 | The Daughter |  |
SCENE II.
—The Sea-shore. Thunder, Lightning, and Wind.Enter Marian.
Mari.
I cannot light on him, and not a soul
I pass'd but I have question'd!—Where is he?
My brain will burst!—a horrible oppression
Hangs on my heart, foreboding, sure, of ill!
Like what I felt, that day my mother died!
I hear—I see—
Things that I should not—Forms are flitting by me!
Voices are in mine ears, as if of things
That are—and yet I know are not!—Each step
I fear to tumble o'er the body of
Some drownéd man!—There's one!—A heap of weeds!
O what wild work do fear and fancy make!
Did some one cry?—Well?—What?—Where are you?—No!
'Tis nobody! What is't that still keeps up
412
Utter'd in agony? 'Tis not the sea!
'Tis not the wind!—I hear them both. 'Tis not
The wreckers on the shore!—They utter nought
But sounds of gladness. 'Tis not the ship!—She's out
Of hearing. Am I growing mad?—What spot
Is this I stand upon?—What brought me here?
'Tis here they say a girl one time went mad,
Seeing a murder done!—she was in quest
Of her brother; and she saw a scuffle, and
Approach'd the struggling men, just as the one
Did cast the other down. Although 'twas night,
She saw a knife gleam in the lifted hand
Of the uppermost! She tried to call—so she said,
When reason did at last return—but power
Of utterance was gone. Thrice it descended,
With a dull, griding sound;—and then, a voice,
Which stabb'd her heart and brain, exclaim'd—“He's dead!”
It was her brother's voice. 'Tis strange that fear
Should be a thing almost as strong as death!
Should shut the lips up—and deprive the limbs
Of motion!—Yet have I a feeling how
The thing may come to pass. The girl alone—
The men upon the ground—one 'bove the other—
The knife in his uplifted hand—it falls!
I feel myself a sense of choking; and
My feet do seem to cleave unto the ground.
My tongue doth stiffen!—Ha!— [Shrieks.]
—I have broke the spell!
I'm by myself!—Another minute,—not
The girl more mad than I!—They are gone!—All gone!
The earth, and air, so thick awhile ago,
With things that neither earth nor air do own,
Are empty now! Mine ears, and eyes, take note
Of nothing but what is—the booming sea—
The yelling wind—the rattling shingles, as
The waves do roll them up and down again;
And back my wand'ring thoughts return, to that
Which brought me 'midst their uproar—to persuade
My poor, misguided father to return
And from his lawless work restrain his hands.
I have traversed all the westward shore in vain,
I'll search the eastward now.
[Starts again at the same heap of weeds.
Not yet myself!—
'Tis the same heap of weeds I saw before!
[Goes out.
| The Daughter | |