University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

Before the Porch of Helen's Chapel. Night.
THE WANDERER,
(alone.)
Stay, moon, thy rising! When thy conscious eye
Shall pierce the curtain'd east, fate's bolt must fall,
Blurring thy beams with blood. O I am faint,
And gladly would I lay this fever'd head
On the cold ground, and lull my thoughts in death.
The memories of years rise ghastly round me,
And the soul sickens with the sad review
Of all my wanderings. At such an hour
(I mind it now, although the mist hangs often
O'er my benighted mind) those treacherous joys,
That trembled in it like a beam from heaven,
Stole to my heart, foreshowing bliss and rapture;
But, tasted, turn'd heaven to hell, and made this earth
A howling wilderness. O lost delight!
Time was, that I was fair, and blithe, and lovely:
My heart expanded to the God of nature,
And every morning, in my humble bower
Of woodbine and wild sweets, I pour'd my strain,
Sweet orisons of praise, to him who bless'd me.
Visions of innocence, where are ye fled?
My brain is like a furnace, and the fiend
Goads me to ruin:—yet I dare not waver
Now, on the dizzy gulph of that toss'd ocean
Upon whose brink I stand. But this my cup
Of vengeance will I drink, and then, lost mother,
Thy spirit shall have peace! Blind chaos, come!
O Ubald, O my son! thou art the shaft
Twenty long winters in fate's quiver stored,
And whetted by revenge. I must be brief;
I have upheld thee once; again the pit
Yawns close beneath thy feet, and I have digg'd it.
The hour draws nigh. Yet have I one strong spell
To ward thy ruin, and thou perforce shalt venge me.

[Exit.
(Enter UBALD and AGNES.)
AGNES.
Stay, best beloved! I heard a voice, dear Ubald;
This place is awful. Let me yet return.

UBALD.
Mine Agnes, cheer thy heart: this loneliness
Is fitting tender thoughts.

AGNES.
Too strongly loved!
My father's curse will blast me. I shall hang
Even as a wither'd wreath upon thy neck,
And thy quick temper will upbraid my sadness.
Perchance thy love, my only prop, will leave me.
Wilt thou not hate my tears?

UBALD.
In mirth or sorrow,
Ever my own! I will make tears my drink,
Ambrosial sighs my food. The very gods
Shall envy me.—Our harbinger of bliss
Peers through her misty shroud. (The moon rises.)

So radiant love,
Smiling through tears, shall light mine Agnes' brow.

AGNES,
(clinging close to UBALD.)
Ubald, who comes?

[Enter Monk.]
UBALD.
A friend! our trustiest friend,
Whose blessing, gentle maid, shall seal our union.
Welcome, kind father! These still rocks are lonely;
No eye shall break upon our privacy,
Save yon pure orb, our hymeneal lamp,
That smiles upon us. Though our modest bridal
Must shun the glare of pompous blazonry,
We make thee almoner of this our largesse.
'Tis fit that gifts should crown the church's rites,
And charity draw down a blessing on them.

(Giving him a purse.)
MONK.
'Tis fitting, noble youth: and Father Francis
Hath a right trusty hand, and knows full well
Where to apply this cordial; what souls need
The cheering comfort of thine alms, and where
'Twere cast away, like jewels unto swine.
(aside.)
By our mass, a goodly gift, and well bestow'd!

UBALD.
We are the debtors to your kindness, Father,
And shall not stint our gifts. Bear'st thou the key
Of this lone chapel, through whose color'd pane
The moonlight gleams on the neglected altar,
And chides us for delay?

MONK.
When doth the woodman
Forget his ax, or the true knight his falchion?
And think'st thou Father Francis doth not bear
The weapons of his ministry? This key
Unfolds the portal of that massive arch
Into the shrine; this, at love's witching mandate,
Shall ope the cell beneath it, where is strewn
The bridal couch.

AGNES.
Ubald, I am dismay'd;
The very rocks and chapel frown on us:
The shrine of God looks awful in this gloom,
And my heart's pulse is chill'd. Thou wilt not guide me
Into the bowels of that ruinous den,
Where fiends perchance abide?

MONK.
In truth, fair lady,
Rife is the rumor that these cells are held
By restless spirits, far from human tread;
But trust me, they are jovial souls that haunt them.
I have known somewhat of their pranks myself.
But fear not, lady; spectres come not nigh
This glen to-night, for I have exorcised it.
Nor flesh, nor spirit walks within these doors
Without my leave. Come, lady, to the chapel.

UBALD.
Lean on me, loveliest burthen! Let this arm
Be now, as ever, the sole prop of Agnes.
Thou wilt not fear while Ubald is beside thee.

AGNES.
Forgive me, Ubald, that each breath appalls me:
My fluttering heart beats quick with guilty terror;
I dread this very darkness which befriends us,
The fitful breathing air, and these lone walls,
Lest the mute stones should find a voice to curse me
[The Monk, who has unlocked the chapel door, pushes it open, after some delay and exertion, with a hoarse grating noise.]
AGNES shrieks, and draws back.
O Ubald, let us turn! Nature forewarns us;
As cautiously we cross'd the forest glen,
Beneath each rustling leaf a tongue seem'd lurking;
And now from out these walls, this ruin'd shrine,
Night's ominous bird will scream and flap his wing
Over our bridal. Turn we, dearest Ubald!
My father will relent.

UBALD.
Gods! am I mock'd?
Shall Ubald be the jest of every slave?
E'en at the altar's groundsill yield my right,
And see insulting Reynald swoop my bride
In his curst talons? Sooner Chaos come!
By heaven, it is not well, it is not well,
To stir my blood thus, Agnes!

AGNES.
Be not angry!
Let not thy wrath destroy me quite with anguish!
What prop, what hope hath Agnes, but thy kindness?
Beloved, forgive my weakness: I am thine;
But, O! what harbor hath the guilty child,
If thou too chide her?

UBALD.
It is tempting fate
To dally thus with time. Pursuit may reach us.
By all the honors I have earn'd and proudly,
I turn not living hence, till thou art mine!

MONK.
I like not this mine office. If the maiden
Decline the church's rite, I take my leave.

UBALD,
(stepping before him.)
Not so, Sir Priest; stay yet! it were not safe
To rouse the wrath of Ubald. Agnes, Agnes,
Assure this Father of thy free consent!
The sacred gate stands open.
(Taking her hand: she leans upon him.)
Thus, beloved!
Lean thus upon my neck, O thus for ever!

AGNES.
I have not strength to tell my Ubald nay.

[She enters the Chapel, supported by Ubald, and followed by the Monk.]