University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

—A STREET.
Enter JUAN PAUL, fantastically dressed as a soldier, and LUDOVICO very pensive.
PAUL.
Some day I knew 'twould happen so,
And that the day has come is plain,
When I should ask you to explain
What I so much desire to know:
You will remember, in the dark,
How, from my cabin I did start,
To point you out the nearest part
Where you, with safety, might embark.
Another time, pray recollect,
You said, Or come with me, or die—
Of two such evils how that I
The greater evil did select,
Which was to follow in your train—
How, as a shadow, at thy side,
With thee I've wander'd far and wide,
Throughout fair Italy, and Spain,
France, Scotland, England, all have been
Explored by us, and we, in fact,
Have left no strange and distant tract
Unvisited. At length we're seen,
Thus having pass'd o'er land and sea,
Upon the Irish coast again:
I, Juan Paul, with 'wilder'd brain,
Confused, amazed at what I see—
Your hair, and beard of monstrous size—
Your counterfeited voice—your dress
So changed—implore you to confess
Why thou dost wear such strange disguise?—
By day you never leave the inn,
But in the frosty, midnight air
A thousand wild exploits you dare,
Without remembering we are in
A land where everything has changed—
Where nothing can be heard or seen
As we remember they had been,
When formerly this land we ranged:
Egerio the King is dead,
Killed by despair's unceasing pains,
And Lesbia, his daughter, reigns,
Queen of this kingdom in his stead,
Because Polonia—

LUDOVICO.
Oh! proceed,
But name me not Polonia's name;
Do not destroy my trembling frame,
Nor terrify me with a deed
For which so many tears I shed!—
I know at length Polonia died.

PAUL.
Our host, with whom we here abide,
Told me, as how they found her dead,
And—

LUDOVICO.
Cease, I do not wish that thou
The manner of her death should state—
Enough for me to mourn her fate.

PAUL.
He also said, the people now
Are all good Christians here; they know
The sinful state from which they fled,
Because, one Patrick, who is dead—

LUDOVICO.
Is Patrick dead?

PAUL.
Our host says so.

LUDOVICO.
Badly have I fulfill'd my vow—
[Aside.
Proceed:

PAUL.
The faith of Christ did preach,
And, as a proof that he did teach
The truth about the soul, and how
It seeks in death some other clime,
A wondrous cave discover'd here,
And what a cave! He shakes with fear
Who hears it named!

LUDOVICO.
Another time
I heard the same miraculous tale,
Which made my hair in terror stand.
They say the dwellers in this land
See sights that make the boldest quail.

PAUL.
Since thou, in melancholy mood,
In mingled terror and affright,
Nor use thy tongue, nor use thy sight,
But hide as if by foes pursued:
Since this is so, Señor, 'tis clear
You have not come to hear or see
These things, how wondrous they may be.
Say then, at once, what brings us here?—
Nor think my doubts impertinent.

LUDOVICO.
I'll answer all—from out your cot
I took you—in some lonely spot
To slay you was my first intent—
But then it better did appear
To take you where my steps might wend,
As my companion and my friend—
Throwing aside the dreadful fear
That made me shun the sight of man,
In fine, that you being with me, Paul,
I might find solace, after all;
Through many various lands we ran,
Nor didst thou, as we roam'd along,
Feel need of aught. But now I'll say
Why we are here—it is to slay
A man who did me grievous wrong:
It is on this account I go,
Concealing country, dress, and name,
It is at this I ever aim
Throughout the night, because my foe
Is the most powerful person here!
And that I may to you confide
Why you to-day are at my side:
Listen, the cause shall soon appear—
Three days have pass'd away since I
Came to this city in disguise,
And twice beneath the midnight skies,
Here have I sought my enemy,
In his own street, at his own door,
Each time a figure pass'd me by,
Disguised, and so contrived that I
Had to postpone the death I swore.
He call'd me in the lonely street,
And when I sought to reach him near,
To me he seem'd to disappear,
As if the wind were in his feet—
To-night I thought it best that you
Should come along with me, that so
The figure we might surely know—
Caught as it were between us two.

PAUL.
Who are the two?

LUDOVICO.
Why, you and I.

PAUL.
I am not one.

LUDOVICO.
Not one?

PAUL.
Oh! no,
Señor, whenever you will go
On such exploits as now you try,
I am not one, nor half a one—
With my Lord Shadow's fearful stories,
Or with my Lady Purgatory's,
I am determined to have done:
In all my life, by day or night,
The other world's strange affairs
Were never known among my cares;
Methinks in this I acted right—
But place me 'gainst a thousand men,
And if I quickly do not run
From the whole thousand—nay, from one,
Call me the maddest mortal then.
For who would rather choose to die,
Who for a little race at most—
A thing of such a trifling cost—
Could his own life and safety buy?
My life I value very high—
Here leave me till you've done, and then,
Señor, come back for me again.

LUDOVICO.
This is the house: Philip must die
To-night beneath my vengeful hand—
We soon shall see if Heaven defends
His life, or only but pretends—
Here in this place you best can stand.

Enter a FIGURE MUFFLED in a cloak.
PAUL.
That I doubt;—but some one cometh.

LUDOVICO.
Fortune doth this night befriend me,
Since it gives me the occasion
Now to take a double vengeance:
Nothing shall disturb my fury,
Nothing shall prevent my slaying,
First, this strange, mysterious figure;
Philip's death shall follow after.
'Tis the person that I spoke of,
By his gait and dress I know him:
But what terror makes me tremble
To behold him?

FIGURE.
Ludovico!

LUDOVICO.
Cavalier, two nights already
Have I met you here: inform me,
If you call me, why thus fly me;
If you seek me, why depart thus?

FIGURE.
Follow me, you then shall know me!

LUDOVICO.
Pardon me, I have some business
In this street that makes it needful
Here to be without a witness;
And in killing you, I'll fancy
That I kill another person:
Draw or not your sword, this moment
I shall take a double vengeance:
[Draws his sword and strikes at the Figure, but only cuts the air.]
Heavens! 'tis but the air I strike at!
Intercept him, Paul, beside thee.

PAUL.
I don't practise intercepting.

LUDOVICO.
Through the city I shall track thee,
Up and down, till I discover
Who and what you are. Ah! vainly
[Aside.
Does my sword flash out its lightnings
To destroy him—they are powerless,
Either to offend or touch him.

[They go out, Enio striking at the Figure without touching it.]
Enter PHILIP.
PAUL.
God be with them! One has vanished
[Aside.
From the street, and now another
Comes to me. I am bewilder'd—
Like St. Antony, I'm tempted,
Both by figures and by phantoms:
I must hide me in this doorway,
Till the other passes by me.

PHILIP.
Love—aspiring, wild, and daring—
With the favours of a kingdom—
Makes me now a happy lover,
For Polonia, in the desert
Living among trees and brambles,
Citizen of lonely mountains—
Islander of lake-bound islets,
Has resigned unto her sister
Lesbia, the throne and kingdom.
I, through interest more than love,
Pay unceasing court to Lesbia,
Worshipping her rank and station:
Now I come from hopeful converse
With her at her grated window:
But what's this?—each night a stranger
Here I meet upon my threshold!

PAUL.
Ah! this way it is approaching—
Why to me comes every phantom?

PHILIP.
Cavalier!

PAUL.
I do not answer
To that name: he is addressing
Some one else.

PHILIP.
This is my dwelling.

PAUL.
Well, thank God! I'm not your tenant:
For a thousand years enjoy it,
Without courtiers for your lodgers.

PHILIP.
If you here are forced to tarry,
It concerns me not. Allow me
Room to pass you in the entrance.

PAUL.
What a civil-spoken phantom!
[Aside.
Ah! these ghosts are arrant cowards!
Whether here, Sir, I have business,
Or have not, it makes no matter;
Here to enter you are welcome—
I would be the last to hinder
Any gentleman from going
Home to bed.

PHILIP.
You much oblige me!
Truly very valiant shadows
[Aside.
Haunt this street; 'tis somewhat curious
That for several nights a stranger
Here I've met, who, when I seek him,
Fades among the darksome doorways:
But this matter naught concerns me.

[Exit.
[PAUL draws his sword and affects to follow PHILIP.
PAUL.
Now he's gone, I may be valiant.
Good Mr. Shadow, stop, I pray thee,
Or, if not Mr.—Miss, or Madam:
Ah! I cannot overtake him—
Heavens! 'tis but the air I strike at!—
Well if this the cavalier is
Whom we have so long expected,
He is a most lucky fellow
To have got to bed so safely:
But another sound approaches—
Sword-strokes mix'd with angry voices;
Here they come—but thus I leave them.

[Exit.
Enter the CLOAKED FIGURE and LUDOVICO.
LUDOVICO.
Cavalier! we have departed
From the street: if there was in it
Aught to interrupt our combat:
Here, at length, we two are standing
Face to face, to end the quarrel—
Since my sword cannot offend you,
I must learn, upon you rushing,
Who and what you are. Acknowledge
Are you phantom, man, or demon?
Are you silent? then 'tis needful
That your dark disguise I open,
And discover—
[He tears open the cloak and discovers a skeleton.
Heaven defend me!
What is this? Oh! Lord Almighty!
What a spectacle of terror!—
Horrid vision! Grisly phantom!
Stiff and fleshless corse, who are you—
Ashes feigning life and motion?

FIGURE.
Mortal, know you not yourself?
Here you see your truest picture—
I am Ludovico Enio!

[Disappears.
LUDOVICO.
Aid me, Heaven! what dismal tidings!
Aid me, Heaven! what fearful vision!
Shadows, sorrows crowd around me,
And my wretched life is over!

[He falls on the ground.
Enter PAUL.
PAUL.
'Tis my master's voice that calleth—
See, my lord, that succour cometh
Now in me:

LUDOVICO.
Oh! horrid monster!
Why return again? Thy accents
Overwhelm my soul!

PAUL.
He's frantic—
I am not a horrid monster,
But poor Juan Paul—that ninny—
Who too faithfully attends thee,
Without knowing why or wherefore.

LUDOVICO.
Paul, excuse me, that my terror
Made me first not recognise thee,
That indeed is little wonder
When my very self I know not.
Did you see, as here you enter'd,
A dread shape—a grisly spectre?—
One by fleshless bones supported—
One with fingers cold and rigid—
One with eyeless sockets staring—
Where is he?

PAUL.
Indeed, I know not:
Had I seen him, on the instant,
I, more dead than he, had fallen.

LUDOVICO.
And so would every human being:
Thus I fell, with stifled accents,
All my senses scared or frozen—
All my limbs with cold lead fetter'd—
While, above me, seem'd descending
Of two poles, the wondrous structure,
By my strength alone supported;
And from everything around me
There did start some hidden terror:
Mighty rocks from gentle flowers—
Giants from the midst of roses:
For the earth from out its centre,
Flung its grisly host of shadows,
And I saw myself among them!
From that sight, in pity, hide me,
Gracious Heaven! O Earth, conceal me
In your darkest, central caverns,
That I ne'er again may see me!
Or, if that sad sight be needful,
Let me see myself the monster
That I was—the daring rebel,
Proud, insane, and disobedient,
Who God's law so violated—
He, for whom, if God would punish
Crimes as they deserve, the torments
Even of Hell were insufficient—
Which he must endure for ever,
While God reigns or hell existeth;—
But this truth I treasure also,
That these crimes have been committed
'Gainst a God so full of mercy,
That I yet can gain their pardon,
If, with bitter tears, I weep them:
Such repentance now doth seize me;
And that I, even from this moment,
May become a new-born creature,
In His saving hands I place me:
Not according to thy justice,
Judge me, O eternal Father!
But according to thy mercy;
For thy attributes are blended
Both of mercy and of justice:
Deign to let me know some method
Of repentance, of atonement:
What will be a satisfaction
For my life?—

[Music within.
VOICES.
The Purgatory!

LUDOVICO.
Heavens! what sonorous accents
Breathe around! A revelation
Do they seem, for Heaven assisteth
The repentant, humbled sinner,
In its own mysterious manner:
And since comes the inspiration
From on high, I wish to enter
Into Patrick's Purgatory:
Humbly and devoutly keeping
Thus the promise that I gave him,
If indeed it be my fortune—
There to meet with holy Patrick:
If the trial have its dangers,—
Since all human strength is powerless
Either to resist its terrors,
Or to bear the awful torments
Which the vengeful demons fashion—
Still I should remember likewise
That my crimes were just as dreadful,
And that in the same proportion
I must suffer—as physicians,
Curing desperate diseases,
Act on desperate prescriptions.—
Paul, come with me, you shall see me
At the bishop's feet laid prostrate
With repentance and with terror;
All my dreadful sins confessing.

PAUL.
No, Sir—you must take this journey
By yourself—a man so valiant
Surely needeth no companion—
And it seems an innovation
That a gentleman should go to
Hell attended by his valet:
To my village I shall saunter,
Where I'll live without vexation,—
If I need must have hobgoblins,
Lucy will be quite sufficient.

[Exit.
LUDOVICO.
As my many crimes were public,
So shall be my deep repentance—
Like a man possess'd I'll wander
Through the world, my sins proclaiming:
Men, wild beasts, deserted mountains,
Starry globes, dim wildernesses,
Tender plants, dry sapless elm-trees,
I am Ludovico Enio!
At my name with horror tremble!
I, who lately was the proudest,
Now confess myself the humblest;
I have faith and firm reliance
That you yet shall see me happy,
If in God's name blessed Patrick
Aid me in the Purgatory.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

—A WILD MOUNTAIN DISTRICT; A LAKE IN THE DISTANCE.
POLONIA appears upon the slope of a mountain; she descends slowly to the stage.
POLONIA.
To Thee, O Lord! my spirit climbs,
To Thee from every lonely hill
I burn to sacrifice my will
A thousand and a thousand times.
And such my boundless love to Thee,
I wish each will of mine a living soul could be.
Would that my love I could have shown
By bearing for thy sake, instead
Of that poor crown that press'd my head,
Some proud, imperial, golden crown—
Some empire, which the sun surveys
Through all its daily course and gilds with constant rays.
This humble home, 'neath rocks uphurl'd,
In which I dwell, though poor and small,
Compared to this great mountain-wall,
Is the eighth wonder of the world—
The smallest cave that in it lies
Exceeds the halls of kings in majesty and size.
Far better on some natural lawn,
To see the morn its gems bestrew,
Or watch it weeping pearls of dew
Within the white arms of the dawn;
Or view, before the sun, the stars
Drive o'er the brighten'd plain their swiftly fading cars.
Far better to behold, when free,
Through Heaven, the shades of evening play—
The shining chariot of the day
Go down amid the western sea—
Better in darkness and in light,
My voice should speak thy praise, O Lord, by day and night!
Than to endure the inner strife—
The specious glare, but real weight
Of pomp, and power, and pride, and state,
And all the vanities of life:
How would we shudder could we deem
That life itself, in truth, is but a fleeting dream!

Enter LUDOVICO.
LUDOVICO.
True to my purpose, on I go,
[Aside.
With footsteps strong, and bosom brave,
Looking for that mysterious cave
Where the pitying Heavens will show
How my salvation I may gain
By bearing in this life the Purgatorial pain:
[To POLONIA.
Divinest woman! if you be
A dweller in this lonely ground,
Or in the neighbouring hills around,
The shortest way point out to me,
That leads unto the wondrous cave,
Where penitential man his living soul may save.

POLONIA.
Fortunate traveller, to whom
This boon was granted at thy birth,
To seek that treasure which the earth
Conceals within its richest womb—
Well can I guide thee on thy way,
For this, and this alone, amid these wilds I stay.
This mountain, do you see?

LUDOVICO.
I see
[Aside.
My death in it.

POLONIA.
Oh! woe and fear!
[Aside.
My soul! what man is this that's here?

LUDOVICO.
I cannot think that it is she?

[Aside.
POLONIA.
Can it be he whom now I scan?

[Aside.
LUDOVICO.
It is that hapless maid!

[Aside.
POLONIA.
It is that wretched man!

[Aside.
LUDOVICO.
It may be only an illusion,
Sent to dazzle and mislead,
My intent to change—Proceed:

[To POLONIA.
POLONIA.
Can it be for my confusion,
[Aside.
Man's dread enemy doth send
This spectre in my path?

LUDOVICO.
You do not speak.

POLONIA.
Attend:
This monstrous hill, with rocks bestrown,
Full well the dreaded secret knows,
But no one to its centre goes
By walking o'er the land alone.
He who would see this wondrous cave
Must in a bark put forth and tempt the lake's dark wave:
Revenge doth seek to burst its chain,
[Aside.
But pity doth its rage subdue.

LUDOVICO.
My days their darksome hours renew,
[Aside.
Since I behold her once again.

POLONIA.
What feelings in my bosom blend!

[Aside.
LUDOVICO.
I feel as I were dead!—You do not speak.

POLONIA.
Attend!—
This darksome lake doth all surround
Yon hill that cleaves the heavens' deep blue—
A cross whose level wave, by you,
An easy pathway may be found;
And in the middle of the isle
A convent's sacred walls beneath the sunlight smile;
Some holy monks inhabit there,
And for this task alone they live,
With pious zeal to freely give
The helping hand, the strengthening prayer—
Confession, and the Sacred Mass,
And ev'ry pious aid to all who thither pass,
Telling them what they first must do
Before they dare presume to go,
Alive, within the realm of woe—
Let not this enemy subdue
[Aside.
My soul, O Lord!

LUDOVICO.
My hopes are fair,
[Aside.
Let me not feel, O Lord! the anguish of despair!
Seeing before my startled sight
My greatest, deepest crime arise:
Let not the fiend, my soul, that tries,
Subdue me in this dreadful fight.

POLONIA.
What greater foe could vengeance lend
[Aside.
Than he who standeth here?

LUDOVICO.
You do not speak:

POLONIA.
Attend:

LUDOVICO.
With quicker words your story tell,
For well I know my soul doth need
That I should go with swifter speed!

POLONIA.
And me it doth import as well
That you should go away.

LUDOVICO.
Agreed!
Now, woman, point the way to where my path doth lead.

POLONIA.
No one accompanied can pass
Across the bosom of this lake.
But each a little bark must take
And try alone the rippling glass,
Being in that most trying strait,
The lord of his own deeds—the master of his fate.
Come, where within a secret cave,
Beside the shore the boat doth lie,
And trusting in the Lord on high,
Embark upon the crystal wave
Of this remote and lonely sea.

LUDOVICO.
My life and all I have, O bark! I trust to thee,
And thus confide me to thy care:
But, O my soul! I shake with fear,
For it a coffin doth appear,
In which, presumptuously I dare
To try this dark and icy tide!

[He enters within.
POLONIA.
Do not return, proceed, and in the Lord confide!

LUDOVICO,
within.
Victory! victory is mine,
Polonia, for before thy sight
My spirit has not quailed.

POLONIA.
To flight
Have I too made my wrath resign
Here in this Babylonian realm.

LUDOVICO.
The seeming shape you wear doth not my soul o'erwhelm,
Although you take a well-known form
To turn me from my path astray,
And make me falter on my way.

POLONIA.
Badly thy fear doth thee inform,
Poor trembler!—only rich in fear;
For I, Polonia's self, alone am standing here:
The same your murderous dagger slew,
Who by the Heavens' mysterious grace
Live in this wild and desert place,
And feel more peace than e'er I knew.

LUDOVICO.
Since I confess, with sorrowing heart,
The many sinful scenes in which I've play'd my part,
Do thou pronounce my pardon too.

POLONIA.
You have my pardon and my prayers.

LUDOVICO.
Naught from my breast my firm faith scares.

POLONIA.
Ever confide in it.

LUDOVICO.
Adieu!

POLONIA.
Adieu!

LUDOVICO.
May God his wrath restrain!

POLONIA.
And may he bring you back victorious once again!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

—THE ISLAND.
Enter two CANONS REGULAR.
FIRST CANON.
There's not the faintest zephyr blowing,
And yet the lake's calm waves are rippled,
Doubtless, o'er its bosom, pilgrims
To the island are approaching.

SECOND CANON.
Let us, to the shore descending,
Learn who are the daring mortals
Who are bold enough to visit
Our obscure and distant dwelling.

Enter LUDOVICO.
LUDOVICO.
To the waves I have confided
My strange bark, or rather coffin:
Who, through fire and snow, e'er ventured
In his sepulchre till now?
What a pleasant prospect opens!
Here methinks the spring has summon'd
To her gay and varied Cortes
The noble and plebeian flower:
There a dismal mountain riseth,
And the two so greatly differ,
That their very opposition
Binds them in a closer bond:
There are mournful night-birds wailing,
With their screams awak'ning terror;
Here are joyful song-birds warbling
Notes that fill the heart with joy:
There the angry torrent rusheth
Headlong down the frowning mountain;
Here the gentle streamlet glideth,
Giving mirrors to the sun:
Half-way 'twixt these different regions,
One so fair and one so frowning,
Riseth up a stately building,
Which awakes my love and fear!

FIRST CANON.
Happy traveller, who hither
Has to-day thy courage brought thee,
To my arms approach.

LUDOVICO.
'Twere better
That before thy feet I kneel,
But conduct me now in pity
To the grave and reverend prior,
Who this sacred convent rules.

FIRST CANON.
I am he, although unworthy;
Speak, proceed, what interrupts thee?

LUDOVICO.
Father, if my name I mention,
Much I fear that you will fly me,
Fright'ned at the sound; for truly
All my actions are so wicked,
That the shining air around us,
Not to see them, would be cover'd
With a cloudy veil of mourning.
I am an abyss of horror,
And a stormy sea of fury;
I am a map of misbehaviour,
And the world's most awful sinner—
In a word, lest breath should fail me,
I am Ludovico Enio:
I have come the cave to enter,
Where, if any satisfaction
Can be made for crimes so deadly,
My repentance there shall make it.
I have been absolved—confessing
To the Bishop of Hibernia
All my sins; who being acquainted
With my wish and my intention
Here to come, with love and council
Strengthen'd my weak resolution,
And for thee these letters gave me.

[Gives them.
FIRST CANON.
Ludovico, do not venture
On so great an undertaking
In one day, it is a subject
That requires deliberation—
Stay with us our guest a short time,
And reflect more calmly on it.

LUDOVICO.
Oh! my father, I shall never
Rise from where I now am kneeling
Till you grant me this great favour—
It was God's own inspiration,
That did drive me longing hither,
And not vanity, ambition,
Nor desire to know the secrets
Hidden here: do not, I pray thee,
Interrupt my good intention,
For it is a true vocation;
Oh! my father, yield in pity,
Grant this favour to my suff'ring.
Grant my grief this consolation,
Grant this soothing to my sorrow.

FIRST CANON.
Little think'st thou, Ludovico,
What is the great boon thou'rt asking,
For it is through Hell's dread torment
That you seek to pass: your valour
Will not bear you through the ordeal!
Many are there, Ludovico,
Enter here, but few return.

LUDOVICO.
Fear doth not at all affright me,
For once more I do protest me,
That my only wish or object
Is to purge my crimes—whose number
Far exceeds the sands of ocean,
Or the atoms of the sunbeam:
I have hope and firm reliance
In the Lord, whose name shall conquer
All the powers of Hell.

FIRST CANON.
The fervour
Of the words you speak compel me
Now the awful doors to open:
This is the cavern, Ludovico!

[Opens the mouth of the cave.
LUDOVICO.
Heaven preserve me?

FIRST CANON.
Art thou frightened?

LUDOVICO.
No; and yet it makes me tremble.

FIRST CANON.
Once again, I now implore you
For no other cause to enter
Here, except to ask for pardon
For your sins.

LODOVICO.
I now am standing,
Father, in the cave's dark entrance;
Listen to my protestation—
Men and beasts, and skies and mountains,
Day and night, and ye bright planets,
Sun and moon—all, all things listen
To my thousand protestations:
'Tis alone to suffer torments
For the sins that I've committed
That I enter here; my penance
Can be little satisfaction
For my crimes; but something tells me
I shall find my soul's salvation.

FIRST CANON.
Enter then; and ever with thee
In thy mouth and in thy bosom
Bear the sacred name of Jesus!

LUDOVICO.
Lord! Oh Lord! be ever with me,
In thy faith, as in strong armour,
In the open field I struggle
With my enemy, victorious
From the fight may thy name draw me!
Many times the sacred symbol
Of my faith upon my forehead
Shall I make. Oh Heaven preserve me!

[Here he goes into the cave, the entrance of which closes after him.
FIRST CANON.
In all the persons who have entered
Here, I never saw such courage:
Grant him, gracious Lord, thy favour,
That he may resist the demons
And their strong temptations, trusting
To thy name and presence only.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

—THE ISLAND.
Enter LESBIA, PHILIP, LAOGHAIRE, the CAPTAIN, and POLONIA.
LESBIA.
While along the road we stray,
Following where you guide us, let us say
Why we have come hither now;
It was to see you, and to you avow
All the plans that we have made.

POLONIA.
Say on, to speak your mind be not afraid,
While my footsteps you pursue,
Because a sight I bring you now to view
Such as mortal eyes ne'er saw.

LESBIA.
Thus from before my thoughts the veil I draw;
You, Polonia, hither came
To feed, among these wilds, religion's flame,
Leaving me the splendid care
Of a crown: 'tis right I share
With you the secrets of my heart,
And so the whole I will to thee impart:
My will, being sacrificed, demands
Not advice, my sister, but commands:
Woman needs a stronger head
Than is her own, for council—she must wed.

POLONIA.
Yes: and much I shall rejoice
If for a bridegroom Philip is your choice,
For a double joy 'twill be
To give a husband and a crown to thee—
That my love may be the source
Whence all your blessings flow.

LESBIA.
For many a course
Of the sun—which lives and dies
Daily and nightly 'mid the changing skies—
That glorious Phœnix which doth give
New life in its refulgence—may'st thou live!

POLONIA.
Now that you have said so much
On what concerns your marriage, let us touch
On the matter that doth send
You hither after me, and so attend:—
In a penitential glow,
A man came hither whom we all do know,
Seeking out for Patrick's cave,
To enter there, and so his soul to save:
He did enter, and to-day
Again comes forth: to show you that dismay
That wonder cannot greater be,
Here I have brought you all this miracle to see:
What is his name I have not said,
Lest you, perchance, disturbed by inward dread,
Should not see the end I sought,
And so along with me I have ye brought.

LESBIA.
Oh! my sister, it is right
That I should mingle terror with delight!

PHILIP.
All of us who hither go,
Desire the truth of all these things to know.

POLONIA.
If, through want of courage, he
Is doomed for ever in the cave to be,
We, at least, shall know his fate;
But if he comes forth from the cave elate,
Then from him, at length, we'll hear
What these strange things may be: I only fear
That, through awe, he may not speak,
And, flying from us, he, perchance, may seek
Some wild solitude alone.

LESBIA.
In wondrous ways the power of God is shown!

CAPTAIN.
At the proper time we're here,
For see, the monks in lengthened file appear:
Shedding tears!—with footsteps slow—
On to the cave in silent thought they go,
That they may the entrance ope.

Enter, in the habit of CANONS, a number of Religious; they reach the cave, from which LUDOVICO issues like one amazed.
FIRST CANON.
O Lord of Heaven! in whom is all our hope
Some day to behold thy realm,
Let not this dungeon cave this soul overwhelm:
Let him back his footsteps trace
From out the pit that knows not of thy face!

POLONIA.
See!

FIRST CANON.
What joy to us is given!

PHILIP.
It is Ludovico!

LUDOVICO.
Aid me, Heaven!
Is it possible that I,
After so many years behold the sky?
And enjoy its golden light?

CAPTAIN.
How confused!

LAOGHAIRE.
How blinded with affright!

FIRST CANON.
Embrace me, thou hast acted well!

LUDOVICO.
My arms were chains, my bosom were a cell:
Since, Polonia, thou art here,
I, to obtain my pardon, do not fear:
Philip ever bless the Lord,
For twice an angel saved thee from my sword,
As I watched for thee by night—
Pardon I ask of all: and now in flight
I shall seek some desert place,
Where, unseen by any human face,
I, in pain, some hope may glean:
He who could see the things that I have seen
Would to live in suffering seek.

FIRST CANON.
In the name of God, I bid thee speak,
Enio, of the things you've seen.

LUDOVICO.
To so sacred a command I lean
Submissive, and that earth may be
Startled from its fearful apathy;
And that man may now begin
To rise from out the darksome death of sin,
Waken'd by the tidings that I send,
To the grave story of this cave attend:—
After solemn preparation,
Which so great a venture needed,
And of all a tender farewell
Having taken, I departed,
Firm in faith and strong in valour,
This most wondrous cave to enter,
Placing in my God reliance,
And a thousand times repeating
Those mysterious words that even
Hell itself doth hear with trembling,
Slowly entering by the threshold,
There a little while I waited
For the closing of the portal:
When it closed at length I found me
In such thick and pitchy darkness—
In a night so black and mournful—
That I closed my eyes, and, blinded
In this way, proceeded onward
Till I reached, with hands outstretchéd,
A vast wall that rose before me:
Following the dark wall's windings
For about some twenty paces,
I approached some rocks, where gleaming
Through a chink, a light so dubious
Enter'd that 'twas scarcely light;
As when we behold the coming
Of the dawn amid the orient,
We are doubtful if the twilight
Be the light of morn or not;
Still along the left hand keeping,
Soon I entered on a pathway,
Where the earth began to tremble
Underneath my frightened footsteps,
As if it would sink in ruin;
Almost lifeless there I tarried,
Till a dreadful clap of thunder,
With its horrid clangour, woke me
From my trance, and my oblivion;
And the earth, where I was standing,
Opening its centre, hurled me
Headlong down the dark abysses,
Where the stones and earth that followed
Made a sepulchre around me:
In a spacious hall of jasper
Then I found me, where the chisel
Round about had left its traces
In the wondrous architecture.
From a door of bronze there issued
Twelve grave men, in snow-white garments,
Who, respectfully approaching,
Gave me courteous salutation;
One of them, who seemed superior
To the others, said: “Remember
That you place your faith in God;
Be not frightened at beholding
Demon bands your course opposing,
For if you should be so wretched
As to wish to turn back, wrought on
By their promises or threat'nings—
You in Hell must ever tarry,
Suff'ring everlasting torments:”
These twelve men were blesséd angels,
Who thus raised my drooping spirits,
And renewed my sinking courage.
Soon the spacious hall was peopled
With a host of demon shadows—
Hellish visions—rebel spirits—
Bearing shapes so dark and hideous,
That the earth has not a monster
That these demons doth resemble;
And one said: “O foolish mortal,
Madman, idiot, thou who seekest
Ere thy time the pain that waits thee,
And the woe that thou dost merit:
If thy crimes are great, 'tis proper
That thy own heart doth condemn thee,
For thou need'st not hope for mercy
In the eye of God for ever:
For what reason comest thou hither?
Back again to earth returning,
Let your whole life there be finished,
Dying as you have been living:
Then indeed you may come see us,
And ascend the seat predestined
For thee in this darksome region,
Which must be thy place for ever.”
Giving to these words no answer,
Then with blows they fell upon me,
Bound my hands and feet together,
Pierced me with sharp hooks of metal,
And along the chambers drew me,
Till they reached a raging bonfire,
In the midst of which they threw me;
All I said was: Jesus! aid me!
When the hideous demons vanished,
And the flames were all extinguished!
After this I was conducted
To a field, whose blackened surface
Only bore wild thorns and brambles
In the place of pinks and roses;
Here the cold wind penetrated
With its subtle breath each member
Deeper than the sharpest weapon:
Here, in darksome caverns under,
Were the souls of many guarded,
And such mournful wailings issued—
Such dread cries—such imprecations
Heaped on parents and relations—
Such forlorn, despairing voices—
Such wild blasphemies and curses,
O'er and o'er again repeated—
That the very demons trembled:
Passing onward, then I found me
In a meadow which was cover'd
O'er with flames instead of grasses,
Which before the wind were swaying,
Just, as in the burning August,
Bend the ripe ears of the harvest;
So vast the burning plain extended
That no eye could reach its limits:
In the midst of it were lying,
Wrapp'd in flames, unnumber'd people,
Through whose hands and feet were driven
Stakes and pins of burning iron,
Nailing them unto the earth;
On their entrails, fiery serpents
Gnawed for ever, and the wretches,
In their agonizing torments,
Bit the ground, and then expiring,
Woke again to life and suffering;
Then the vengeful demons threw me
In the flames, which quickly vanished
At the sacred name I called on.
Then, I came where they were healing
These same wounds with potent caustic,
Pouring o'er the hideous ulcers
Melted lead and burning rosin;—
Who at this will not afflict him?
Who at this will not uplift him?
Who at this will feel no sorrow?
Who will not despair and tremble?
Then I saw, from out a mansion,
Issuing from its walls and doorway,
Flames arise, as when fire seizes
On an earthly house, it bursts forth
By whatever vent it findeth;
This, they told me, was the Villa
Of Enjoyment—Recreation's
Bath—where women who indulged in
Unguents, odours, rouge, and washes,
In the other life, were punished:
There I entered, and saw in it,
Bathing in a snow-filled basin,
Many fair and lovely women;
In the water they were standing,
Circled round by snakes and serpents—
Which, of these cold icy billows,
Were the syrens and the dolphins—
There their limbs were stiff and frozen,
In the clear, transparent crystal,
And their hair on end was standing,
And their teeth together striking;—
Then they led me to a mountain
Which upraised its lofty forehead
Through the heavens' blue veil of crystal;
On its summit, a volcano
Blazed afar, from out whose crater
Flames burst forth, and burning lava,
In whose slow and blazing current
I saw many souls descending;
When they reached the base, returning
Once again they climbed the mountain,
Thus for many times repeating
Their descending and ascending;
Then a burning vapour blowing,
Made me quickly seek an exit
From this wild volcanic region:
Forth I issued, and experienced
A new wind upon the outside,
On whose wing came myriad legions.
Then, 'mid blows and many insults,
I approached another quarter:
There it seemed that many spirits,
I had known elsewhere, were gathered
Into one vast congregation,
Where, although 'twas plain they suffered,
Still they looked with joyous faces,
Wore a peaceable appearance,
Uttered no impatient accents,
But with moisten'd eyes uplifted
Towards the heavens, appeared imploring
Pity, and their sins lamenting.
This, in truth, was Purgatory,
Where the sins that are more venial
Are purged out; the angry demons,
Seeing that I did not tremble,
Rather that I waxed in courage,
Tried upon me greater horrors:
To a river did they lead me,
Flowers of fire were on its margin,
Liquid sulphur was its current,
Many-headed hydras—serpents—
Monsters of the deep were in it;
It was very broad, and o'er it
Lay a bridge, so slight and narrow
That it seemed a thin line only;
It appeared so weak and fragile
That the slightest weight would sink it:
Here thy pathway lies, they told me,
O'er this bridge so weak and narrow;
And, for thy still greater horror,
Look at those who've pass'd before thee:
Then I look'd, and saw the wretches,
Who the passage were attempting,
Fall amid the sulphurous current,
Where the snakes with teeth and talons
Tore them in a thousand pieces;
Notwithstanding all these horrors,
I, the name of God invoking,
Undertook the dreadful passage,
And undaunted by the billows,
Or the winds that blew around me,
Reached the other side in safety.
Here within a wood I found me,
So delightful and so fertile,
That the past was all forgotten;
On my path rose stately cedars,
Laurels—all the trees of Eden,
While the ground, with rose-leaves scattered,
Spread its white and verdant carpet;
Tender birds in all the branches
Told their amorous complainings
To the many murmuring streamlets,
To the thousand crystal fountains.
Then I saw a stately city,
Which amid the heavens uplifted
Many pinnacles and turrets;
Precious gold composed its portals,
All with flashing diamonds garnish'd,
Topaz, emerald, and ruby,
Intermix'd their varied lustre;
Ere I reached the gates, they open'd,
And the Saints in long procession
Came to meet me, men and women,
Young and old, and youths and maidens,
All approached serene and happy;
Choirs of Seraphim and Angels,
Breathing Heaven's delicious music,
Sweetly sung divinest anthems.
After these at length approached me
The resplendent—the most glorious—
The great Patrick—the Apostle.
Much that dazzling sight rejoiced me,
For by it I was enabled
To fulfil my early promise,
In my lifetime to behold him.
He and all the rest embraced me,
Pleased at my extreme good fortune;
Bidding me farewell, he told me
That no living man could enter
That most glorious, happy city;
But that I, to earth returning,
Should await God's time and pleasure.
Back the proper way I wandered
Unobstructed by the demons,
And at length approached the entrance,
When you came to seek and see me.
Since I have escaped this danger,
Holy fathers, all I covet
Is to live and die amongst you.
For with this is now concluded
The historic legend told us
By Dionysius the great Carthusian,
With Henricus Salteriensis,
Cesarius Heisterbachénsis
Matthew Paris, and Ranulphus,
Monbrisius, Marolicus Siculus,
David Rothe, and the judicious
Primate over all Hibernia,
Bellarmino, Beda, Serpi,
Friar Dymas, Jacob Sotin,
Messingham, and in conclusion
The belief and pious feeling
Which have everywhere maintained it:
That the drama may be ended,
And your plaudits may begin.