34

Her.

Her.

Mercy! Sir, what mean you? Mar. You have a Daughter! Oh that she were here! She hath an eye that sinks into all hearts, And if I have in aught offended Soon would her gentle voice make peace be.

tween us,

you,

Mar. (aside). I do believe he weeps-I could weep too

There is a vein of her voice that runs through his:

Even such a Man my fancy bodied forth
From the first moment that I loved the Maid;
And for his sake I loved her more: these tears-
I did not think that aught was left in me
Of what I have been-yes, I thank thee,
Heaven!

mind.

One happy thought has passed across my
-It may not be-I am cut off from man;
No more shall I be man-no more shall I
Have human feelings!-(To HERBERT)-Now,
for a little more
About your Daughter!

Her.

Troops of armed men, Met in the roads, would bless us; little children, Rushing along in the full tide of play, Stood silent as we passed them! I have heard The boisterous carman, in the miry road, Check his loud whip and hail us with mild voice, And speak with milder voice to his poor beasts. Mar. And whither were you going? Her. Learn, young Man, To fear the virtuous, and reverence misery, Whether too much for patience, or, like mine, Softened till it becomes a gift of mercy. Mar. Now, this is as it should be! Her.

I am weak!

My Daughter does not know how weak I am;
And, as thou see'st, under the arch of heaven
Here do I stand, alone, to helplessness,
By the good God, our common Father, doom-

ed!

Her.

Like a mendicant,

ached

To whom I owe the best of all the good
I have, or wish for, upon earth-and more
And higher far than lies within earth's bounds;
Therefore I bless her: when I think of Man,
I bless her with sad spirit,-when of God,
I bless her in the fulness of my joy!

Mar. The name of daughter in his mouth, he
prays!

With nerves so steady, that the very flies
Sit unmolested on his staff. -Innocent!--
If he were innocent-then he would tremble
And be disturbed, as I am. (Turning aside). I

have read

In Story, what men now alive have witnessed, How, when the People's mind was racked with doubt,

Appeal was made to the great Judge: the Accused

With naked feet walked over burning ploughshares.

Here is a Man by Nature's hand prepared
For a like trial, but more merciful.
Why else have I been led to this bleak Waste?
Bare is it, without house or track, and destitute
Of obvious shelter, as a shipless sea.
Here will I leave him-here-All-seeing God!
Such as he is, and sore perplexed as I am,.
I will commit him to this final Ordeal!-
He heard a voice-a shepherd-lad came to him
And was his guide; if once, why not again,
And in this desert? If never-then the whole
Of what he says, and looks, and does, and is,
Makes up one damning falschood. Leave him

Yea, from the utmost corners of the earth, That Woman will come o'er this Waste to save thee.

[He pauses and looks at HERBERT's staff. Ha! what is here? and carved by her own hand! [Reads upon the staff. "I am eyes to the blind, saith the Lord. He that puts his trust in me shall not fail!" Yes, be it so:-repent and be forgivenGod and that staff are now thy only guides.

He leaves HERBERT on the Moor.

And breath and being; where he cannot govern, He will destroy.

Lacy. To have been trapped like moles! Yes, you are right, we need not hunt for motives:

There is no crime from which this man would shrink;

He recks not human law; and I have noticed That often when the name of God is uttered, A sudden blankness overspreads his face.

Len. Yet, reasoner as he is, his pride has built

Some uncouth superstition of its own.
Wal. I have seen traces of it.
Len.

Once he headed
A band of Pirates in the Norway seas;
And when the King of Denmark summoned
him

To the oath of fealty, I well remember,
Twas a strange answer that he made; he said,
"I hold of Spirits, and the Sun in heaven."
Lacy. He is no madman.
Wal.
A most subtle doctor
Were that man, who could draw the line that
parts

Pride and her daughter, Cruelty, from Madness,
That should be scourged, not pitied. Restless
Minds,

Such Minds as find amid their fellow-men
No heart that loves them, none that they can
love,

Will turn perforce and seek for sympathy
In dim relation to imagined Beings.

One of the Band. What if he mean to offer up our Captain

An expiation and a sacrifice

To those infernal fiends!

About you still; you talk of solitude-
I am your friend.
Mar.
What need of this assurance
At any time? and why given now?
Osw.

Because You are now in truth my Master; you have taught me

What there is not another living man
Had strength to teach;-and therefore gratitude
Is bold, and would relieve itself by praise.
Mar. Wherefore press this on me?
Osw.
Because I feel
That you have shown, and by a signal instance,
How they who would be just must seek the
rule

By diving for it into their own bosoms.
To-day you have thrown off a tyranny
That lives but in the torpid acquiescence
Of our emasculated souls, the tyranny
Of the world's masters, with the musty rules
By which they uphold theircraft fromage to age:
You have obeyed the only law that sense
Submits to recognise; the immediate law,
From the clear light of circumstances, flashed
Upon an independent Intellect.
Henceforth new prospects open on your path,
Your faculties should grow with the demand;
I still will be your friend, will cleave to you
Through good and evil, obloquy and scorn,
Oft as they dare to follow on your steps.
Mar. I would be left alone.
Osw. (exultingly).

I know your motives!
I am not of the world's presumptuous judges,
Who damn where they can neither see nor feel,
With a hard-hearted ignorance; your struggles
I witnessed, and now hail your victory.
Mar. Spare me awhile that greeting.
Osw.

It may be, That some there are, squeamish half-thinking cowards,

Who will turn pale upon you, call you murderer,
And you will walk in solitude among them.
A mighty evil for a strong-built mind!-
Join twenty tapers of unequal height
And light them joined, and you will see the less
How 'twill burn down the taller; and they all
Shall
prey upon the tallest. Solitude!-
The Eagle lives in Solitude!

Mar.

Even so,

The Sparrow so on the house-top, and I,

Very true.

Osw. Action is transitory-a step, a blow,
The motion of a muscle-this way or that-
'Tis done, and in the after-vacancy
We wonder at ourselves like men betrayed:
Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark,
And shares the nature of infinity.
Mar. Truth-and I feel it.
Osw.

What if you had bid Eternal farewell to unmingled joy

And the light dancing of the thoughtless heart;
It is the toy of fools, and little fit

For such a world as this. The wise abjure
All thoughts whose idle composition lives
In the entire forgetfulness of pain.

-I see I have disturbed you.

Mar.

By no means.

Osw. Compassion! -pity! - pride can do without them;

And what if you should never know them more!
He is a puny soul who, feeling pain,
Finds ease because another feels it too.
If e'er I open out this heart of mine
It shall be for a nobler end- to teach
And not to purchase puling sympathy.
Nay, you are pale.
Mar.

Osw.

It may be so.

Remorse

It cannot live with thought; think on, think on, And it will die. What! in this universe, Where the least things control the greatest, where

The faintest breath that breathes can move a

world:

What! feel remorse, where, if a cat had sneezed, A leaf had fallen, the thing had never been Whose very shadow gnaws us to the vitals. Mar. Now, whither are you wandering?

That a man

So used to suit his language to the time,
Should thus so widely differ from himself-
is most strange.
Osw.

Murder!-what's in the word !—

I have no cases by me ready made

To fit all deeds. Carry him to the Camp!

It throbs, and you have a heart that does not feel it.

Mar. (exultingly). She is innocent.

[He embraces her.
Osw. (aside).
Were I a Moralist,
I should make wondrous revolution here;
It were a quaint experiment to show
The beauty of truth- [Addressing them.
I see I interrupt you:
I shall have business with you, Marmaduke:
Follow me to the Hostel. [Exit OSWALD.
Idon.
Marmaduke,

This is a happy day. My Father soon
Shall sun himself before his native doors;
The lame, the hungry, will be welcome there.
No more shall he complain of wasted strength,
Of thoughts that fail, and a decaying heart:
His good works will be balm and life to him.
Mar. This is most strange!-I know not
what it was,

But there was something which most plainly said,

That thou wert innocent.
Idon.

How innocent!

Thou art a Woman

Oh heavens! you've been deceived.
Mar.

To bring perdition on the universe.
Idon. Already I've been punished to the
height
Of my offence.

[Smiling affectionately. I see you love me still, The labours of my hand are still your joy; Bethink you of the hour when on your shoulder 1 hung this belt.

[Pointing to the belt on which was sus-
pended HERBERT's scrip.
Mercy of Heaven.

Mar.
[Sinks.
Idon.
What ails you! [Distractedly.
Mar. The scrip that held his food, and I
forgot

To give it back again!
Idon.
What mean your words?
Mar. I know not what I said-all may be
well.

Idon. That smile hath life in it!
Mar.

I

This road is perilous; I will attend you to a Hut that stands Near the wood's edge-rest there to-night,

Eld.

Enter ELDREd. Better this bare rock, Though it were tottering over a man's head, Than a tight case of dungeon walls for shelter From such rough dealing.

[A moaning voice is heard. Ha! what sound is that? Trees creaking in the wind (but none are here) Send forth such noises-and that weary bell! Surely some evil Spirit abroad to-night Is ringing it 'twould stop a Saint in prayer, And that-what is it? never was sound so like A human groan. Ha! what is here? Poor

ManMurdered! alas! speak-speak, I am your friend:

No answer-hush--lost wretch, he lifts his

hand

And lays it to his heart-(Kneels to him). I
pray you speak!
What has befallen you?
Her. feebly).

A stranger has done this,
And in the arms of a stranger I must die.
Eld. Nay, think not so; come, let me raise
[Raises him.
This is a dismal place-well-that is well-
I was too fearful-take me for your guide
And your support-my hut is not far off.

you up:

[Draws him gently off the stage.

SCENE, a room in the Hostel-MARMADUKE and OSWALD.

Mar. But for Idonea!-I have cause to think That she is innocent.

Osw.
Leave that thought awhile,
As one of those beliefs which in their hearts
Lovers lock up as pearls, though oft no better
Than feathers clinging to their points of
passion.

This day's event has laid on me the duty
Of opening out my story; you must hear it,
And without further preface. In my youth,
Except for that abatement which is paid
By envy as a tribute to desert,

I was the pleasure of all hearts, the darling
Of every tongue-as you are now.
You've

heard

That I embarked for Syria. On our voyage
Was hatched among the crew a foul Conspiracy
Against my honour, in the which our Captain
Was, I believed, prime Agent. The wind fell;
We lay becalmed week after week, until
The water of the vessel was exhausted;
I felt a double fever in my veins,
Yet rage suppressed itself:-to a deep stillness
Did my pride tame my pride;--for many days,
On a dead sea under a burning sky,
I brooded o'er my injuries, deserted
By man and nature;-if a breeze had blown,
It might have found its way into
my heart,
And I had been-no matter-do you mark me?
Mar. Quick-to the point-if any untold