University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene—A Grove of Ancient Trees with a View of the Castle. A fine Evening after the Storm.
THE WANDERER,
(alone.)
The storm is hush'd; the turmoil'd elements slumber,
And the fierce gale, which rock'd those battlements,
Is lull'd and motionless. Meek Nature now,
Her fitful passion o'er, sleeps like an infant,
A playful smile bedewing its moist lips
As its eye sinks in stillness.—There is pleasure
In the calm aspect of the firmament
E'en when the mind is phrensied. The gaunt wretch,
Midst hideous shapes that haunt his fever'd couch,
Blesses the day-breeze, and the soothing light
That beams from the blue heaven. How sweet the breath
Of this mild evening! It steals over me
With thoughts that have been long foregone. O Nature,
Parent of our best joys, how have I scared thee!
Through what terrific mazes has the fiend
Led my despairing steps! These aged trees
Spread their green honors to the sun that gilds them
In beauty yet unblighted, as when first
I trod their shade in youth: but vengeful thoughts
Have prey'd upon my vitals; they have gnaw'd
Like the foul worm in secret, till this form,
Once ripe with loveliness, has grown a curse,
A thing for wolves to bay, man's scorn and terror.
(Starting with a look of derangement.)
Hark, hark! It is my mother's shriek! I hear it;
I hear it now: the sob, the frantic laugh
Of my dead parent! They say the devil laughs,
When murder is doing. Mother! Mother! look up!
Know'st thou not me, thine own, thy blighted child?
'Twas thus when she was dying; she knew me not,
Her strange eye fixt upon the vacant air!
(Starting again.)
Hark to that shriek again!—Unquiet spirit,
Hush! hush!—Vengeance is dark and silent; slow,
But certain as the shaft of destiny.
Here, like death's messenger, I yield my being
To the achievement of that fearful vision,
Perpetual inmate of my burning thoughts,
By day my agony, the bitter dream
Of my distemper'd nights.
[Enter AGNES and UBALD.]
See, where they come,
Two heedless fowls, into the net of fate!
Be still, weak heart! Hush. Hush.

(She withdraws, and conceals herself in the hollow trunk of an old tree.)
AGNES.
The evening star,
They say, is love's sweet harbinger. How its beam,
Ere yet the sun has ta'en his last farewell,
With every pleasant omen bids us welcome!
After her boisterous throes Nature smiles on us.
See, how each dewy flower is wreath'd with pearls!
The sun all-radiant is with glory passing
To his bright chamber. Seems it not so, love?

UBALD.
O Agnes, all my thoughts are full of joy;
And the hot blood so tingles in my veins,
Methinks I could outstrip his lazy course,
Unto his orient palaces, and drag
Star-throned Dominion from her seat in heaven.

AGNES.
O rash in valour, as in love most wild!

UBALD.
Nay, Agnes, on my troth I love thee soother
Than the sick miser loves his hoarded pelf,
Than the fat burgher his wine-mantled cup,
Cowards their lives, sleek hypocrites their lies.
I' faith, sweet lass, thou think'st I love thee well.

AGNES.
Thou art a saucy knave to say me thus.

UBALD,
(playfully.)
Think'st thou, my Agnes, if love's hope were granted,
Hymen his torch just lighting, all joys ready
And fit appliances of blissful state,
The bridal deck'd, chambers with perfume breathing,
That my fond grasp would cling to this soft palm
(taking her hand)
As its best treasure?

AGNES.
Faith, it need not call
The tell-tale blushes to a virgin's cheek,
To cry thee, ay.

UBALD,
(laughing).
Yet on my word I would not;
So I must creep inglorious to thy couch,
As the worm seeks its mate. My Agnes' husband
Must be enshrined in the full blaze of glory.
O I will place thee in such eminence,
That men shall bow, women miss their proud looks,
And all cry hail, as to the sun of nature!

AGNES.
Ah me! thou art a truant to true love.
'Twas ever thus; Agnes hath scarce a part
In the impetuous yearnings of thy fancy.
There is some charm, some ill-devised spell,
That binds me closer to thy wayward soul,
Else would I . . . . (she hesitates).


UBALD,
(smiling).
What wouldst thou, Agnes?

AGNES.
(after a pause, leaning on him tenderly.)
Love thee ever!
And more for that untamed rebellious spirit,
Which oft in every day's revolving space
Thrills me with shapeless fears. O Ubald, Ubald,
Agnes hath being but in thy look's sunshine.
To be thine, thine, were bliss: of other union
The thought with icy chill upon my heart
Falls like death's warning.

UBALD.
Of another union!
God's mercy! is not Agnes mine? my prize?
My life, my better self? Have I not won thee, earn'd thee?
Taken thee to my soul's core? my crown, my glory!

AGNES.
Would that to-morrow were past! The palm of strife
Hangs on a slippery chance. Thine arm is matchless,
But the weak flutter of a maiden's fear
Draws the blood curdling to the seat of life,
When in the balance hangs all hope of bliss,
And in one scale is death.

UBALD.
My blushing trembler,
What arm of man, in tourney or in war,
Has bow'd my crest? Who has withstood my dint?
And when this hand, worth mines of adamant,
Is the high guerdon of the bloodless tilt,
Will Ubald's arm be not itself to-morrow?

AGNES.
I should be fearless, for on thee my trust
Leans with true confidence; my bosom throbs
Responsive to hope's pulse, and still is joyous.

UBALD.
Speak ever thus! If valor could be lull'd,
There is a charm in thy Circëan smile
Might steep it in perdition.

AGNES.
Dear Ubald,
I well remember, I was scant thirteen,
A wayward girl scarce witting what I loved,
When one bright morn, beneath the embowering grove
Deep in yon flowery garden, I was stretch'd.
My hair all loose, my wimple cast aside,
And my young fancy was upon the wing
Shaping fond wishes; when, as I mine eyes
Uplifted, by my side there stood a form
Such as I ne'er had seen. Her dress was strange,
And motley; her cheek wore a sallow hue,
But ardent through that dark complexion glow'd
A hectic flush: her look had such a spell
As passes human tongue to tell or liken,
The coiled serpent's spell, that charms its prey
By the eye's glance; nor could I my face withdraw
From the full speculation of that eye
That gazed upon me, sweet, but sadly wild;
A look, that seem'd to tell of other joys
Than were familiar to her present garb.
Her figure, though in guise terrific, show'd
Perfect concordance, well-turn'd symmetry,
And the fine features of her tawny face
Seem'd beauty's ruin.

UBALD.
Certes a wierd woman;
Such figures sometimes cross our path in life,
Holding deep converse with our destinies,
Which for small price they oft reveal most strangely.

AGNES.
'Twas even so. Silent some while she stood,
Then, with a voice that lack'd not melody,
Pour'd a wild ditty, whose sweet-warbled notes
Still vibrate strangely on my captived ear.
Then gently on my hand she fix'd her touch,
While I lay witched by that harmony,
And with enquiring finger search'd my palm,
Which I half fearful yielded, half content;
And she would tell my fate, for such small coin
As my young means might tender.

UBALD.
Did thine ear
Receive her hidden lore?

AGNES.
O yes, my pulse
Throbb'd high and quick with expectation.
She said, my soul was weak, but apt for love,
And, if I lack'd not courage, I should wed
My soul's best treasure; but this threat subjoin'd,
If knight or prince should win my fated hand,
Who owed his state to aught save shining valor,
Frightful perdition would o'erwhelm my house
And his that wed me.

UBALD.
That strange tale is rife;
And I do well believe, sweet flower of Jutland,
Predicted ruin hath scared many a suitor,
Whose lordly crest and richly purfled trappings
Shrunk from the threat of fate.

AGNES.
Blest be that curse,
Which daunts the prowess of unwelcome rivals!

UBALD.
Nay, sweetest, would I had a thousand rivals,
And on each head a princely diadem,
So I might pluck bright honor from their crests,
And place it on my Agnes' brow of beauty!

AGNES.
Insatiable of glory! Will no thought
Of thy loved Agnes win thy soul to mildness?
O Ubald! if thine arm be blest to-morrow,
Our course is level; the fair gales of heaven
Will waft us to that fairy land of hope,
Which we have gazed on, as the mariner
After long peril of the boisterous seas.
But if mischance attend thee, here I vow,
By our best hopes, by all these maiden blushes,
No force shall yield this hand, thine own true hand,
To other lord: and well my soul assures me,
(Though mystery hangs o'er thy secret birth)
That Ubald came not of ignoble race.
Valor and love uphold thine arm to-morrow!
Till then, farewell.
[Exit AGNES.

UBALD
(thoughtfully.)
Of an ignoble race!
It cannot be! I feel within me that,
Which doth confirm me of proud origin. Else
Why throbs my breast with aspirations
Of such high nature? The steed bred for toil,
Though pamper'd in the stall of lordly knights,
Paws not the field, nor snuffs the air, and neighs,
As the swift Arab, when the din of war
Comes on his ears erect. Yet would I give
Wealth, power, all pomp of pleasure, and all hope
Save thee, loved Agnes, and this trusty sword,
To know my sire.

(He stands thoughtfully; The Wanderer comes forth unobserved.)
WANDERER.
Minion of valor, hail!

UBALD.
Ha! a wierd wanderer of the lonely forest!
If knowledge dwells within that sallow breast,
She shall resolve my fate.—Woman,—if woman,
Nor rather of such beings as in deserts
Have airy habitation!—canst thou call
To thy mind's eye the semblance of the past,
And things still seal'd in the deep womb of time,
Lifting the veil of mazy destiny?
Speak what I am, what I shall be hereafter.

WANDERER.
Ubald, strange fates hang o'er thee. Thou shalt win,
But winning lose, and in one day's short circle
Thou shalt drain all the cup of bliss and anguish.

UBALD.
Foul prophetess, unfold thy hidden meaning.

WANDERER.
Peace, peace, rash youth.

UBALD.
Wierd woman, name my sire!

WANDERER.
I may not now. There is a spirit nigh,
Which, if that name were breathed, would shriek aloud
With such dire adjuration of revenge,
That thy young heart would shrivel like a scroll
Wrapt in devouring flames.

UBALD.
Nay then, my sword—

WANDERER.
Impotent and vain! think'st thou, that death
Has terrors, for who walks night's hideous round
Like a bann'd spirit, to life's joys and light
Than death itself more dead?

UBALD.
Fear'st not mine arm?

WANDERER.
As teeming tempest dreads the mutinous thunder;
As the sea trembles when its billows roar.

UBALD.
Terrific woman, I adjure thee, name him.

WANDERER.
Men deem thee valiant, Ubald. Thou didst climb,
A fearless stripling then, (myself did mark it,)
The giddy height to the crag's beetling brow,
And from its eyrie tore'st the unfledged eaglet.

UBALD.
'Tis true; where never human step had clomb
Upon the perilous edge, self-poised, I slew
The parent savage screaming in mid air
O'er the void chasm, and seized its callow young.

WANDERER.
Did that vain bauble fill thy soul? Below thee,
Strong in its beauty, lay this smiling province
And Sweno's stately dome. What were thy thoughts,
Proud boy, as firm upon the slippery ledge
Thy foot stood fix'd, and the keen eye survey'd
All the wide plain beneath it?

UBALD.
Thou hast touch'd
A string, to which this heart knows well to answer.
By heaven, I gazed from that rash eminence
With no mean pride. My eye stretch'd wide and far
O'er fields and wastes, hamlets and haunts of men,
E'en to the sea sail-studded; and methought
E'en then, some heritage as fair and princely
Should own me lord.

WANDERER.
And so perhaps 'tis written
In the closed page of fate. A bloody star
Glared o'er thy birth. Deeds must be done, ere thou
Lord o'er the right of thy proud ancestry,
Shall turn the pure sun red. Darest thou obey
The fearful call of thine high destinies?

UBALD.
To the world's verge, though bottomless and unseen.
Light thou the ominous beacon; let thine arm
Point o'er the field of death, and I will follow!

WANDERER.
Valiant!—'tis well: but fame delivers thee,
Though vain and choleric, yet weak withal,
And the frail slave of woman. Darest thou win
Thy way to vengeance, and re-assert thy name,
Though white arms stretch to hold thee, and loved eyes
Weep blood for pity?

UBALD.
What beseems a man,
That Ubald dares, though all Circassia's smiles
Were leagued to lure him.

WANDERER.
That which vengeance bids
Beseems a man, and thine own wrongs demand it.
Fate has no middle path. Dost thou love, Ubald?

UBALD.
Ask you me, prophetess?

WANDERER.
Death is in the kiss
Of those smooth lips thou wooest. Durst thou see
That beauteous form which thy weak fancy doats on,
The hair dishevell'd and the white breast bared,
Hang on thine arm for mercy, and yet, true
To the stern call of vengeance, strike thy poniard
E'en to her heart's blood, Ubald?

UBALD.
Curst of heaven!
From what abhorr'd spring flows thine hellish speech?

WANDERER.
It is hell speaks! It is the voice of judgment
From the deep throne of night! Hist! hist! I tell thee
The eagle soars which soon must swoop in blood!
The lordly eaglet from its eyrie cast
Must plume its wing and flesh in gore its talons!

UBALD.
Woman, thy reason swims; thy thoughts are wild.

WANDERER.
I am not strange; sometimes the dizzy mist
Hangs o'er my brain, and things, long past, seem present.
'Tis the mind's noontide now; the horizon gleams,
And that for which my eyeballs long have strain'd
Glares close within my grasp.

UBALD.
Away, wierd woman!
I hold not parley with hell's messengers.

WANDERER.
Thou canst not leave me, save it be my will;
A spell is on thee, Ubald! What fate bids,
Thine arm must execute. The hour is ripe,
The word is gone forth from the throne of judgment:
The spirit of the deep has spoken it.
Hark, Ubald, fear not! To thy bridal feast
Bid the wierd wanderer.—Do I read contempt
In thy keen eye? Ha! do these weeds offend thee?

UBALD.
Unearthly form, away!

WANDERER.
Impetuous youth!
When thine heart swells with hope, I shall be near thee!
Thou standest blind upon the fiery brink
Of that deep gulph, which it were death to plunge in;
But heaven shall succour and uphold thee, Ubald.
Go forth in pride! go fearless! strike and conquer!

UBALD.
Mysterious prophetess! thy words are awful.

WANDERER.
More shalt thou know hereafter:—this learn, Ubald,
There is a fearful record in the heavens;
Angels have written it; the dead bears witness.
Sweno's whole heritage, this envied province,
And that weak maid withal, were a poor barter
For just revenge.
[Exit WANDERER.

UBALD,
(alone.)
Forbidden lore perchance
And sight of visions not for man design'd
Have crazed thee, beldame. Yet was I light before,
And thou hast thrown a load on me. Thy features
Have some strange power which thrills me.—This rich province!
Why ay; if Sweno's daughter be my bride,
Who shall gainsay my claims?—Ha! spoke she true?
My name, my sire unknown; the rights, by nature
Stamp'd on this brow, abolish'd quite and lost;
No ancient crest this gorgeous helm adorning;
Shall slaves call Ubald upstart? The blood cries,
This must not be!—O, though unknown, revered!
Father! how longingly my thoughts have yearn'd
To know thy lineaments! If death has snatch'd thee
From this our nether world, look down on me!
For oft thy form has strode across my slumbers!
If treason has foredone thee, and robb'd thy son
Of his best heritage, thy spotless name,
O speak to me, in night's still gloom reveal'd,
Declare thy wrongs! Let Ubald fall, or wreak them!

[Enter Reynald.]
REYNALD.
Thou art wrapt in thought. Men speak thee keen and lightsome,
Not given to musing.

UBALD.
Each humor hath its hour.
There is a blithe hour for the lip of love;
The sparkling goblet, the bold clamor of battle
Have theirs: there is an hour for deeper thoughts,
When the soul soars alone beyond the clay
That cramps its nature. Be thou welcome, Reynald;
To-morrow must thine helmet bow before me;
This night let us be cheery.

REYNALD.
Thou art boastful,
Rash youth! Reynald is little wont to strive,
Save with his equals. His sword strikes down the lofty,
But spares the herd.

UBALD,
(laying his hand on his sword.)
To me? to me this, Reynald?

REYNALD.
To whom it fits. Valor on lordly crests
Sits like a jewel in the diadem,
Giving and taking lustre. On the low
It shines unseemly, like love's rosy chaplet
On the bald front of age, and moves our pity.

UBALD,
(drawing his sword.)
Thou hast said that which must be rued in blood.

REYNALD.
Not for thy worth, but that good gift of knighthood
By princely Sweno's hand too largely lavish'd,
I will e'en joust with thee to-morrow, Ubald.
So thou shalt learn the weight of that tried arm
Which Pagans shrink from.

UBALD.
By heaven, thou liest, to say
'Twas largely lavish'd! Thou darest not for thy life
Brand me with lowly birth, though half my honors
Lie in abeyance, and are meekly worn,
Till it shall please high heaven to reveal
My birthright. The pure blood throbs here more warmly,
Caitif, than thine.

REYNALD.
That speech has seal'd thy doom;
Thou shalt not live to view to-morrow's tourney.

[They fight. Enters Sweno with his sword drawn.]
SWENO.
Forbear, Ubald, forbear! I charge thee, cease!
Kind sir, (to Reynald)
beseems it ill with such rude broils
To scare our festive joys. Put up, good Ubald.
I pray ye, sirs, on pain to lack our friendship,
Pursue this wrath no further. Let not hate
Lurk in these walls, to rear her deadly front
Amidst our mirth. Pray ye, be friends. Who shivers
One lance in wrath is banish'd from our tourney.

UBALD.
We shall have scope hereafter. Farewell, Reynald.
[Exit Ubald.

SWENO.
Reynald, we should this eve be light and gladsome,
But some unfriendly doom o'ertakes and thwarts us.

[Exeunt.