One of them. I would have dogged him to the
Osw. Ha! is it so!-That vagrant Hag!
Of having left a thing like her alive!
Several voices. Despatch him!
Osw. If I pass beneath a rock And shout, and, with the echo of my voice, 2310 Bring down a heap of rubbish, and it crush me, I die without dishonour. Famished, starved, A Fool and Coward blended to my wish!
[Smiles scornfully and exultingly at
Wal. 'Tis done! (stabs him).
Another of the band. The ruthless traitor!
Mar.
With that reproof I do resign a station
Of which I have been proud.
Wil. (approaching MARMADUKE). O my poor Master!
Mar. Discerning Monitor, my faithful Wilfred,
Why art thou here? [Turning to Wallace.
Wallace, upon these Borders,
Many there be whose eyes will not want cause
To weep that I am gone. Brothers in arms!
Raise on that dreary Waste a monument
That may record my story: nor let words—
Few must they be, and delicate in their touch
As light itself-be there withheld from Her
Who, through most wicked arts, was made an
orphan
2325
By One who would have died a thousand times
To shield her from a moment's harm. To you,
Wallace and Wilfred, I commend the Lady,
By lowly nature reared, as if to make her
In all things worthier of that noble birth, 2330
Whose long-suspended rights are now on the eve
Of restoration : with your tenderest care
Watch over her, I pray-sustain her
Several of the band (eagerly).
Mar. No more of that; in silence hear my doom:
A hermitage has furnished fit relief
To some offenders; other penitents,
Less patient in their wretchedness, have fallen,
Like the old Roman, on their own sword's point.
They had their choice: a wanderer must I go, 2339
The Spectre of that innocent Man, my guide.
No human ear shall ever hear me speak;
No human dwelling ever give me food,
Or sleep, or rest: but over waste and wild,
In search of nothing that this earth can give
But expiation, will I wander on—
A Man by pain and thought compelled to live,
Yet loathing life-till anger is appeased
In Heaven, and Mercy gives me leave to die.
POEMS REFERRING TO THE PERIOD
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began ;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
The Child is father of the Man ;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
TO A BUTTERFLY..
STAY near me-do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!
Much converse do I find in thee,
Historian of my infancy!
Float near me; do not yet depart!
Dead times revive in thee:
Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!
A solemn image to my heart,
Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,
The time, when, in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together chased the butterfly!
A very hunter did I rush
Upon the prey;-with leaps and springs 15 I followed on from brake to bush ;
But she, God love her! feared to brush
The dust from off its wings.
THE SPARROW'S NEST.
BEHOLD, within the leafy shade,
Those bright blue eggs together laid!
On me the chance-discovered sight
Gleamed like a vision of delight.
I started-seeming to espy
The home and sheltered bed,
The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by
My Father's house, in wet or dry
My sister Emmeline and I
She looked at it and seemed to fear it;
Dreading, tho' wishing, to be near it :
Such heart was in her, being then
A little Prattler among men.
The Blessing of my later years
Was with me when a boy :
She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;
And humble cares, and delicate fears
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;
And love, and thought, and joy.
THAT is work of waste and ruin-
Do as Charles and I are doing!
Strawberry-blossoms, one and all,
We must spare them-here are many :
Look at it-the flower is small,
Small and low, though fair as any :
Do not touch it! summers two
I am older, Anne, than you.
Pull the primrose, sister Anne!
Pull as many as you can.
Here are daisies, take your fill;
Pansies, and the cuckoo-flower:
Of the lofty daffodil
Make your bed, or make your bower;
Fill your lap and fill your bosom ;
Only spare the strawberry-blossom!
Primroses, the Spring may love them-
Summer knows but little of them :
Violets, a barren kind,
Withered on the ground must lie`;
Daisies leave no fruit behind
When the pretty flowrets die;
Pluck them, and another year
As many will be blowing here.
God has given a kindlier power
To the favoured strawberry-flower.
Hither soon as spring is fled
You and Charles and I will walk;
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