University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A dark night; no moon; but a few stars glimmering; the stage represents (as much as can be discovered for the darkness) a churchyard with part of a chapel, and a wing of the ducal palace adjoining to it. Enter Basil, with his hat off, his hair and his dress in disorder, stepping slowly, and stopping several times to listen, as if he was afraid of meeting any one.
Bas.
No sound is here: man is at rest, and I
May near his habitations venture forth,
Like some unblessed creature of the night,
Who dares not meet his face.—Her window's dark;
No streaming light doth from her chamber beam,
That I once more may on her dwelling gaze,
And bless her still. All now is dark for me!
[Pauses for some time, and looks upon the graves.
How happy are the dead, who quietly rest
Beneath these stones! each by his kindred laid,
Still in a hallow'd neighbourship with those,
Who when alive his social converse shar'd:
And now perhaps some dear surviving friend
Doth here at times the grateful visit pay,
Read with sad eyes his short memorial o'er,
And bless his mem'ry still!—
But I must like an outcast of my kind,
In some lone spot lay my unburied corse,
To rot above the earth; where, if perchance
The steps of human wand'rer e'er approach,
He'll stand aghast, and flee the horrid place,
With dark imaginations frightful made,—
The haunt of damned sprites. O cursed wretch!
I' the fair and honour'd field shouldst thou have died,
Where brave friends, proudly smiling through their tears,
Had pointed out the spot where Basil lay!
[A light seen in Victoria's window.
But, ha! the wonted, welcome light appears.
How bright within I see her chamber wall!
Athwart it too, a dark'ning shadow moves,
A slender woman's form: it is herself!
What means that motion of its clasped hands?
That drooping head? alas! is she in sorrow?
Alas! thou sweet enchantress of the mind,
Whose voice was gladness, and whose presence bliss,
Art thou unhappy too? I've brought thee woe;
It is for me thou weepst. Ah! were it so,
Fallen as I am, I yet could life endure,
In some dark den from human sight conceal'd,
So, that I sometimes from my haunt might steal,
To see and love thee still. No, no, poor wretch!
She weeps thy shame, she weeps, and scorns thee too.
She moves again; e'en darkly imag'd thus,
How lovely is that form!
[Pauses, still looking at the window.
To be so near thee, and for ever parted!
For ever lost! what art thou now to me?
Shall the departed gaze on thee again?
Shall I glide past thee in the midnight hour,
While thou perceiv'st it not, and thinkst perhaps
'Tis but the mournful breeze that passes by?
[Pauses again, and gazes at the window, till the light disappears.
'Tis gone, 'tis gone! these eyes have seen their last!
The last impression of her heavenly form
The last sight of those walls wherein she lives:
The last blest ray of light from human dwelling.
I am no more a being of this world.
Farewell! farewell! all now is dark for me!
Come fated deed! come horror and despair!
Here lies my dreadful way.

Enter Geoffry, from behind a tomb.
Geof.
O! stay, my gen'ral!

Bas.
Art thou from the grave?

Geof.
O, my brave gen'ral! do you know me not?
I am old Geoffry, the old maimed soldier,
You did so nobly honour.

Bas.
Then go thy way, for thou art honourable;
Thou hast no shame, thou needst not seek the dark
Like fallen, fameless men. I pray thee go!

Geof.
Nay, speak not thus, my noble gen'ral!
Ah! speak not thus! thou'rt brave, thou'rt honour'd still.
Thy soldier's fame is far too surely rais'd
To be o'erthrown with one unhappy chance.
I've heard of thy brave deeds with swelling heart,
And yet shall live to cast my cap in air
At glorious tales of thee.—

Bas.
Forbear, forbear! thy words but wring my soul.

Geof.
O! pardon me! I am old maimed Geoffry.
O! do not go! I've but one hand to hold thee.

[Laying hold of Basil as he attempts to go away. Basil stops, and looks round upon him with softness.
Bas.
Two would not hold so well, old honour'd vet'ran!
What wouldst thou have me do?

Geof.
Return, my lord; for love of blessed heaven,
Seek not such desperate ways! where would you go?

Bas.
Does Geoffry ask where should a soldier go
To hide disgrace? there is no place but one.
[Struggling to get free.
Let go thy foolish hold, and force me not
To do some violence to thy hoary head—
What, wilt thou not? nay, then it must be so.

[Breaks violently from him, and Exit.
Geof.
Curs'd feeble hand! he's gone to seek perdition!
I cannot run. Where is that stupid hind?
He should have met me here. Holla, Fernando!

Enter Fernando.
Fer.
And which way has he gone?

Geof.
Towards the forest, if I guess aright.
But do thou run with speed to Rosinberg,
And he will follow him: run swiftly, man!

[Exeunt.