University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A Glen of the Forest.
Enter Elenor.
Elen.
Does this world hold a human thing so wretched,
So truly low, as poor devoted Elen?
I marvel much how man can thus give up
To everlasting shame, to woe and want,
The heart that loves him. Most abandon'd wretch!
Ruthless destroyer! how thou hast betray'd me!
I've found thee out too late, when all is lost.
O! I was happy in my father's home
As heart could wish, or innocence could be!
Oft by his side I've kneel'd, with heart devout,
And heard him pray to God for his poor Elen;—
Yet I could break that tender parent's heart,
All for the sake of a cold-hearted prince,
Whom foolishly I loved!—Now I am spurn'd,
My sex discover'd, all my shame exposed!—
O, I am rightly served! and yet my heart
Still clings to my destroyer.—'Tis a curse
Imposed on woman, guerdon of her guilt,
And scourge for inborn modesty infringed.
Here I'm without a home in this wide world,
Or friend on earth:—O! might I hope, that still
I had one yonder! (Looking up.)
I would lay my head
In the cold grave in peace.—
(Weeps.)
Where shall I hide me?

Enter Shepherd.
Shep.
Give you good-day, sweet master; you, I guess,
Are a shrewd hunter; sure you may not trow
That deer are lurking here. What aileth thee?
Thou art not crying, sure?

Elen.
No, shepherd.

Shep.
(Aside, imitating her voice.)
No, shepherd.
How well a lie becomes some people's mouths!
(To her.)
I am very sorry for you, master: Can I be
Of any service to you?

Elen.
No, indeed, you cannot.

Shep.
What has befallen you, sir? Are you unwell?
Or have you done offence, for which you grieve?
I fear some one has used you very ill.

Elen.
Shepherd, I may not tell you all; but I
Have been most cruelly used.

Shep.
More shame to him that did it.
You do not look like one would do much harm;
I fear you are right far, too, from your friends.

Elen.
I have no friends on earth.

Shep.
Yes, but you have.—Have you no home?
No parent?

Elen.
I had both, but I have lost them.

Shep.
Well, I have both, thank Heaven; and they shall be
Parents to both of us; and my home thine,
Until you find a better.—Come, you shall
Be very welcome.

Elen.
Kind shepherd, I will trust thy honest heart,
For thou seem'st good:—I am a woman.

Shep.
A woman!

Elen.
Yes,—a lady born.

Shep.
A lady!—I beg your pardon, Madam:—
(Pulls off his bonnet, and sets his foot on it.)
Then you will not go to our house?

Elen.
Ah, shepherd, if you knew me, you would fly
Far from me: I have broke a parent's heart.

Shep.
Nay, that was bad; you should not have done so.
What was it tempted you to such a deed?

Elen.
My inexperienced heart,
In hour of blindfold levity, was snared
By flattery and love. Fondly it trow'd
The sacred oaths that gilded o'er the toil;
But when the fluttering, panting captive lay
Coil'd in the net, and look'd to these for aid,
They lessen'd to her view, and at the last
Were given remorseless to the winds of heaven.

Shep.
It seems your lover has betray'd you then?

Elen.
I left my father, in concealment lived,
Still trusting my false love, in honour bound
To make me his; till late he urged his suit,
(Shameful device!) that I in this disguise
Should to these mountains bear him company.
Zealous to please, and weary of confinement,
I came; and now he spurns at me, derides me,
And holds me up to scorn.—Another love,
More lawless still, his whole affection sways,
And I must hide my wretched head forever.

Shep.
You have a father: He will not disclaim
His poor repentant child.

Elen.
I would not look my father in the face,
Disgraced as I am now, not for this world.

Shep.
(Heaving his staff in the attitude of striking.)
Lady, do you see this? I'll ware it on
The man who thus has wrong'd you; I will bast him
Until I leave him scarce the power to cry,
Hold, ruffian, hold!—I care not for his sword;
I'll smash it all to pieces, thus!—O how I'll knab him!
Come home with me, sweet stranger, you shall be
Most kindly welcomed.

(Exeunt.)