 | The Countess of Salisbury |  |
14
ACT II.
SCENE within the Castle.Enter Raymond and Grey.
Grey.
Away, my lord, away with every care;
The conflict's past, and fortune is our own—
Defeated once, again I sought the fair;
I sought her, and prevail'd.
Raymond.
By all the joys, the nameless joys, that on
The precious hour of soft compliance wait,
I will requite thee nobly. Say, for much
My wonder's mov'd, how hast thou found
Such grace? how wrought this change, thus sudden thus,
Unhop'd from her late bearing?
Grey.
Uncertain is the sex—but that imports not.
It now remains, that proof, such proof be sought
Of Salisbury's fate, as by minute detail
Of circumstance shall with the lady gain
Prompt credence—Hear what I have devis'd, if you
Approve—
Enter a Knight.
Knight.
My lord, two strangers I have brought,
Within the precincts of the castle found.
15
Say'st thou? two strangers? of what quality?
Knight.
With me they were of speech not over-prompt;
But by their outward guise they wou'd seem men
As with some pious purpose charg'd. Severe
The younger seems, but of excelling form;
And wishes to recruit his wearied limbs
Beneath the friendly covert of this roof.
Raymond.
Conduct them to our presence— [Exit Knight.]
I were loth,
The weary traveller to dismiss my gates,
Unhospitably rude; yet none I wish,
While we are yet suspended at the nod
Of peevish and uncertain chance, approach
These walls.
Re-enter Knight, with Strangers.
Whence, and what are you?
First Stranger.
What we are,
These weeds, tho' we were silent, might unfold.
Alwin I am call'd, my fellow-traveller
Leroches. Our way was bent for Canterbury,
With purpose of a pious vow: o'erta'en
By weariness from travel, and desire
Of food, we journey'd hitherward, in hope
The lord of these fair turrets, first descry'd
At close of evening, might befriend our toils.
Raymond.
Whence have you come?
Alwin.
From France, not many days.
16
Say, what occasion may have call'd you thither?
Alwin.
To aid (Heav'n prosper long) my country's weal.
Raymond.
You are a soldier then?
Alwin.
I have been such;
And to be such was my most dear inclining;
Smit with the love, even from my greenest youth,
Of honest arms. Some share of fame I too
Atchiev'd—But ill the soldier it beseems
To trumpet his own praises.
Raymond.
Cease not so.
Tho' in the school of war untutour'd, much
It pleaseth me to hear the brave man's labours.
Alwin.
None but have heard how some time since was sent
(To claim of Lewis certain lands usurp'd)
A puissant force—
Raymond.
Were you therein employed?
Alwin.
Beneath the royal banner I enroll'd,
As was my bent, in quest of fame.
Raymond.
Indeed!
Lord Salisbury then perchance of thee was known?
17
I knew him well; our liege's near ally,
And second to duke Richard in command.
Fast by his side was my allotted post
Upon the marshal'd field: by him I fought,
For him had died.
Raymond.
Of him fame loudly speaks,
That in those wars he was a gallant man.
Alwin.
He was not wont, while others bravely fought,
To look unactive on.
Leroches.
A foe like him
France never knew, of all that warriour host,
Which like an inundation England pour'd
On her affrighted shores—
Raymond.
But what
Have prov'd his latter fortunes I shou'd wish
To learn—Say, courteous stranger, if thou canst.
Of this renowned lord a rumour hath
Long since prevail'd, that he on Gallia's coast
Was wreck'd with all his crew.
Alwin.
What cause there was
For such report, alas! these eyes have seen;
How true in part it is, too sure this tongue
Can testify.
Raymond.
I pray you let us hear.
18
—O'ercharg'd with human prey, fell war had ceas'd
To walk his wasteful round; well pleas'd we turn
Us from the blood-stain'd field; exulting each
With some rich spoil, trophies by valiant dint
Of arms atchiev'd. Forthwith the eager host
Embark.
And now the chalky cliffs on Albion's coast
T'our straining view appear'd; th'exulting crew
With peals redoubled greet the well known shores—
Ill-fated men!—in vain the anxious dame
Oft mounts the high-rais'd tower, thence earnest looks
Haply if her wish'd for lord may come; in vain
The prattling boy oft asks her of his sire,
That never, never shall return.
Raymond.
Proceed,
Good stranger; what was the event?
Alwin.
Anon
The winds began to shift; up rose a storm
And heav'd the bosom of the troubled deep.
On the swoln billow sits enthron'd grim Death,
And shakes his fatal dart—The fleet, which late
In such fair order sail'd, is now dispers'd.
Before the wind we drove, left to the mercy
Of the wild waves, and all-disposing Heaven—
Oh my lov'd friends! associates of my toils!
Rescu'd in vain from War's wide-wasteful arm,
Here end your labours; here sweet life forsakes you.
For me, a slender plank, next to the hand
Of some good angel, bore me to the shore.
Of full five hundred gallant lives, which late
Embark'd, not one that fatal hour surviv'd.
19
Save only thee.
Alwin.
Save only me.
Raymond.
Speak now secure, for nearly it concerns
My quiet, speak—was, Salisbury of your crew?
Alwin.
Alas! too sure.
Raymond.
Enough—Thy courtesy
Of us may well, and shall be well requited.
Of this our friend accept mean time his prompt
Regards; anon we shall be glad to hold
Some further converse with you.
[Exit Alw. Lero. and Knight.
Grey.
Of this stranger
What thinks my lord?
Raymond.
As of an angel, sent
To waft me on his wings strait to the summit
Of all my wishes—With what a gallant grace
He bears him!—Much I wish to hear him speak
Again; to hear the battles he has fought,
And all the story of his life and fortunes.
Grey.
That we shall learn hereafter: but 'tis meet
That he to lady Salisbury first unfold
The sum of what he hath reported.
20
Methinks
I now behold her, like some full-blown flower,
The fairest of the garden, late o'ercharg'd
With showers, her head declining sad, whilst he
Recounts the story of her Salisbury's fate.
Wou'd she were mine without a tear;
Without a sigh!—But she must weep; she must;
Thereon my all depends—Oh wayward sorrow!
That wounds, yet wounding heals the lover.
[Ex. amb.
Scene changes—Lady Salisbury reclining on a couch.
Enter Eleanor.
Eleanor.
Grief, that of time's fix'd periods for repose
Takes small account, hath lull'd her wearied senses—
Where'er thou dwell'st, O Peace, with azure eye
Serene; or if in stately-structur'd dome,
Or thatch-roof'd cottage low, or in cool grot
By fountain clear thou sitt'st, or if perchance
Along the silver brook's green liveried verge
Reclin'd, approach thou rosy-dimpled fair;
Leave thy sweet haunts a while; and with that balm
Which sooths the woe-struck heart, await her slumbers.
The hour approaches, when, as is her custom,
She seeks the hallow'd shrine, and pious wakes
The voice of pure devotion to high heaven:
I'll thither, and expect her—but she wakes—
How fares the mistress of my best regards?
Proved her slumbers sweet as were my wishes?
21
Sweet, sweet, my Eleanor, so sweet, oh! wou'd
I ne'er had wak'd. I dreamt, as wont on him
To dream, that I beheld his gracious form,
My bosom's lord; a while he stood, and seem'd
On me to smile; then flew to my embraces.—
Ah fleeting extacy! 'twas but a dream:
Enter a Knight.
Knight.
Thy favour, lady; I am charg'd with news,
That much imports thy hearing: summon up
Thy powers; two strangers late have come, of whom
One brings assured tidings of thy lord.
Lady Salisbury.
—My lord—what—speak—
Knight.
He saith he knew my lord
Of Salisbury well; that he was of his crew;
And with that peer embark'd from France.
Lady Salisbury.
—But—well—from France—
Knight.
Lady, all must have
Their sorrows. Strait up rose a mighty tempest,
Dispers'd the fleet o'er all the seas—
The storm—the fatal wreck—of all
The stranger gives most circumstantial proof.
[Exit.]
Eleanor.
Alas the tidings!—Dearest lady, give
Thy sorrows vent; thy bosom's overfraught,
And will find ease by letting loose its woes.
22
—Well, well—
Then he is lost, and all, all is despair.
Tho' languid, yet was hope not quite extinct—
Where, where's the stranger? Seek him, haste; that I
May hear him fully speak of all. [Ex. Knt.]
Methinks
'Twill be a desperate sort of soothing; to hang
Upon each sound, catch every circumstance
Of the sad story, and wring my aching heart
Till I am even surfeited with sorrow.
Eleanor.
Behold, the stranger comes—
Enter Alwin.
Lady Salisbury.
Bear, bear me up, good Heaven!
That I may give full measure to my sorrow.
Alwin.
—Thy angel hover o'er thee, and support thee.
[In an under voice.]
Lady Salisbury.
—The dead ere now
Have burst the prisons of the close pent grave,
And apparitions strange of faith appear'd;
Perhaps thou too art but a shadow; let
Me grasp thee, for, as I have life, I think—
It is, it is my Salisbury! O my lord!
Lord Salisbury.
My bosom's joy!
Lady Salisbury.
—And dost thou live indeed?
Amazing Providence! He does! he does!
23
The gracious form! the vision was not vain.
[Eleanor goes aside.]
Lord Salisbury.
—And art thou, art thou then—
Lady Salisbury.
—O my full bosom!
Lord Salisbury.
The same, by time or circumstance unchang'd?
Lady Salisbury.
Unhop'd reverse!—Hence, hence all former woes—
My lord! my life! hence, hence, be swallow'd up
All griefs, and lost in this most blissful hour.
Lord Salisbury.
Thou art, I see, thou art the same, thou must;
Thou hast not yielded to another lord?
Lady Salisbury.
Another lord!—And cou'd you, did you think
'Twas so?
Lord Salisbury.
Thus spoke loud rumour on my way:
Indeed I scarce cou'd think it.
Lady Salisbury.
Oh! 'twas foul!
Indeed thou shoud'st not think it—
Lord Salisbury.
Ever dear!
No more; my soul is satisfied, and thinks
Of nothing now but happiness and thee.
24
Say then, thou wanderer—Oh! I have much
Of thee to ask, thou much to hear: how is't
I see thee, see thee thus? Where hast thou been?
What secret region hath so long datain'd thee?
Lord Salisbury.
O thou! whose image, ever in my view,
Sustain'd me angel-like against the rough
And rapid current of adversity,
Shou'd I recount the story of my fortunes,
Each circumstance, beginning from that day
We parted, to this hour, thine ear wou'd be
Fatigu'd; the stars, ere I had ended, cease
To twinkle, and the morning's sun break in
Upon th'unfinish'd tale; suffice it thee
To know the summ.
For England we embark'd, when, black and foul,
A tempest rising, quick upturn'd the seas,
And cast me forth upon an hostile shore.
Why need I tell thee, love, how, in disguise,
On foot, alone, I've toil'd my weary way,
Thro' dreary vale, o'er mountain wild; my bed
Oft of the blasted heath, whilst o'er my limbs
Dank night hath shaken her cold, dewy wings,
And the chill northern gale hath spent his breath
On my defenceless head?
Thro' what variety of strange events
I've come, Heaven-guided, to behold, once more,
My wife?—But, ah! my son! our only hope!
My boy! what, what of him?
Lady Salisbury.
Dear to these eyes
As is the new-born light of Heaven! he lives;
Is well—But say, my lord, what would thy coming,
Thus unattended, thus disguised!
25
How I escap'd from hard captivity,
And Gallia's coast, more leisure shall inform you.
My friend sir Ardolf had but just embrac'd me,
(The first glad transports of our meeting o'er)
When, with an honest tear, the good old man
In brief disclos'd what fame had now reported;
That thou wert soon, or had'st, ere this, espous'd
Earl Hubert's nephew, and sole purpos'd heir—
Lady Salisbury.
Oh most unhallow'd, thus t'abuse
My unattainted love!—And cou'd my lord—
Lord Salisbury.
Yet hear me—Strait I grasp'd my sword;
And, single as I was, had sallied forth,
Had not my friend's sage counsels interpos'd.
By Ardolf sway'd, I veil'd me as thou see'st;
And, with a sharer in the dark intent,
Set forward on my way for Sal'sbury castle:
A simple hind's low cottage, not far hence,
Receiv'd us. Here, fast by the green-wood side,
We lodg'd; resolv'd, ourselves unknown, to prove
What doubtful rumour only had proclaim'd.
With this intent, at dusk of evening, we
Forsook the cot—
Lady Salisbury.
There needs no more: Heaven saw
Me, and was touch'd with pity—What a change
This hour! Sequester'd as I was, even like
The votarist; perhaps the destin'd prey
Of rude desire—
Lord Salisbury.
O for to-morrow's slow-returning night!
26
Say, what of that, my lord?
Lord Salisbury.
Revenge, revenge!
I'll tell thee—Soon as dark usurping night
Shall chace to-morrow's sun adown the skies,
Know, Ardolf, with a chosen troop of friends,
To that same cottage, arm'd shall come—
Enter Eleanor.
Eleanor.
My lord, I hear th'approach of hasty steps.
Lord Salisbury.
Farewel, my best:
Nor peace nor sleep shall visit me, till I
Have given thee freedom, and reveng'd our wrongs.
Enter a Knight.
Knight.
Lord Raymond, sir, forthwith expects your coming.
Lord Salisbury.
I will attend him. Lady, fain wou'd I
Have told thee less ungracious things; but all
Have their appointed trials. Learn to bear;
Convinc'd, the hand Heaven, when it inflicts,
Prepares us oft for some superior good.
[Exeunt omnes.
End of the Second Act.
| The Countess of Salisbury | |