University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The Library in Barden Tower. Lord Clifford and the Prior of Bolton seated at a table covered with papers, books, and mathematical instruments.
LORD CLIFFORD.
Alas, lord Prior, we must interrupt
The pleasant course of our most loved researches!
To watch the wanderers of the nightly sky,
That shed their influence, adverse or benign;
To trace the mysteries of Nature's work
In earth or water—whether we remark
The ebbs and flows of Ocean as he leads
His mighty waves beneath the moving moon,
Or seek, by chemic fire, the still-hid stone
Philosphy hath worn her eyes to find;—
These, our enjoyments, must give place awhile
To painful duties.

PRIOR.
God's high will be done!
When open you the court?

LORD CLIFFORD.
I wait the coming
Of certain of the northern visiters,
As evidence against the robber horde.

PRIOR.
How many of the villains are secured?

LORD CLIFFORD.
Some twenty, and with them a sly old fox
That keeps the hostelry at Kilnsey.

PRIOR.
Ah,—
Is he suspected?

LORD CLIFFORD.
Yes, of leaguing with,
Abetting, and concealing them.

PRIOR.
I hear
Earl Percy hath arrived.

LORD CLIFFORD.
His lordship came
Last night, and will attend the court. He begs
A previous interview to talk with me
On matters of high moment.—Would 'twere over!
For I do hate so much these shows of life—
The words that nothing mean, the smiles that hide
The pain of the tired heart—that, by my faith,
I could e'en now exchange this noble name,
My lordly halls, and all their owner's power,
For the low cottage and the homely fare,
The unvexed spirit and the quiet sleep
I had among the glens of Cumberland,
Ere I was wakened to the certainty
Of my true rank, and all the cares that cling to't!

PRIOR.
That mood, my lord, is but a passing cloud,
Soon to depart and leave your spirit clear,
Else would I blame you for it. He who did
Retrieve the ruined fortunes of thy House,
And gave you power to sooth or to redress
The woes of thousands round you—power which ought
To be the sweeter, since yourself have felt
The very ills that ask your aidance—He,
I say, my lord, deserves more gratitude
Than such complaint implies.

LORD CLIFFORD.
O true, most true.
Yet must I feel that I am all unfit—
From natural disposition, and the want
Of artificial polish—for the sphere
My fortune threw me into. I believe
That what the Boy has been, the Man will be;
And I was, as a boy, contemplative,
Not prone to active sports. I was the child—
But let me check myself; for of my nature
'Tis the weak point—to prattle of the past,
Of things, perchance the listener nothing cares for,
Perchance hath heard before.

PRIOR.
Never to me
Did aught your lordship talked of, come unwelcome.
I love to hear old memories, recitals
Of passages, long gone, but called, as 'twere,
Up from th'abyss of time, and hallowed by
The light of fond Remembrance.

LORD CLIFFORD.
Then art thou
Fit to be listener when the aged speak.
—I was the child of war and of misfortune;
Born in a castle, suckled in the camp,
And thence transferred—when Ruin found my sire,
And would have found his son, that Clifford's name
Might only gild the past—transferred for safety,
To secret places in the west.

PRIOR.
Unknown
To those about you?

LORD CLIFFORD.
Ay, and to myself.
For the few gleams my youthful memory kept
Of prouder days, soon vanished; and I deemed
Myself the peasant boy that others thought me.

PRIOR.
Your lady-mother died.

LORD CLIFFORD.
Yes, died before
I was of age to be intrusted with
The dangerous secret of my noble birth;
But not before I was of age to learn
The faith my fathers cherished. Oft she read,
And wept the while, the blessed page that tells
Of God's sojourn with mortals.

PRIOR.
Well for you,
That the first knowledge of that Book was taught
By lips so pure as hers! You might have else
Erred, by interpreting the sacred word
In other ways than Holy Church permits
Her children to believe.

LORD CLIFFORD
(crossing himself).
Jesu be thanked!
I keep the faith. At three score years and ten
It were too late to re-examine points
Of controversy. These another race
May sift and battle for—as signs abroad
Seem to prognosticate they will.

PRIOR.
Saints grant
It may be well for Rome! 'Twas but last night,
I dreamt I saw my own fair Priory,
The beautiful House in which our fathers worshipped,
Doomed, pillaged, desecrated! Nay, I saw
Until the Ivy mantled every arch,
And waved from every window-shaft, and things
Obscene and nameless crawled and twisted, where
The holy Altar now is dim with light!
And I heard men, that walked about, and said
'Twas a just retribution for the waste
And wickedness that long had revelled there.
And some named me—me, Richard Moone, with curses,
And some with pity, as the last that ruled
As Prior within its walls.—St Mary, guard
The shrine thou lovest!—Pardon me, my lord;
This weakness but delays your narrative.

LORD CLIFFORD.
My dreams are of the mountains, where my youth
Did pass so happily, in sweet communion
With Nature—unacquainted with all pomp,
Except her own, when Night brought out the stars—

[Enter a Servant.
SERVANT.
My lord, Earl Percy.

[Exit Servant.
LORD CLIFFORD.
Thank your fortune, sir,
Your trial's past.
[Enter the Earl of Northumberland.
A thousand welcomes, lord,
To Barden Tower! Your lordship's willing servant,
The Prior of Bolton.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
That sum quadrupled
In thanks to both!
[To Lord Clifford.
Time hath laid on your lordship
A gentle hand since last we met. By heaven,
Did the Scot muster for another fight,
Thou wouldst bear arms as stoutly as you did
On Flodden Field.

LORD CLIFFORD.
Your lordship's pleased to flatter.
But thanks to Heaven, my age keeps green.—And you,
Time hath not passed you without adding strength
And manly bulk to the fair slender frame
I saw five years ago. Please you, be seated.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
I crave your pardons both. My business asks
Your private ear, my lord.

LORD CLIFFORD.
I am your servant.
My friend will find amusement from these shelves
Till our return.

[Exeunt Lords.
[As the Prior takes down a volume the scene closes.