University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The house of the provost, and the apartment of Claude, who enters, followed by Crawford, and throws himself back into a chair with the action of deep distress.
Claude.
Follow me not, my friend; it is in vain
That friendly soothing would assuage my grief.

Craw.
Grieve not for that which is, indeed, most grievous,
Beyond all measure.

Claude.
Can we measure grief,
And say, so much of it shall be my portion,
And only this? A prudent, lesson'd sorrow,
Usurps the name it bears.—She was the light
That brighten'd every object; made this world
A place worth living in. This beauteous flame
Hath in the socket sunk: I am in darkness,
And no returning ray shall cheer my sight.
This earth, and every thing that it contains,
Is a dull blank around me.

Craw.
Say not so!
It grieves my heart to hear thee. Say not so.

Claude.
I will not grieve thee then; I'll hold my tongue;
But shall I feel the less?—Oh, had she lived!

Craw.
Perhaps she had but caused thee greater sorrow;
For how wouldst thou have brook'd to see her hand,
Had it so been, bestow'd upon another?

Claude.
Why should I entertain a thought so painful?
[Raising his head proudly, after a thoughtful pause.
Yes, I can entertain it, and believe
That, even as another's, it were happiness
To see her yet alive; to see her still
Looking as never eyes but hers did look;
Speaking such words as she alone could speak,
Whose soften'd sounds thrill'd through the nerves, and dwelt,
When heard no more, on the delighted fancy,
Like chanted sweetness!—All is now extinct!—
Like some base thing, unmeet for mortal eye,
The sod hath cover'd all.
[After a thoughtful pause.
Hath cover'd all!

Craw.
Dear Claude! why wilt thou dwell on things so dismal?
Let me read to thee from some pious book;
Wilt thou permit me?
[He remains silent and thoughtful.
Dost thou hear me, Claude?

Claude
(muttering to himself, without attending to Crawford).
The sexton has the key; and if he had not,
The wall may yet be clear'd.—
The banded mourners scatter to their homes,
Where kinsfolk meet, and social hearths blaze bright,
And leave the grave in midnight loneliness!
But should it be?

Craw.
(listening to him).
I understand these words.
But if he go, he shall not go alone.

Enter a Servant.
Claude
(impatiently).
What brings thee here?

Serv.
A gentleman desires to see you, sir.

Claude.
Tell him I am gone forth.—Such ill-timed visits!
Is the sore heart a sear'd and harden'd thing
For every fool to handle?

[Exit.
Craw.
I'll follow him: he should not be alone.

[Exeunt.