University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—A ROOM IN THE PALACE OF EGERIO.
Enter LUDOVICO and POLONIA.
LUDOVICO.
Polonia, whosoe'er has brought
His heart to trifle with Love's chain,
Has no reason to complain
If another heart be thought
Worthier of the bliss he sought—
For it is his fitting fate;
(Who has ever soared above,
That fell not also?) Thus, my love
Dareth to anticipate
That of Philip, though his state
Far exceeds what mine can be,
He on Nature's bounty liveth,
But in what exertion giveth—
I am greater far than he:
I, Polonia, by this hand
Have obtained far higher merit
Even than Philip doth inherit:
If thou dost a proof demand,
Look around this grateful land,
Which hath almost frantic grown
At the victories I have won:
Round about the pleasant sun
Now three rapid years have flown,
Since upon these islands thrown,
I thy happy slave became.
Quicker than the thoughts that fly
Has the fleeting time gone by.
Need I call to mind, or name
Those great trophies of my fame
Won in many a fight by me,
But to offer them to thee—
Which within this palace stand—
Being the amazement of the land
And the wonder of the sea?

POLONIA.
Ludovico, by thy valour,
Whether by thine own worth merited,
Or with Nature's gifts inherited,
Thou hast stamp'd a glow—a pallor
On my cheek, and thou hast lit
Something blent of heat and coldness—
Something blent of fear and boldness,
In my breast: 'tis scarcely fit
That I call it love—for it
Doth awake my grief and shame,
When I feel the Archer's aim
Shoots the poison'd arrow through me,
And the Deity subdue me
In his wild resistless flame.
But I make this one confession,
Long thy hopes had been possession,
Did I not so deeply fear
My father's wrath; but persevere,
And thou need'st not feel depression.

Enter PHILIP.
PHILIP.
Here, perchance, my death I find.
[Aside.
Why then come distracted, blind,
To seek it? But what man is he
Who would have patience not to see
The cause whereby his bosom pined?

LUDOVICO.
What dost thou pledge that thou'lt be mine?

POLONIA.
This hand.

PHILIP.
Not that my will is stronger,
Which can endure this sight no longer,

POLONIA.
Ah, me!

PHILIP.
Wilt thou thy hand resign
Unto a stranger? (How confine
The grief I feel for such a crime!)
And thou who in thy daring flight
Dost seek the sun, that in his light
You may obtain a death sublime,
Why wilt thou not recall the time
When thou my fetter'd slave wert seen?
Why dost thou dare to cross my way?

LUDOVICO.
Because I dare to be to-day
What now I am, not what I've been.
'Tis true I was your slave—for none
Are safe from Fortune's fickle wheel—
But in my very heart I feel
That in the fame that I have won,
And in the deeds that I have done,
(Why should I now the truth conceal?)
My honour equals yours; indeed
Some might surmise it doth exceed.

PHILIP.
Exceed me! vilest among men!

LUDOVICO.
Philip, in these words I've heard,
You have err'd.

PHILIP.
I have not err'd.

LUDOVICO.
If you have not err'd—

PHILIP.
What then?

LUDOVICO.
You have lied!

PHILIP.
Thou'rt vile again.

[Strikes him.
POLONIA.
O Heavens!

LUDOVICO.
Why do I not take
Instant vengeance? When my ire
Burns within me, like the fire
That from Etna's top doth break,
Which not seas of blood can slake.

[They draw their swords, KING EGERIO and Soldiers enter, and all place themselves on the side of PHILIP.
KING.
What is this?

LUDOVICO.
A lasting woe—
A misfortune—an abuse—
A wild, angry fiend let loose
From the infernal gulf below.
Let no one presume to go
Between me and revenge. Reflect,
Fury heedeth nought beneath;
Neither has it fear of death,
Nor for any man respect—
My honour I must re-erect.

KING.
Seize him.

LUDOVICO.
Let the man who sighs
For his death obey! you'll see
What his valour gains—for he
Shall be slain before your eyes;
On this very spot he dies.

KING.
Quick pursue the daring slave—
Who'd have thought of this?

LUDOVICO.
I lave
In a blood-red stream each limb,
On whose breast I seem to swim,
Seeking Philip o'er the wave.

[There is a clash of weapons, and they all go out but EGERIO, who remains alone.
KING.
This new blow alone was wanted;
For a rumour has arisen,
That the slave who fled from prison,
He by whom my dreams are haunted,
Has to Ireland, nothing daunted,
Come from Rome, and hither guided,
Has the world in bands divided,
For the multitude enticed
To believe the faith of Christ,
Have along with Patrick sided.
People say that he must be
A magician—rumour saith
That being sentenced unto death,
By some other monarchs, he
From their fetters set him free,
And with such prodigious wonder
Did he burst the cords asunder
That confined him to the stake,
That the earth began to quake
From its darksome caverns under,
Where the dead lie hid; the air
Groan'd aloud—the sun grew dark—
And the moon lay cold and stark,
Missing the long golden hair
Which the sun's bright brow doth wear.
It is plain, from all one sees,
Patrick holdeth Fortune's ball,
For the people, one and all,
Who beheld such prodigies,
And with what miraculous ease
He regained his liberty,
Follow him from far and near
In astonishment and fear.
Here to-day approacheth he
To try his magic spells on me.
Let him come, before my rod
Shall his magic spells be fleeing;
We shall learn who is that being
Whom they call the Christian's God.
At my hands must Patrick die,
If 'twere only but to try
Whether he, by art or vigour,
From the circle of my rigour
Can with life escape and fly.
We shall see what countless sums
Of magic wealth he now can master,
He this Bishop—he this Pastor—
He who in the Pope's name comes.

Enter the CAPTAIN and Soldiers, with LUDOVICO as a prisoner.
CAPTAIN.
Ludovico cometh taken,
After leaving in their gore
Three of thy guard, and wounding more.

KING.
Christian, is thy breast not shaken,
Seeing my wrath at length awaken—
Seeing my hand upraised for blood?
But vainly now, in frantic mood,
Doth suffering tear my tenderest nerves—
This, and more, that man deserves
Whoe'er has done a Christian good:
Reward, not punishment, should be
Your gift to-day; for it is plain,
That I alone should feel the pain
Of having done aught good to thee.
Here, guard him close, till our decree
Pronounce his death; my will is known—
[To the soldiers.
All hope of mercy now hath flown—
So you may spare your tears and sighs—
Not for his crimes, this Christian dies,
But for his Christian creed alone.

[They all go out but LUDOVICO, who remains alone.
LUDOVICO.
If for this I die, thou makest
My unhappy death most happy—
Since he dieth for his Maker,
He who dieth for His honour:
And a man whom fortune doometh
Here to live in pain and trouble,
Ought to bless the falling death-stroke
As the happy end of all things;
Since its greatness comes to shorten
Life's poor thread—so wildly tangled!
Mine to-day becometh evil—
Like a phœnix it arises
From the ashes of dishonour.
Here my life were deadly poison—
Here my breath were serpent venom—
Till I could, throughout all Ireland,
Shed vile blood in such abundance,
As would wash away the insult
And the memory of my wrong:
Ah! honour, honour, low thou liest,
Stricken by a rigorous hand!—
I shall die with you. Together
We shall conquer these barbarians—
For my death will, in a moment,
Give us sweet and certain triumph.
In this sharp and pointed dagger
Lieth honourable vengeance!—
But God bless me! what fell demon
Prompts my hand? I am a Christian—
I have got an immortal soul,
And the pious light of faith:
Is it right that I, a Christian,
Should commit, among these gentiles,
Any act that would bring insult
On the religion I profess?
What example shall I give them
By this dark crime of self-murder,
But that my actions give the lie to
All the virtuous works of Patrick?
Since the people here, who only
Worship their degrading vices—
Who deny the soul's existence,
And its future pain or glory—
They would surely say—what boots it
Patrick's preaching that man's spirit
Is immortal? What imports it?
If the Christian Ludovico
Kills himself: thereby proclaiming
His own ignorance of its nature—
Thus would we with doubtful actions
Keep the beams of faith from falling:—
He the light, and I the darkness.
Well, there is such evil in it
That it must not be attempted:
Not that I at all repent me
Of the crimes that I've committed—
Nay, I rather sigh for new ones:
Oh! if I could now but free me
With my life, from out this prison,
I would soon become the terror
Of the world, in all its quarters,
Europe, Africa, and Asia:
I would make a dread beginning
In these islands of Egerio;
So that there would live no person
Who would satisfy the anguish
And the blood-thirst of my vengeance.
Lightning when the sphere it cleaveth,
Warns us with its voice of thunder;
And, in mingled smoke and shadows,
Imitating fiery serpents,
Darteth through the trembling ether.
Thus have I in thunder threatened,
So that every man could hear it;
But the fiery bolt is wanting;
Ah! alas, it hath miscarried,
And before it reach'd its object,
Was the sport of every vapour;
Death itself has got no terrors,
No, not even a death so shameful;
But what grieves me is to perish
In my strong and early manhood,
Ere my heart with crime is sated—
Life alone, for this I covet;
That I yet may act far greater,
Heaven doth know for nought beside.

Enter POLONIA.
POLONIA.
Hesitation now is over—
[Aside.
Ludovico, there are moments
[Aloud.
When love must no more be silent,
But give proof how strong it is:
Now your life is in great danger
From the angry king, my father;
And it doth behove your safety
To escape his wrath and fury:
By my liberal hand, the guardsmen
Round your prison are suborned,
And their watchful ears are deafened
By the wondrous sound of gold;
Fly: and that you may hereafter
Know, how much a woman hazards,
When she yields to love's delirium:
How she tramples upon honour—
How upon respect she trampleth—
I with you will go: 'tis needful.
Henceforth, for my whole existence,
I must live or die beside you:
Without you my life were nothing—
You who in my fond breast liveth.
I bring gold and costly jewels
More than we require, to place us
In the farthest land of India;
Where the sun burns up and freezes—
Now with beams, and now with shadows.
At the door there stand two horses;
I will call them swiftest panthers—
Daughters of the wind—or rather,
Thought itself would best describe them.
They are safe as they are rapid—
For, although upon them flying
Swifter than the sudden lightning,
Scarcely shall we feel their motion.
Oh! be resolute—why dally?
What delays you?—time is pressing—
And that fortune which doth ever
Interrupt love's course, at present
May not mar a deed so noble!
I shall show the way before you.
With ingenious speech and action
I shall gain the guard's attention,
Giving you a chance of flying—
See the sun our project favours,
For he sinketh in the ocean—
There to rest him from his labours,
And to cool his burning tresses.

[Exit.
LUDOVICO.
To my very hands hath fortune
Sent the chance I so much wished for—
For, Heaven knows, the proofs of liking
Which I gave unto Polonia,
Were but feigned—assumed, in order
That I might thereby avail me
Of the jewels which she carries,
Soon or late, to fly with gladness
From this Babylonian bondage;
For although in her my person
Lived esteemed, yet it was only
Servitude disguised—my roving
And unfettered life was pining
For the pleasant breath of freedom,
Which the heavens this day have granted.
But for the future which I painted,
A woman is a weight and hindrance;
Love with me is but a fancy,
Quickly gone as quickly born,
Which when satisfied, the fairest
Woman bringeth nought but tedium:
Being so—of what importance
Is another murder added
To the many gone before it?—
By my hands must die Polonia;
She has chosen for her loving
A most unpropitious epoch,
When there's nothing loved or worshipped:
Had she loved like other mortals,
She would have lived as others live.

[Exit.
Enter the CAPTAIN.
CAPTAIN.
From the King I come with orders
Here to read to Ludovico
The fixed sentence of his death!
But the prison door is open!
And the tower is bare and empty!
Something must have happened—soldiers!
No one answers to my calling!
Help! assistance! treason! treason!

Enter the KING, PHILIP, and LAOGHAIRE.
KING.
Who is calling? Who's proclaiming?
What is this?

CAPTAIN.
That Ludovico
Has escaped; and with him also
Have the guards departed.

LAOGHAIRE.
Monarch!
Here I saw Polonia enter.

PHILIP.
Heavens! it is now too certain
That 'twas she who gave him freedom;
You must know he was her suitor—
Jealousy doth now incite me,
And provoke me to pursue them—
From this very day, Hibernia
Will be called a second Troy.

[Exit.
KING.
Let me have a horse; in person
I those fugitives must follow.
Who are those two daring Christians,
Who combine, with doubtful actions,
One to shake my bosom's quiet,
One to steal my dearest honour?
But the two shall be the trophies
Of my hand's far-reaching vengeance—
From whose aim no man can hide him,
Not even the mighty Roman Pontiff.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

—A FOREST.
POLONIA enters wounded and flying from LUDOVICO, who pursues her with a naked dagger in his hand.
POLONIA.
Oh! for Christ's sake, thy God, who reigns above,
Restrain thy bloody hand—if not for love;
Take all I have, my gold, my honour take;
But leave me my poor life, for pity's sake!

LUDOVICO.
Luckless Polonia, since creation's hour,
Misfortune ever hath been beauty's dower—
Where beauty dwelleth, happiness must fly,
As moonbeams fade when sunshine lights the sky—
In me you see the most unpitying wretch
That ever yet his murderous hands did stretch
'Gainst human life—and so this stroke I give,
For you must die, that I may safely live;
If you came with me, I would bear along,
In you, the witness of my crime and wrong;
By means of which I might, the whole earth round,
Be tracked and followed—sought and surely found:
If, with your life, I leave you here, 'tis plain
I leave you wild with anger, rack'd with pain;
And thus, I leave behind me, for my woe,
One foe the more, and heavens! how great a foe!
Alas! there seems no method to relieve you—
I would do wrong to take you, or to leave you—
And so it is much better, hapless woman!
That I, with rage as cruel as inhuman,
Heedless of God, or law, or pity, slay thee,
And in the depths of this wild forest lay thee.
Thus shall I hide my wretchedness from view,
And gain a novel mode of vengeance too;
If Philip lives within your heart, the blow
That takes thy life will rid me of my foe—
And thus but one shall live—your sire to sate,
Some future time, my vengeance and my hate:
As first from thee the storm of insult burst,
So must thou feel the strokes of vengeance first.

POLONIA.
Ah me! I've but contrived my own undoing,
Like the poor worm, its fatal task pursuing,
Weaving the silken coil of its own death!
Art thou a Christian? Breath'st thou human breath?

LUDOVICO.
I am a demon—by this proof believe me.

POLONIA.
Oh! may the God of Patrick then receive me!

[He stabs her, and she falls within.
LUDOVICO.
On a bank of flowers extended,
Sad Polonia's woes are ended;
Now I feel no weight detain me,
Free I move, and nought shall chain me—
I bear with me all the treasures
Life doth need, and all life's pleasures;
With them I to Spain shall take me,
There to live till time doth make me
Somewhat changed in outward feature;
Then as 'twere a new-born creature,
Thither shall I come, with greater
Hope to avenge me on a traitor.
Till that hour my bosom weepeth
(Injured honour never sleepeth!)
But why now am I delaying,
Here amidst death's shadows straying?
'Mid the gloom of daylight dying.
I have lost my way; and flying
From my pursuers, may be going
Into their very hands. The glowing
Of the unrisen moon is showing
Where a peasant's hut is standing;
Here it may be, by demanding,
I may have my path-way righted.

[He calls.
PAUL and LUCY answer from within.
LUCY.
Who is there?

LUDOVICO.
A man benighted—
By the darkness overtaken—
Interrupts thy rest.

LUCY.
Awaken,
Juan Paul, for some one's calling
At the door.

PAUL.
He must be bawling
For you; so answer him instead—
For me, I'm well enough in bed.

LUCY.
Who is there?

LUDOVICO.
A traveller.

PAUL.
Eh,
A traveller?

LUDOVICO.
Yes.

PAUL.
Travel on, I pray;
This is not an inn.

LUDOVICO.
The clown
Vexeth me. I must tear down
This door—it falls upon the ground.

[He bursts in the door.
LUCY.
Ha! Juan Paul, will not the sound
Awake you? They have burst the door.

PAUL.
Why, I am half-awake, no more;
I have one eye open, but
Still the other eye is shut;
Well, come down with me—for fear
Somewhat troubleth me. Who's here?

[They enter half-naked.
LUDOVICO.
Silence, peasant, or you die.
Lost amid these hills have I
Hither come: without delay
You must put me on my way,
How the nearest port to gain,
Thence to fly across the main.

PAUL.
Oh! the road's as clear as light;
Take this pathway to the right,
When you pass a mountain-cleft,
Turn a little to the left,
Then you'll go along a plain—
To the right then turn again,
Where a beaten path doth wind,
And the port you can't but find.
And of this be sure, in short,
When you're there, that 'tis the port.

LUDOVICO.
Come and guide me hence; if not,
You must die upon the spot.

LUCY.
It were better, cavalier,
That till dawn you rested here.

PAUL.
Ah! you're very kind, my lady;
[To LUCY.
Have you fallen in love already?

LUDOVICO.
Peasant, quick, for time doth fly;
Do you choose to guide or die?

PAUL.
Do not vex yourself. If I,
Without question or reply,
Rather choose to guide than die,
I am ready now to go;
Not through fear of death—oh, no!
But lest Lucy should rejoice.

LUDOVICO.
I must stop this babbler's voice.
[Aside.
Lest he tell where I have flown—
In the sea he must be thrown,
When he puts me on my track.
As for you, retire alone,
[To LUCY.
Soon your husband will be back.

[LUDOVICO and PAUL go out at one side; LUCY at another.

SCENE III.

—ANOTHER OPEN IN THE FOREST.
Enter the KING, LESBIA, LAOGHAIRE, and the Captain.
LESBIA.
Not a trace can be discovered
Whither they have fled. The mountain
Has been search'd from top to bottom,
And throughout the wood and valley,
Every rock and leafy arbour
Have been visited; but nothing
Gives the slightest indication
Whither they have gone.

KING.
'Tis likely
That the Earth the two has swallow'd,
To preserve them from my fury—
For the Heavens could scarcely guard them
From my anger and my vengeance.

LESBIA.
See the sun his golden tresses
In the orient disentangling,
Spreads them o'er the woods and mountains—
Timely comes his light to aid us.

Enter PHILIP.
If your Majesty will hearken,
You will learn a great affliction—
More prodigious and more novel,
Than e'er time or fortune fashion'd,
Or imagination fancied:
Seeking through these woods Polonia,
I the whole night having wander'd
Through their wild and dark recesses—
When the dawn began to glimmer,
Clothed in ashen robes of mourning,
And by thick black clouds surrounded—
When the pleasant stars were absent
Not to see a sight so dreadful—
Running hither—running thither—
Soon I came where tender blossoms
Were with crimson blood-spots sprinkled,
And upon the earth were scatter'd
Fragments of a woman's trinkets.
By these mournful signs directed,
Soon I came where I discover'd,
'Neath a grey rock, frowning over,
In a fragrant tomb of roses,
Dead and cold, Polonia lying!
[The scene opens and discovers POLONIA lying dead beside a rock.
Thither turn your eyes in anguish—
There the young tree lies extended—
There the flower lies pale and wither'd—
There the bright flame is extinguished—
There is Beauty's form laid prostrate,
And its sinuous outline rigid—
There the dead Polonia lieth!

KING.
Ah! my heart is overwhelmed!
I have not the power within me
To endure such dire afflictions—
Such innumerable sorrows,
And such varying forms of anguish.
Ah! my poor, unhappy daughter—
Ah! my darling wildly sought for!
Evil is the hour I've found thee!

LESBIA.
I have been so stunn'd and startled,
Breath is wanting for my wailing!
O Polonia! let thy sister
Share thy fate and thy misfortunes.

KING.
What wild hand could e'er have lifted
Murderous steel against such beauty?
Oh! my life doth set in sorrow,
This disastrous day doth end it!

PATRICK, within.
PATRICK.
Woe to thee! forlorn Hibernia!
Woe to thee! unhappy people,
If with tears you do not water,
Day and night, the land in weeping:
Opening thus the gate of Heaven,
Which you closed by disobedience.
Woe to thee! unhappy people;
Woe to thee! forlorn Hibernia!

KING.
Heavens! what voice so sad and mournful
Falls upon my ear? it pierceth
Like an arrow through my bosom,
To my heart's core penetrating.
Learn who thus doth interrupt me
In the moment of my sorrow.
Who but I has need for wailing?
Who but I has cause for sorrow?

LAOGHAIRE.
This, my gracious lord, is Patrick,
Who since he has come to Ireland,
Back from Rome, and since the Pontiff
Unto him has given the title
And pre-eminence of Bishop,
Wanders thus about the island.

PATRICK.
Woe to thee! forlorn Hibernia!
Woe to thee! unhappy people!

Enter PATRICK.
KING.
Patrick, who my bitter anguish
Interruptest, and my suffering
Doublest, with your golden accents,
Their deceitful poison hiding,
Why thus persecute me? Wherefore
Wander thus about my kingdom,
Preaching novel modes of worship,
And by frauds our peace disturbing?
Here the scope of all our knowledge
Is that we are born and perish;
'Tis the doctrine we inherit
In the natural school our fathers
Have bequeathed us. But, O Patrick!
Who is this new God thou preachest,
Who doth give us life eternal,
When this mortal life is over?
When the soul forsakes the body,
How can it a new life enter,
Whether of reward or suffering?

PATRICK.
By its being fully loosened
From the body, which to nature
Giveth back the human portion,
Which is only dust and ashes—
And the spiritual essence,
To the upper sphere arising,
Finds the goal of all its labours—
If in grace it haply dieth,
Which is first conferred by baptism—
Ever after by repentance.

KING.
See this form of matchless beauty,
In her own blood coldly lying,
Is she living at this moment?

PATRICK.
Yes.

KING.
If so, the truth establish
By some proof.

PATRICK.
O Lord of Heaven!
Turn thine ear unto thy servant—
Here 'tis needful to exhibit
Your almighty power and greatness.

KING.
You do not answer me.

PATRICK.
The Heavens
Wish themselves to give you answer:
In the name of God, I bid thee,
Prostrate corse, thy soul resuming,
Rise and live—in this way giving
Proof of all the words I've spoken;
Preaching thus the Christian doctrine.

[She arises.
POLONIA.
Alas! alas!—Oh! Heaven preserve me!
Oh! how many things are open'd
To the soul!—Oh! Lord Almighty,
Stay the red hand of thy justice,
Do not hurl against a woman
All the rigour of thy anger,
All the lightnings of thy power.
Where, oh! where shall I conceal me
If thy countenance be wrathful?
Fall upon me, rocks and mountains!
Mine own enemy, this moment
I would think it joy to hide me
From thy sight in earth's dark centre.
But of what advantage were it,
If to every place I fly to,
I should bring with me the memory
Of my crime and my affliction?
See this mountain-range recedeth!
See this hill hangs threat'ning over!
See even Heaven itself doth tremble,
Shaken on its poles. The tempest
Throws its blackened shades around me.
Now my trembling footsteps falter—
Now the waves recede before me,
Everything but wild-beasts fly me,
Which approach as if to seize me.
Pity—mighty Lord! have pity!
Mercy! mercy! Lord Almighty—
Humbly do I ask for baptism.
And to die in grace and favour.
Mortals! mortals! listen! listen!
Christ is living! Christ is reigning!
Christ is the true God—the only.
Of your crimes repent! repent ye!

[Exit.
PHILIP.
What a prodigy!

CAPTAIN.
A wonder!

LESBIA.
What a miracle!

LAOGHAIRE.
How glorious!

KING.
What enchantment! what bewitchment!
Which of you this sight believeth?

ALL.
Christ is the true God Almighty!

KING.
Can you not perceive, blind people,
How appearances deceive you?
But to make this matter certain,
I will own myself in error,
If a little while disputing,
Patrick doth convince my reason;
To the argument then listen—
If man's spirit were immortal,
It could never rest a moment
From some active operation.

PATRICK.
Yes, and this is proved in slumber;
For the shapes that dreams engender
Are the workings of the spirit,
Which doth never sleep; but even
When half-loosened from the senses,
Forms imperfect words and actions;
This is why man often dreameth
Things he waking never thought of.

KING.
This being so—Polonia lately
Was alive or dead: if only
In a swoon, you wrought no wonder;
But on this I do not rest me—
But if dead, her soul had enter'd
One or other of the places—
Heaven or Hell, as you have taught us:
If 'twere Heaven, it shocks God's mercy,
That for any cause, a spirit
Which had been allowed to enter
Heaven, and taste his grace and favour,
Should be sent back to the world:
This appears to me quite certain.—
If in hell, 'twould shock his justice,
For it were not just that any
Soul, which punishment did merit,
Should obtain so great a favour
As to have the chance of gaining
Grace a second time: it follows,
Either that your words were idle,
Or that, in God's nature, justice
Is another name for mercy:
Where then was Polonia's spirit?

PATRICK.
Hear, Egerio, how I answer:
I concede that Hell or Glory
Must be the great goal and centre
Of the soul baptized, whence no one
Can depart: for so 'tis written
In the laws of the Eternal—
Speaking of God's usual ways—
But if God so willed it, using
His omnipotence, the pit-fall
Of the deepest hell should yield up
Any soul that he demanded:
But this now is not the question.
When a soul is doomed to enter
One or other of the places,
Well it knows its fate the moment
That it leaves the mortal body,
Never to return thereafter:
But when it is doomed to visit,
Once again, the earth, it wanders
Like a traveller through creation,
And, in this way hangs suspended
In the universe—a portion
Of itself—without obtaining
Any local habitation:
For the Omnipotent—the Highest—
Knowing all things by his prescience,
Since the instant that his essence
Drew the world and all its wonders
Into light—a glorious copy
Of his own divine idea—
Seeing that this thing would happen,
That this soul would come back hither
Held it for a time suspended,
Without giving or denying
It a final place to dwell in.
So far, as a theologian,
Have I answered your objection;
But another truth remaineth
To be told: there are more places
In the other world, than those of
Everlasting pain and glory:
Learn, O King, that there's another,
Which is Purgatory; whither
Flies the soul that has departed
In a state of grace; but bearing
Still some stains of sins upon it:
For with these no soul can enter
God's pure kingdom—there it dwelleth
Till it purifies and burneth
All the dross from out its nature,
Then it flieth, pure and limpid,
Into God's divinest presence.

KING.
So you say, but I have nothing,
Save your own words, to convince me;
Give me of the soul's existence
Some strong proof—some indication—
Something tangible and certain—
Which my hands may feel and grasp at;
And since you appear so powerful
With your God, you can implore him,
That to finish my conversion,
He may show some real being,
Not a mere ideal essence,
Which all men can touch: remember,
But one single hour remaineth
For this task: this day you give us
Certain proofs of pain or glory,
Or you die: where we are standing
Let your God display his wonders—
And since we, perhaps, may merit
Neither punishment nor glory,
Let the other place be shown us,
Which you say is Purgatory;
That we all may know and worship
God's almighty power and greatness:
Now His honour rests upon thee—
You can tell him to defend it!

[They all go out but PATRICK.
PATRICK.
Here, mighty Lord, dart down thy searching glance,
Arm'd with the dreadful lightnings of thine ire,
Wing'd with thy vengeance as the bolt with fire,
And rout the squadrons of fell ignorance:
Come not in pity to the hostile band,
Treat not as friends thy enemies abhorr'd—
But since they ask for portents, mighty Lord,
Come with the blood-red lightnings in thy hand.
Of old, Elias ask'd with burning sighs
For chastisement, and Moses did display
Wonders and portents: in the selfsame way
Listen, O Lord, to my beseeching cries,
And though I be not great or good as they,
Still let my accents pierce the listening skies!
Portents and chastisement, both day and night,
I ask, O Lord, may from thy hand be given;
That Purgatory, Hell, and Heaven
May be revealed unto these mortals' sight.

A good ANGEL descends on one side and a bad ANGEL on the other.
BAD ANGEL.
Fearful that the favouring skies
May accede to Patrick's prayer,
And discover to him where
Earth's most wondrous treasure lies;
Like a minister of light
Hither have I dared to range,
That I may disturb and change
That same prayer with demon might.

GOOD ANGEL.
Back again, then, thou mayst soar,
Cruel monster; to defend
Patrick do I here attend:
But be silent, speak no more:—
Patrick, God has heard thy prayer,
He has listen'd to thy vows;
And as thou hast ask'd, allows
Earth's great secrets to lie bare.
Seek along this island ground
For a vast and darksome cave,
Which restrains the lake's dark wave,
And supports the mountains round;
He who dares to go therein,
Having first contritely told
All his faults, shall there behold
Where the soul is purged from sin:
He shall see with mortal eyes
Hell itself—where those who die
In their sins for ever lie,
In the fire that never dies.
He shall see, in blest fruition,
Where the happy spirits dwell.
But of this be sure as well—
He who without true contrition
Enters there to idly try
What the cave may be, doth go
To his death—he'll suffer woe
While the Lord doth reign on high—
Who this day shall set you free
From this poor world's weariness;
It is thus that God doth bless
Those who love his name like thee.
He shall grant to you, in pity,
Bliss undream'd by mortal men—
Making thee a denizen
Of his own celestial city.
He shall to the world proclaim.
His omnipotence and glory,
By the wondrous Purgatory,
Which shall bear thy sainted name.
Lest thou think the promise vain
Of this miracle divine,
I shall take this shape malign,
Which came hither to profane
Your devotion and within
This dark cavern's dread abyss
Fling it; there to howl and hiss
In the everlasting din.

[The Angels disappear.
PATRICK.
May the Heavens proclaim thy praise!
For thou lovest to impart,
Mighty Lord! how great thou art,
By thy wonder-working ways!
Come, Egerio!

[All enter.
KING.
Well!

PATRICK.
With me
Come along this mountain's base,
Thou shalt see the destined place—
Thou and all who come with thee—
Where the severed souls remain;
Some in bliss and some in pain—
Of a never-ending sorrow,
Of a night that knows no morrow,
Thou a rapid glance shalt gain:
Thou shalt see where angels dwell
In a bright and happy sphere.
In the wonders buried here
Thou shalt see both Heaven and Hell!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

—A REMOTE PART OF THE MOUNTAIN: AT THE EXTREMITY OF THE STAGE A GLOOMY CAVERN.
Enter the KING, PHILIP, LESBIA, LAOGHAIRE, the CAPTAIN, and a crowd of people, conducted by PATRICK.
KING.
Pause, O Patrick! thou art going
To a dark and dismal spot—
Where the mid-day sun hath not
Ever enter'd bright and glowing—
Where no living thing is growing,
Shunn'd at once by man and brute.
Cease then from thy vain endeavour,
For that rugged path was never
Trodden by a human foot!

PHILIP.
We for many a lengthen'd year,
Who have lived here from our youth,
Never dared to learn the truth
Of the secrets hidden here:
For the entrance did appear
Terror-guarded, as to make
Even the bravest bosom chill!
None have ever cross'd this hill,
Or this dark mysterious lake.

KING.
And the only sound we heard,
Borne the troubled wind along,
Was the sad funereal song
Of some lone nocturnal bird.

PHILIP.
Do not persist to enter here.

PATRICK.
Let not fear disturb your breasts—
'Tis a heavenly treasure rests
In this cavern.

KING.
What is fear?
Could the wild volcano wake
Any feeling of the name?
No; although the central flame
Rush'd thereout, and lightnings brake
From the Heaven's disjointed sphere—
Though the cover'd earth were brown
With the smoke and fire rain'd down,
Yet my soul were proof to fear.

Enter POLONIA.
POLONIA.
Stay! unhappy people, stay!
Daring, wild, and indiscreet,
Pass not in with erring feet—
Ruin lieth in the way!
From myself, with hurried footsteps, flying,
I have sought this wilderness profound:
Where the pure bright summer beam is dying
In the shadow of this hill oak-crown'd—
That at length as in its dark grave lying,
Never more could my offence be found;
Here I seek a brief repose from strife,
Shutting out the angry waves of life—
Not a guide had hostile fate decreed me,
As I dared upon my path to stray,
Vain the hand that would attempt to lead me,
Through the tangled wildness of the way;
From the terror yet I have not freed me—
From the admiration and dismay,
Which were waken'd by this mountain's gloom,
And the hidden wonders of its womb;
See this rock (that it has not decended
O'er the vale a miracle appears!)
Still it hangs as it has hung suspended,
Threat'ning ruin for unnumber'd years;
In the mountain's cavern'd jaws extended
Still it lieth—checks and interferes
With the breath that from this cave escapes,
Wherewith the melancholy mountain gapes:
By these cypress-trees, in terror speeding
Through the lips of sever'd rocks, I stray'd,
There I saw a monstrous neck receding,
Deep and dark and noisome in the shade,
Though little life the sunless air was breeding,
Some useless plants about the entrance play'd
Of that vast space—the horror and affright
Of day, and dwelling of the frozen night:
I enter'd there to try and make my dwelling
Within the cave: but here my accents fail,
My troubled voice, against my will rebelling,
Doth interrupt so terrible a tale:
What novel horror, all the past excelling,
Must I relate to you, with cheeks all pale,
Without cold terror on my bosom seizing,
And even my voice, my breath, my action freezing?
But scarce had I o'ercome my hesitation,
And gone within the cavern's vaults profound,
When I heard such shrieks of lamentation,
Screams of grief that shook the walls around—
Curses, blasphemy, and desperation;
Crimes avow'd that would even Hell astound—
Which the Heavens, determined not to hear,
Had placed within this prison dark and drear.
Let him come who doubts what I am telling—
Let him bravely enter who denies—
Soon his ears shall hear the dreadful yelling,
Soon the horrors gleam before his eyes—
But for me I feel my bosom swelling,
And my tongue grow silent with surprise:
I must cease—for it is wrong, I feel,
Heaven's most wondrous secrets to reveal.

PATRICK.
This cave, Egerio, which you see, concealeth
Many mysteries of life and death,
Not for him whose hardened bosom feeleth
Nought of true repentance or true faith.
But he who freely enters, who revealeth
All his sins with penitential breath,
Shall endure his purgatory then,
And return forgiven back again.

KING.
Dost thou think, O Patrick, that my spirit
Is so despicable, poor, and weak,
That a woman's nature I inherit?
But which of you shall enter? Philip, speak.

PHILIP.
My Lord, I dare not.

KING.
Captain, then the merit
Is for thee.

CAPTAIN.
My Lord, some other seek.

KING.
Laoghaire, thou wilt not act like those?

LAOGHAIRE.
My gracious Lord, the Heavens interpose!

KING.
O cowards! lost to every sense of shame!
Unfit to gird the warrior's sword around
Your shrinking loins—Men are ye but in name!
Well, I myself shall be the first to sound
The depths of this enchantment and proclaim
Unto this Christian, that my heart unawed,
Nor dreads his incantations, nor his God!

[Here the mouth of the cave is discovered, the most horrible that can be imagined; within it is a pit, into which EGERIO rushes; he sinks in it with much noise— flames rise from below, and many voices are heard.]
POLONIA.
How terrible!

LAOGHAIRE.
How awful!

PHILIP.
What a wonder!

CAPTAIN.
The earth is breathing out its central fire.

[Exit.
LAOGHAIRE.
The axes of the sky are burst asunder.

[Exit.
POLONIA.
The Heavens are loos'ning their collected ire.

[Exit.
LESBIA.
The earth doth shake, and peals the sullen thunder.

[Exit.
PATRICK.
O Mighty Lord, who will not now admire
Thy wondrous works?

[Exit.
PHILIP.
Who that is not insane
Will enter Patrick's Purgatory again?

[Exit.