past,
And undone that thing which hath once been done,
She should have lived a spotless maid again,—
Ay, though my soul were made a thousand souls,
And each one damned for ever. Well, what matter?
Eth.
Take them away to present execution,
333
Arth.
Lean on me, Robert.
Robt.
Pah! you smell of blood.
Arth.
Well! well! well!
First Sol.
He cared but little for her.
Sec. Sol.
Not a whit.
[Exeunt Olave and Soldiers conducting Robert and Arthur.
Eth.
He did not care for her! no, not a whit!
I did not love thee, Violenzia!
Be it so! be it so! be it so!
I can bear it—I can bear it—I can bear it.
Being dead, I now may kiss thee, may I not?
Cold angel, the last time I touched those lips—
Have done! Look down, you heavenly arbitrators;
Be not harsh with me, if my heart should burst
Because a girl is dead. Nay, I can bear it.
I do not fling myself upon the ground,
And drown the thirsty earth with rainy tears;
I do not tear my hair, or beat my breast,
Or heave my labouring heart from its foundations.
I can be patient. See, my God, she bleeds!
Is there no more to bear! Oh, no, not thus.
I do not tax, high Heaven, thy great designs,
No, nor abate my faith a single jot.
Why, this is mercy; do I cavil at it?
She is in heaven by this, where angels flatter her,
And soothe her with white hands; I would not have her
Alive for all the world. Oh, she is dead!
334
And her affection was the corner-stone
Of all my reared existence. That was long ago;
Chaste marriage-joys, the faces of young children,
And all the sweet felicities of home—
These are old dreams, and long since vanished.
Soul-softening memory, fly! Take up, O heart!
Peace is for angels, and we mortal labourers
Must die in harness; I am content, great Father,
And kiss thy tender hand.
Smil'st thou, pale innocent? Was death so kind to thee,
That came in guise so barbarous? Come, dear burden,
I must not leave thee here.
[Exit, bearing Violenzia into the inner room.
Scene VII.
Ethel's Quarters in Engelborg.Ethel. Soldiers bringing in the Guard who had Robert and Arthur in charge.
Eth.
Are these the men that had the care of them?
I saw thee at the door. Is this the other?
By your gross negligence they have escaped,
And done foul murder in the dead of night.
Away with them! Yet stay! speak, if you will.
First Gu.
Nay, I care not to speak, 'twill not be believed.
Eth.
Yet I'll not hang them. What, after battlefield,
335
Conquered the struggling will? Which one of us
But every day sleeps in his mortal charge,
And lets swift time with noiseless key slip in
And ravish opportunity? Yet I must punish them,
Lest this quick vice of ease become contagious.—
Fellows, I give you back your lives.
First Gu.
Look, General,
I'd have you know we are innocent in this. You may hang us or pardon us as you will, I care not. I obeyed orders, and there's an end on it.
Eth.
Orders? from whom? what orders?
First Gu.
Why, straightforward orders to give them swords, and find them horses, and let them go. Nay, you'll not believe it.
Sec. Gu.
Cornelius took me from my post.
First Gu.
Ay, look you, a man must obey orders.
Eth.
Cornelius!
First Gu.
Yonder he comes to forswear it. Hang us or drum us out, it's all one. Do it and never question, that's your rule, and then hang us for it.—Cheer up, comrade!
Enter Cornelius.
Eth.
He comes in smiling! By the immortal saints,
I think men mock at me. Cornelius,
Have you yet heard the Ingelwalds are broke loose?
These men, about to pay the penalty,
336
Cor.
Indeed!
Eth.
Indeed me no indeeds, sir! answer me!
I am not in my pleasant mood. Learn, too,
That these fell traitors have put murderers,
A new addition, to their names. D' you shrink?
Their sister's blood cries to the breaking day,
And blisters the pale stars.
Cor.
This is not so!
Eth.
I say it is. Even now their wretched bodies
Render their forfeited breaths.
Cor.
Cruel and treacherous!
They have betrayed me to my death. Hark, Ethel!
Eth.
Stand back! speak out! Does no man know me yet,
To think I will play off and on with them,
And make desert lackey the heels of favour?
These men stand yet in bonds; if by your order
The doors were opened, say it at once; each moment
Stamps your shame deeper.
Cor.
It was I that did it.
Eth.
Let them go free?
Cor.
Nor did I seek to hide it.
Eth.
Cornelius, I had rather seen you dead
Than thus betray your trust.—Stand round him, there.
Cor.
Hear, yet a moment hear me. They deceived me
By lying semblances and false reports,
Feigning it was your will they should go free,
337
They made great seeming proof, and my confusion
Could not withstand their haste. Oh, pardon me,
Not for my fault, but that I could imagine
You could do thus.
Eth.
Could you believe it of me?
O bitter day! O bitter, bitter day!
Who shall be true to me, who shall believe me?
Cor.
I, Ethel! Kill me for my grievous error,
And dying think me true. It was my weakness
That made me judge you falsely by myself,
And not my lack of love; I was too shallow
To fathom your nobility. Let me die.
Eth.
Have I done well to take this thing in hand,
And put myself into the judgment-seat?
Have I been treacherous, base, and given to lies,
That my close-bosomed friends thus construe me?
That action wherein if I trod aright
Over the ploughshares of my dearest affections,
I thought would unseal all men's eyes, and make them
Confess my honesty, is turned against me,
And made a trick and meanness. Yet have courage.
When it is ended, and the cold earth lies
On this o'erburdened bosom, they will believe;
Till then I'll fight it out alone.—Cornelius,
As I had given these poor men their lives,
And as it was your weakness more than guilt,
I spare your life. Lay down your office, though,
And tokens of command; no more a soldier.—
338
Cor.
Take it; I have deserved it.
I dare not touch your hand. O Earl of Felborg,
Some time when I have wiped away this blot
Call me your friend again.
Eth.
Farewell, Cornelius;
[Exit Cornelius.
And with you go the last of all I loved.
Enter Olave.
Ol.
The traitors are despatched, my lord.
Eth.
So be it.
Violenzia sleeps. Alone on the broad earth.
Ol.
Your officers and soldiers love you dearly.
Eth.
I thank you very heartily.—Is it strange
That our diviner impulses, great thoughts,
And all the highest holiest life of the soul,
Should yearn for mortal sympathy and not find it,
No, not in women,—nay, not dare to ask for't?
Ol.
What is it you say, my lord?
Eth.
Do you not see,
It is the exceeding goodness of our God,
To bend our love unto his Father's breast,
And press our heads to his bosom? We are greater
As children than as brothers.
Ol.
Now he dreams again:
But they are dreams which I begin to think
Nobler than all I know. Is it possible
A man should be both saint and soldier?
339
What is it to me, then, that no eye that meets mine
Shines with a kindred light; that should I speak
That which burns in me, oh, no tongue so strange
As my unfeigned utterance; that my acts, even,
Beget bewilderment, and are construed
Clean from their purposes? This should not trouble me,
Nor mortal solitude oppress my spirit:
It is for me to walk my single road;
There is in heaven a holy sympathiser
Shall smile to find me faithful. The time flies
Wherein I should be active; what's the hour?
Ol.
Early, my lord.
Eth.
What, do the soldiers sleep yet?
Ol.
Oh, no, my lord; the last reveillé sounded
An hour ago.
Eth.
Then they are on the march.
Ol.
In part they are.
Eth.
Christian of Lodenstern
Is a good officer and an honest man;
Have you not marked it?
Ol.
He is very worthy.
Eth.
Cornelius it was who broke his trust,
And set the prisoners free; he is disgraced.
Ol.
I was very sad to learn it.
Eth.
So was I.
Christian of Lodenstern shall have his place,
And stay here with the garrison.
Ol.
Do you think so?
340
Eth.
What matter?
You say he is efficient. Send him to me
At my own lodging; so far I'll walk with you.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene I.
A Room in the Palace.The King; to him enter Malgodin.
Mal.
My lord! here's news from the camp at last, and great ones. I think Lady Fortune laughs at our little frailties, and takes side with us. The hot-brained brothers and the confederate Swedes have been defeated—and by whom, think you? Ethel of Felborg. Laugh at it, it is true: and he hath taken the Ingelwalds prisoners; and oh, it is more laughable yet, hath condemned them to death, and by this time they are dead, and by his means. Here's news for a man to get fat upon, if his merriment spoil not his digestion; Ethel hath done them to death.
King.
Hath Felborg defeated the Swedes?
Mal.
Why, 'tis a very wise fellow; he could not marry the girl now. What should he get by joining the Swedes, being a Christian, and not of a revengeful temper? What should he do, but make favour with you? Tush! he'll bring you back the girl in his hand. Oh, the ingenuity and great good temper of the devil!
341
She's dead, Malgodin.
Mal.
But your majesty must not trust this Felborg: 'tis these forgiving spirits, these mean pocketers of insult, that bear a long memory; I never smiled on a man yet that struck me, but I gave him a dig in the dark, ay and a deep one. And the girl, again, your majesty! blushing scarlet, and praying forgiveness for running away like a fool; she shall go on her knees, which is a pretty attitude in so fair a woman.
King.
Be silent, you damned beast! I say she's dead.
Mal.
(aside.)
What's in the wind now? Bah! he
frightens me as a tame cat does when she turns to bite:
he can wound me, but I am his master as much as ten
times his wickedness can make me. Magister scelerum,
that's your true degree, and a good working distinction.
He walks to and fro like a hungry bear.—Why is your
majesty so restless and moody? Are these not good
news?
King.
I tell thee, Malgodin, I saw her last night.
Mal.
Whom did your majesty see?
King.
Violenzia.
Mal.
In the flesh?
King.
No; in the spirit.
Mal.
A very poor exchange in a woman.
King.
Peace, you devil!
About the middle of the night she came,
Or nearer morning, as I lay awake.
My curtain shook, and on my spirit came
342
At which my hair 'gan rise, and all my body
Was bathed in anxious dew: yet could I not
Take off my eyes from where the curtain moved;
Which parting, showed me Violenzia,
Who with straight staring eyeballs uninformed
Looked into vacancy; on her white side,
Whiter than her torn robe, she grasped her hand,
And through the parted fingers I could see
A sword's deep stab with red and gaping edges.
A year I gazed at her, until my blood,
All thronged into my drawn suspended heart,
Burst with a great leap back into my veins,
And then I fainted.
Mal.
'Twas a pretty dream.
King.
I have a dagger in my belt. Beware!
It was no dream.
Enter Attendant.
Att.
A messenger from the army, so please your Majesty,
Would speak with you.
Mal.
Let him come in at once.
[Exit Attendant.
Enter Messenger.
Mal.
Now, what's the news?
Mess.
O mighty Sovereign—
Mal.
Speak to me, knave. He will not be disturbed.
343
Oh, I must bring my liege unwelcome news
That hangs upon my tongue.
Mal.
Peace, wordy fool!
Tell it in little space.
Mess.
Earl Ingelwald
And his condemned brother did last night
Evade their guards, and, being at liberty,
Fled to the private lodging of their sister,
And slew her sleeping.
Mal.
Is this all?
Mess.
Being taken,
They were this morning executed.
Mal.
Hence!
King.
Nay, stay awhile; I'll hear it over again.
What is't about the high-born Countess Ingelwald?
Mess.
Slain by her angry brothers, gracious liege.
King.
Slain by her brothers with a sword, you say?
They stabbed her in the side?
Mess.
Ay, very like;
I think 'twas in the side.
King.
In the white side.
Mal.
Fellow, be gone!
[Exit Messenger.
King.
Why, then, it is no dream!
Up to this moment I did well believe
It was a painted and fantastic dream.
Why, then, we do not die; and what you taught me
Of the material structure of our being
Is false, and there's a life beyond the grave.
Her face being ghastly, pale, and sorrowful,
344
Of that which we did here. Oh, what remembrances
Shall I there feed upon! If she, an angel,
Wore a sad face in memory of her faults,
What inextinguishable dreadful pangs
Shall I not be condemned to! Is there no help?
No, not a whit! Why let it be and come,
I cannot alter it.
Mal.
Not unless you could go back into your longclothes and be born again, as the righteous are.
King.
I'll picture you my hell. Thus shall I sit,
Frozen to stone, yet more than sensible;
And all affections I have ever quenched
Of mild-eyed piety and soft compassion
Shall throng up in my bosom: then shall be brought
Myself, and all the deeds wherein I acted,
And every person that was mixed in them;
And all the mischiefs that I ever did
Shall there be set before me; all the griefs,
The pain, the anguish, and the misery
That ever my misguided will did breed,
Down to remote and finest consequence,
Shall there be shown; and I sit staring on,
Debarred from weeping, while the scene displays
Such sights as would make Pity waste her eyes,
And down the face of Winter draw warm tears.
There shall be played a weeping chamber-scene,
And screams be heard that would have moved the dead;
And there rebellion shall make hasty home
345
Shall, in the hands of brothers, bend their points
Against a sleeping sister; and a king
Shall be portrayed, beating his bosom—thus.
Mal.
A very ingenious and pleasant mode of passing eternity; same, though—same.
King.
This serpent I have nourished in my breast
Is grown so bold he scoffs me to my face,
And I endure it. Why, what should I do,
Were I to kill the only wickedness
That can outmatch my own?
Enter Messenger.
Mess.
More news, my liege.
King.
More news—more grief—more hell!
Enter another Messenger.
Sec. Mess.
Fly, my good lord! an instant flight may save you;
The Earl of Felborg rides against you fast,
And all the army, sworn to do his will,
Follow behind; the cry is all against you:
They will depose you, and he shall be king.
Fly, for your lives!
Mal.
O these forgiving saints!
I think the game is almost played away.
This fool begins to rave too.
Mess.
Haste, my liege!
'Tis more than imminent; they're on my heels.
346
He comes whose face, being seen in endless hell,
Shall make me mad with vain attempts to die.
Mal.
What boots a flight? I shall be apprehended:
I'll try my knack at managing a Christian.
He that can ride a wild beast may a tame one;
Yet they're mule-mouthed sometimes.—Take heart, my liege.
(Aside)
What a poor slave it is!—Swallow some wine.
King.
(throwing it down.)
What should I want with wine? my mood is cold,
Cold as despair. Enter Ethel, Olave, and Officers.
Who breaks into my presence without leave?
Bent brows, bold eyes, and bonnets unremoved—
Is treason ripe, and so unmannerly?
[Drawing his sword.
Come on, you hateful traitor; I abide you
As I do leprosy.
Eth.
Disarm him, gentlemen;
I do not come to measure swords with him.
You are my prisoner, and for this I charge you,
That you have ruled this country most amiss,
And done foul wrongs and monstrous wickedness,
Whereat heaven aches, and will no more endure it.
For this you shall be tried; and on the morrow
Expect to make your answer.
King.
Who shall try me?
347
(pointing to Malgodin.)
Arrest him for a common malefactor.
If he vent blasphemy, gag him.
[Exeunt.
Scene II.
An Anteroom.A Soldier on guard. Enter Gentlemen.
First Gent.
May we pass in?
Sol.
Ay, sir; it is as open as the day.
[Exeunt Gentlemen.
Enter others.
Sec. Gent.
What! it is not over yet?
Sol.
Oh no, sir; they have but just met.
Sec. Gent.
I have ridden twenty miles to see it.
Sol.
Had you come sixty, it had been worth your while. It is the finest spectacle I ever set eyes on. Earl Felborg hath summoned all the judges, and they sit all in a row in their robes; 'tis the finest sight—and the great throne stands empty. The King himself makes answer at the bar.
Sec. Gent.
They say he shall be hung; that's not possible.
Sol.
It is certain—on a gallows a hundred feet high, and Malgodin on a little one beside him.
Third Gent.
I hope it will be big enough to serve; I would not have him 'scape.
Sol.
What, Malgodin? No fear. There's no chance
348
Sec. Gent.
Come, I'll go see it.
[Exeunt.
Enter others.
Fourth Gent.
What! is the King tried yet?
Sol.
Judgment will pass shortly.
Fourth Gent.
In, gentlemen. We shall have no
places.
[Exeunt.
Sol.
Nay, I'll not miss it either. I may as well
stand inside as out. A guard's small use where all may
go in.
[Exit.
Scene III.
A great Hall; the Throne standing empty, with the Insignia of Royalty lying on it.Ten Judges in their robes. The King and Malgodin before them. Ethel surrounded by his Officers, Olave, Cornelius, and Haveloc.
Crier.
Hearken all men,—the court will pronounce its judgment.
Chief Just.
On this Malgodin
We pass the doom of death, so often merited,
That if the strictness of a legal sentence
Could be strained past the pains of simple death,
More had been his; the law admits it not,
Therefore his sentence is no more than death.
Let him be hung upon the common gallows.
Mal.
Well, the gallows is a very creditable ending.
349
King.
Does he mean me?
[Trying to rush on.
Malgodin. Guard.
Stand back, sir!
Chief Just.
Carry him off to instant execution.
Mal.
Must I go, gravity? Och! there are hearts here I should like to leave knives in. Well, I have done, and must die. If wickedness work below as well as it doth in this religious world, I'll be a king there.
Eth.
Why do they suffer him to speak?
Mal.
Ah, why? Adieu, master Christian, the devil
be with you, good lord Tender-mercies, close count
Anti-revenge, that can see a throne empty—and you,
justiciary owls, that can find a villain in one that was
honest so long as the King's wing covered him. Adieu,
young Luxury, king Scamblewit the ghost-seer, that
thinks souls are made of matter.—Ha! ha! And good
people all, fair faces and rotten hearts, farewell; that is,
follow me to hell. You are devil's eggs all.
[Exit, guarded. The Judges consult.
Eth.
O God, with what a terrible scope of freedom
Hast thou endowed the ranging wills of men;
Yet they are circled: with untroubled eye
Thou see'st them press upon the farthest verge
From thee and good, their sin thou pitiest,
And of the evil (as we speak) thence springing
Thou shapest good. They dare not judge the King.
350
We have considered and well weighed our task,
And find against the King our tongues are dumb;
We dare not call him innocent or guilty;
There is no precedent or form of law
Which doth include his person, and no rule
That circumscribes the freedom of his acts.
We are no more than servants of the law;
Nor dare we stretch our office, which to do
Would be to break the bounds of limited duty,
Wherein we ably serve the intents of justice,
And make confusion give us jurisdiction
In that whereunto we have no appointment.
Let him go free at once.
King.
Why, this is well!
Give me my crown again; those thorns are weak
That would perplex the feet of majesty.
I am not on your level, nor amenable
To mortal jurisdiction.
[He ascends the throne.
Eth.
Then I take up
The burthen of my fate; the end is come
Whereto my steps have drawn me. Look upon me,
Thou that assum'st the port and high aspect
Of kingly dignity. Oh, you are pale!—
Witness, you soldiers who stand round me here,
Whose god is honour; you, great guardians
Of civil honesty, and all good men
Who keep religion chambered in your bosoms,—
I call you all to witness: air and you elements
351
Spiritual influences that persuade
Against the breath of time, and move within us
By holy spirited touches; angels, and you
Fine powers whose being is beyond the grave,
And most thou Holy Spirit, whose white hand,
Dipt in the waters of our human heart,
Purifies and persuades us back to God,—
Behold what now I do, and hear my words;
And testify this voice whose hollow tones
Pronounced two brothers' judgments, and these lips
Made marble with the touches of dead love,
And testify a tongue that never lied,
And life that when it saw where justice aimed,
Willingly never strayed—the thing I do,
And doing which I tremble, is not bred
Out of a passionate spirit of revenge,
But out of reverence for the broken law,
And to protect weak spirits from more wrong.
Thou King, that with a fresh triumphant haste
Snatchest again the circle of dominion,
And gatherest up thine old audacity,
Dost thou believe, because thou art outside
The narrow confines of the law's dominion,
The continent of justice holds thee not?
Or that the sceptred dignity of kings
Can sway the even balance in her hand,
Or make the wrong the right, or play with sin;
Or in the opposing substance of stern duty
352
The penalty, like universal heaven,
Clouds every head, and when a king dares err
Beyond the endurance of the patient skies,
God lifts his dreadful eyes to punish it.
Sometimes of sharp revenge he makes his rod,
Using another sin to scourge the first;
And sometimes prompts a tardy diffident spirit,
As he doth mine, to break old sanctioned rules,
And in the obedience of a bidden child
To vindicate his justice, and lay low
The offending brow.
King.
Ay, ay! my time is come.
Eth.
This King, being sick to surfeit with all sin
That lies in luxury and self-indulgence,
And having broke his burthen'd people's hearts,
And let disorders, like rank poisonous weeds,
Spring in the fertile garden of his realm,
Conceived the strained forbearance of grave heaven
Allowed some margin yet. What did he then?
A deed whereat, that such a thing should be,
The heavenly hosts grew pale, and shook in faith,
And the reluctant spirits of the damned
Groaned at their monstrous jubilee; the dead,
Alarmed to think good was no more omnipotent,
Could not abide the silence of their graves,
But with appalled eyes broke forth.
King.
Enough!
It is enough! repeat it not again!
353
And the sad ghosts of the revengeful dead
Walk in the day.
[Covers his eyes.
Tell me she is not there,
Or I will never more undo my eyes,
But from the high meridian of my days
Fall blindfold to the grave.
[The people murmur.
Eth.
What is't you fear?
King.
Away! I do repent me of my sins;
I have done all that you do charge me with,
And coped iniquity with such an act
As makes me sick to think on 't. I submit me
Unto your jurisdiction, and lay down
The insignia of abused royalty:
Pronounce your sentence; I bow down to it;
But oh, be merciful! not present death,
For I have heard no man is so abandoned
But may retrieve his soul before he dies.
Eth.
I thank the grace of Heaven, which moves you thus,
And makes my labour lesser than I thought it;
And after all the struggles of my soul
Shows me the face of God. Your life is spared;
The tears of your repentance have made soft
The edge of punishment; renounce your crown,
With such formality as shall make secure
Against the reassertion of your claim,
And in a private station end your days;
And, oh, may tears and faithful act of duty
354
King.
Amen!
Into your hand I give my crown; sit thou
Where late I sat so ill: but ere I go
To sue with my washed prayers another throne,
Ethel of Felborg, the most wronged of men,
Forgive my injuries and touch my hand.
The faces of the men that pampered me
And flattered me in all my wickedness
Are turned to frowns; here only I perceive
A countenance of judgment mixed with mercy.
Look, at your feet I fall, and will not rise
Until you pardon me.
Eth.
Rise from the ground.
Heaven judge my soul as I have wiped away
Resentment of all injury you have done me.
King.
I ask for the protection of your soldiers,
And so much wealth as may suffice to bring me
To some far-distant shore; new air, new scenes, new life
Best suit with the new spirit that moves in me.
Eth.
You have your will.—One of you wait on him,
And see him safe from harm.—God give you grace! [Exeunt King, Officer, and Soldiers.
(The people cry)
The Earl of Felborg shall be king!
Long live King Ethel!
Eth.
Ah me!
Thou didst not join that cry; I thank thee, Olave;—
Nor thou, Cornelius, once again a friend.
Cor.
Dost thou so soon forgive thy weak Cornelius?
355
Hav.
Ethel, you mar the greatness of your acts
To clench them with usurped authority;
The throne my royal brother has renounced
Succeeds to me. I lay my claim to it,
And with my sword I will defend my right.
Eth.
Are you so bold, young sir? Give me your hand.
[He leads him to the throne, and puts the crown on his head.
Upon a head stainless and innocent
I lay temptation and a thousand cares.
I do not give it you; it is your right,
Which God forbid I should gainsay: so wear it,
That when you die, good men may weep for you.
Enter Messenger.
Mess.
Malgodin, heartless and impenitent,
Hath yielded up his wretched life.
Eth.
'Tis well;
My task is almost ended. Let me kneel.
[He kneels before Haveloc.
My liege, I do you homage. Take my sword;
The work whereto I dedicated it
Is done: henceforth I have no need of it;
The awful wielding of it lies with you.
It is a sacred weapon; handle it so
That it may be a terror to offenders,
And safety to the innocent. Be just.
It is ended and accepted; this is death.
356
Ethel falls lower to his face.
Hav.
Rise, noble Earl; too long you kneel to us.
What! look to him.
[They raise him up.
Cor.
He swoons.
Ol.
It is no swoon.
Cor.
Stand back from him!—Sweet Ethel, speak to me?
He's dead. Alas, he's dead!
Hav.
So suddenly!
Cor.
This is some damned poisoner!
Ol.
I think not, sire.
He hath of late been tortured with sharp spasms
And pains about the heart, which his physician
Looked grave upon; such pains bode sudden death.
Cor.
He is well dead; indeed, you speak it truly;
His heart was killed before his body was,
By grief and by the faithlessness of friends.
Hav.
O young and heavily tasked! how should I live
That tread from such a death unto a throne?
Truly and fearfully.—Gather him up,
And show him to his soldiers,—many rough cheeks
Shall stain themselves with tears,—and let them bury him
With high observances and mournful state,
Such as become his nobleness. Touch him tenderly.
357
[The bubble of the silver-springing waves]
The bubble of the silver-springing waves,Castalian music, and that flattering sound,
Low rustling of the loved Apollian leaves,
With which my youthful hair was to be crowned,
Grow dimmer in my ears; white Beauty grieves
Over her votary, less frequent found,
And, not untouched by storms, my life-boat heaves
Through the splashed ocean-waters, outward bound.
And as the leaning mariner, his hand
Clasped on his ear, strives trembling to reclaim
Some loved lost echo from the fleeting strand,
So lean I back to the poetic land;
And in my heart a sound, a voice, a name
Hangs, as above the lamp hangs the expiring flame.
| Poems and Essays | |