University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—A PRISON.
Carlos and Father Rodriquez discovered.
RODRIQUEZ.
O let not, my dear son, thy thoughts return,
With this declining sunbeam, towards the earth,
But with a spirit strong and confident
Fix them alone in heav'n.

CARLOS.
Good holy father,
I strive in vain: my thoughts awhile upborne
Upon the heavenward wings of thy devotion,
Anchor beyond the dark abysm of death;
But soon a thousand fleshly monitors
Beckon them back with weak and earthly promptings.
Thou say'st 'tis blest to die in penitence,
And yet I feel 'tis sad to die in youth.
Ere life has had its share death claims the whole—
Ere toil of war and manly enterprise
Have worn these sinews weary they must rest,
Rest in the dust. I bring not to the grave
Age and disease, a living carrion,
But healthful limbs, upon whose lusty strength
The loathsome worm before his time must banquet,
The blood within my veins is not bak'd up
With sullen spleen or frozen o'er with eld,
It flows a strong, warm, rapid, living tide,
And I must pour it out upon a scaffold.
A scaffold! there's the sting: father, my fathers
Were born of kings, lived all like noblemen,
And died like warriors. I'm a felon, father!
A midnight murderer! a drunken stabber!
And I must answer this upon the block:
O bitter fortune—bitter fate!

RODRIQUEZ.
My son,
'Tis bitter, but 'tis given thee to drink.
O turn thine eyes unto a brighter scene.

CARLOS.
Whither? to that sad home, where she—my love—
My wife, sits weeping o'er her brother's corse!
Father, what had she done, how had she sinn'd,
That Heaven thus visits her? For me, I know
My life's bought with a price, a bargain struck
Fairly 'twixt guilt and death; but she was holy
As saints that sin not! O why is she doom'd
To misery, by whose side death seems to smile?

RODRIQUEZ.
Question not thou th' invisible doom of fate,
Nor let thy thought presumptuous seek to pierce
The mystery of Heaven's high dispensations.
She will be cared for by a care beyond
Earth's closest love—she will be strengthened
To bear the burthen that is laid upon her.
Howe'er bereaved, she is not forsaken,
And o'er her desolate and forlorn state
The Father of the fatherless and widow
Will stretch his wing,—trust me, she will be car'd for.

CARLOS.
This is our wedding-day. See, the sun sinks.
At this same hour yestreen I told my soul,
“To-morrow, as the sun goes down, thy bride
Will cross thy father's threshold;” lying hope,
That sat'st in the sinking sunbeam yesterday,
Where art thou? O where art thou?

RODRIQUEZ.
Gracious Heaven!
Look with thy mercy on this sinful man,
That clings to the earth whence thou hast summon'd him,
And with his arms still hugging to the last,
The life thou claim'st, falls headlong in his grave.
Thy love will die and be a saint in heaven,
When Heaven hath done its will with her on earth.
Fie, fie, this grief's unmanly—'tis not holy.

CARLOS
Art thou a man, that thus upbraid'st my woe?
Have I not grief enough, but thou must cast
Thy heavy censure on me? sinking me
Yet deeper in this drowning sea of sorrow?
Do I not bleed enough? lack I yet more—
Thy cutting, keen reproach, to wound and pierce me?

RODRIQUEZ.
So help me Heaven, as such unchristian purpose
Was farthest from my soul! Behold, my son,
Although I strive to check thy fruitless tears,
Look how my own come swelling o'er their bounds,
To bear me witness 'gainst such accusation.

CARLOS.
Forgive me! O forgive me, holy man!
My grief like frantic fever loathes its cure—
But O, thou dost not know!—

RODRIQUEZ.
I do! I do!
And my old wither'd heart weeps blood for thee;
These be strange dealings of great Providence,
And my bewilder'd spirit halts amazed,
And wonderingly asks why these things are!
But O, such thoughts are evil—let us hope,
And pray, my son—pray fervently, that death
May be to thee not curst, but blest indeed!
A moment's pang for an eternal bliss!
A moment's darkness for immortal light!
A moment's poverty for boundless wealth!
Earth, earth for heaven! a dungeon for a throne!

(Noise without.)
CARLOS.
Hark! they are come.

RODRIQUEZ.
Be of good courage, Carlos.

Enter Jailor.
JAILOR.
Sir, it is sunset, and the guard's at hand.

CARLOS.
Farewell, my prison walls, last things of earth
That I shall see—fetters that yet I grasp
And feel, farewell! Existences that still
Discourse unto my senses, fare ye well!
'Tis past. Give me thy hand, father; be near me
Until the last.

RODRIQUEZ.
I will, my dear, dear son.

[Exeunt.