Must needs step in, and save my life. The look With which he gave the boon-I see it now! The same that tempted me to loathe the gift.— For this old venerable Grey-beard-faith 'Tis his own fault if he hath got a face
Which doth play tricks with them that look on it: "Twas this that put it in my thoughts that coun
His staff-his figure-Murder !-what, of whom? We kill a worn-out horse, and who but women Sigh at the deed? Hew down a withered tree, And none look grave but dotards. He may live To thank me for this service. Rainbow arches, Highways of dreaming passion, have too long, Young as he is, diverted wish and hope From the unpretending ground we mortals tread ;- Then shatter the delusion, break it up
And set him free. What follows? I have learned That things will work to ends the slaves o' the world Do never dream of. I have been what he-
This Boy when he comes forth with bloody
Are hushed to sleep, by your own act and deed, Made quiet as he is.
Mar. Why came you down? And when I felt your hand upon my arm And spake to you, why did you give no answer? Feared you to waken him? he must have been In a deep sleep. I whispered to him thrice. There are the strangest echoes in that place! Osw. Tut! let them gabble till the day of doom. Mar. Scarcely, by groping, had I reached the Spot,
When round my wrist I felt a cord drawn tight, As if the blind Man's dog were pulling at it. Osw. But after that? Mar.
Psha! Never to these eyes
Will retribution show itself again With aspect so inviting. To share your triumph?
MARMADUKE re-enters from the dungeon. Osw. It is all over then ;-your foolish fears
My words were rashly spoken; I recal them :
Been most presumptuous. There is guilt in this, Else could so strong a mind have ever known These trepidations? Plain it is that Heaven Has marked out this foul Wretch as one whose crimes
Must never come before a mortal judgment-seat, Or be chastised by mortal instruments.
Mar. A thought that's worth a thousand worlds! [Goes towards the dungeon. Orr. I grieve That, in my zeal, I have caused you so much pain. Mar. Think not of that! 'tis over-we are safe. Ow. (as if to himself, yet speaking aloud). The truth is hideous, but how stifle it?
Give me your sword—nay, here are stones and fragments,
The least of which would beat out a man's brains; Or you might drive your head against that wall. No! this is not the place to hear the tale : It should be told you pinioned in your bed, Or on some vast and solitary plain
Blown to you from a trumpet.
Mar. Whate'er the monster brooding in your breast I care not fear I have none, and cannot fear[The sound of a horn is heard. That horn again-'Tis some one of our Troop; What do they here? Listen! What! dogged like thieves !
Enter WALLACE and LACY, &c.
Lacy. You are found at last, thanks to the vagrant Troop
Were there a Man who, being weak and helpless And most forlorn, should bribe a Mother, pressed By penury, to yield him up her Daughter, A little Infant, and instruct the Babe, Prattling upon his knee, to call him Father———— Lacy. Why, if his heart be tender, that offence I could forgive him.
Mar. (going on). And should he make the Child An instrument of falsehood, should he teach her To stretch her arms, and dim the gladsome light Of infant playfulness with piteous looks Of misery that was not-
Contains not such a Monster !
Mar. For this purpose Should he resolve to taint her Soul by means Which bathe the limbs in sweat to think of them ; Should he, by tales which would draw tears from iron,
Osw. (looking at WALLACE). That subtle Grey- Work on her nature, and so turn compassion
Is not an accidental quality,
A thing dependent for its casual birth
On opposition and impediment.
Wisdom, if Justice speak the word, beats down The giant's strength; and, at the voice of Justice, Spares not the worm. The giant and the worm- She weighs them in one scale. The wiles of woman, And craft of age, seducing reason, first Made weakness a protection, and obscured The moral shapes of things. His tender cries And helpless innocence-do they protect The infant lamb? and shall the infirmities, Which have enabled this enormous Culprit To perpetrate his crimes, serve as a Sanctuary To cover him from punishment? Shame!-Justice, Admitting no resistance, bends alike
The feeble and the strong. She needs not here Her bonds and chains, which make the mighty feeble. -We recognise in this old Man a victim Prepared already for the sacrifice.
Lacy. By heaven, his words are reason! Osw. Yes, my Friends, His countenance is meek and venerable; And, by the Mass, to see him at his prayers!— I am of flesh and blood, and may I perish When my heart does not ache to think of it !— Poor Victim! not a virtue under heaven But what was made an engine to ensnare thee; But yet I trust, Idonea, thou art safe. Lacy. Idonea!
Where Souls are self-defended, free to grow Like mountain oaks rocked by the stormy wind. Mark the Almighty Wisdom, which decreed This monstrous crime to be laid open-here, Where Reason has an eye that she can use, And Men alone are Umpires. To the Camp He shall be led, and there, the Country round All gathered to the spot, in open day Shall Nature be avenged.
"Tis nobly thought;
His death will be a monument for ages.
Mar. (to LACY). I thank you for that hint. He shall be brought
Before the Camp, and would that best and wisest Of every country might be present. There, His crime shall be proclaimed ; and for the rest It shall be done as Wisdom shall decide : Meanwhile, do you two hasten back and see That all is well prepared.
Of which I heard them speak, but that I fancy Has been forgotten.
Idon. (to Host). Farewell! Host.
St. Cuthbert speed you on your holy errand.
[Exeunt IDONEA and Pilgrims.
Osw. Carry him to the Camp! Yes, to the Camp. Oh, Wisdom! a most wise resolve! and then, That half a word should blow it to the winds! This last device must end my work. Methinks It were a pleasant pastime to construct A scale and table of belief-as thusTwo columns, one for passion, one for proof;
Each rises as the other falls and first, Passion a unit and against us-proofNay, we must travel in another path,
Or we 're stuck fast for ever ;-passion, then, Shall be a unit for us; proof-no, passion! We'll not insult thy majesty by time,
Person, and place the where, the when, the how, And all particulars that dull brains require To constitute the spiritless shape of Fact, They bow to, calling the idol, Demonstration. A whipping to the Moralists who preach That misery is a sacred thing: for me, I know no cheaper engine to degrade a man, Nor any half so sure. This Stripling's mind Is shaken till the dregs float on the surface; And, in the storm and anguish of the heart, He talks of a transition in his Soul, And dreams that he is happy. We dissect The senseless body, and why not the mind ?——— These are strange sights-the mind of man, upturned,
Is in all natures a strange spectacle ;
In some a hideous one-hem! shall I stop? No.-Thoughts and feelings will sink deep, but then They have no substance. Pass but a few minutes, And something shall be done which Memory May touch, whene'er her Vassals are at work.
When I returned with water from the brook, I overheard the Villains every word Like red-hot iron burnt into my heart. Said one," It is agreed on. The blind Man Shall feign a sudden illness, and the Girl, Who on her journey must proceed alone, Under pretence of violence, be seized. She is," continued the detested Slave,
"She is right willing-strange if she were not !— They say, Lord Clifford is a savage man ; But, faith, to see him in his silken tunic, Fitting his low voice to the minstrel's harp, There's witchery in't. I never knew a maid That could withstand it. True," continued he, "When we arranged the affair, she wept a little
How you would be disturbed by this dire news, And therefore chose this solitary Moor, Here to impart the tale, of which, last night,
I strove to ease my mind, when our two Comrades, Commissioned by the Band, burst in upon us.
Mar. Last night, when moved to lift the avenging steel,
I did believe all things were shadows-yea, Living or dead all things were bodiless, Or but the mutual mockeries of body, Till that same star summoned me back again. Now I could laugh till my ribs ached. Oh Fool! To let a creed, built in the heart of things, Dissolve before a twinkling atom !—Oswald, I could fetch lessons out of wiser schools Than you have entered, were it worth the pains. Young as I am, I might go forth a teacher, And you should see how deeply I could reason Of love in all its shapes, beginnings, ends; Of moral qualities in their diverse aspects; Of actions, and their laws and tendencies. Osw. You take it as it merits- Mar
Yields, could not chuck his babe beneath the chin, This morning, when I spoke of weariness,
And send it with a fillip to its grave.
Osw. Nay, you leave me behind. Mar.
You from my shoulder took my scrip and threw it About your own; but for these two hours past
That such a One, Once only have you spoken, when the lark Whirred from among the fern beneath our feet, And I, no coward in my better days, Was almost terrified.
So pious in demeanour ! in his look So saintly and so pure !-
-Hark'ee, my Friend, I'll plant myself before Lord Clifford's Castle, A surly mastiff kennels at the gate, And he shall howl and I will laugh, a medley Most tunable.
SCENE changes to another part of the Moor at a short distance-HERBERT is discovered seated on a stone.
Her. A sound of laughter, too!-'tis well-I feared,
The Stranger had some pitiable sorrow Pressing upon his solitary heart. Hush!-'tis the feeble and earth-loving wind That creeps along the bells of the crisp heather. Alas! 'tis cold-I shiver in the sunshine- What can this mean? There is a psalm that speaks Of God's parental mercies-with Idonea
I used to sing it.-Listen!-what foot is there?
Not a soul: Here is a tree, raggèd, and bent, and bare, That turns its goat's-beard flakes of pea-green moss From the stern breathing of the rough sea-wind; This have we, but no other company: Commend me to the place. If a man should die And leave his body here, it were all one As he were twenty fathoms underground. Her. Where is our common Friend? Mar. A ghost, methinksThe Spirit of a murdered man, for instanceMight have fine room to ramble about here, A grand domain to squeak and gibber in.
Her. Lost Man! if thou have any close-pent guilt
Pressing upon thy heart, and this the hour Of visitation-
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
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