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 DEAMATIC CHAPTEliS, 
 
 ^DEIIIS llllil IflEgS. 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES SWAIN, 
 
 AUDI OK OF "Tnii MIND," "ENGLISU MELODIES,' 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 SECOND EDITIOX. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 LONG MAX, HKOWN, GIIEEN, AND LONGMANS. 
 
 1850.
 
 
 TO 
 
 LOT (lARDINER, ESQ'^^ 
 
 AS A 
 
 TRIBUTE OF SINCERE ESTEEM FOR Hl.S CIIAUACTEU^ 
 
 AND 
 
 IN :\I EMORY OF HOURS MADF, IIATPY 
 
 BY Ills FRIENDSHIP, 
 
 V 
 
 ijrfjfsc Uramatic ilTfiaptrrs 
 
 ARE RESPECTFULLY 
 I XSCKIBKI). 

 
 Though to-day be full of sorrow, 
 There is comfort in the morrow, 
 
 Hope doth never quite deceive ; 
 If the soul hath care upon her. 
 Hearts, whose every pulse is honour. 
 
 Gather solace whilst they grieve ! 
 
 Sharper, nearer, darker, drearer, 
 Though our sorrows strike severer, 
 
 Still amidst the clouds of ill 
 He, who every comfort gave us. 
 In affliction yet can save us. 
 
 Aid us, guide us, cheer us, still.
 
 ^(PMIf^itlg. 
 
 Dramatic Chai'tkus pwjc \ 
 
 I'oEMs AND Songs INI 
 
 The Other Day 1K5 
 
 Thouglits ou the Stars 18!) 
 
 The Augel Watch, or the Sisters I'M 
 
 The Poetical and tlie I'racticiil HIT 
 
 Better than Beauty 2<)4 
 
 Be kind to eacli otlicr 2()(i 
 
 Home and Friends '^08 
 
 Sometliing Cheap 210 
 
 Tlie British Flag 212 
 
 Wreck of the Steam Ship the " President" 211 
 
 A Love Dream 217 
 
 The Child and thi- Angels 2l!l 
 
 The Lost . . . , 22 1 
 
 The BUnd Buy ilyiiig v>23 
 
 So darkly, hrightly beaming 22(i 
 
 If tlioii sjieak'st 227 
 
 Beanty is dead 22n 
 
 Life 2;?0 
 
 (ioveni your 'I cnnicr ........ 2;}2 
 
 'I'iic Cottage Window 2:1.'? 
 
 Soon Forgot 28")
 
 Yl CONTENTkS. 
 
 I'OEMS AND Si)N(is — cuuiiuued. 
 
 Ne'er will I forsake I>nff0 236 
 
 When Fortune beams 237 
 
 Twilight 238 
 
 She's not so fair 240 
 
 Never rail at the World 242 
 
 When First ...-.• 243 
 
 King Bacchus . . , 244 
 
 Hope for the best 24(i 
 
 Believe me 247 
 
 Speak no ill 248 
 
 There are Moments iu Life 250 
 
 Let us try 2-'J 1 
 
 I told yon 252 
 
 Childhood 254 
 
 Human Progress 250 
 
 The Wife of Sir Walter Raleigh 2(i3 
 
 Isabelle de Croye 2(57 
 
 Voice of the Nightingale 271 
 
 Sabbath Chimes .273 
 
 'Tis a Love Thought 275 
 
 Kebecca 277 
 
 Ballad 270 
 
 Lonely Age 281 
 
 The Betrotlied 282 
 
 Moi-tality 284' 
 
 If thy foiTii 28() 
 
 Loving and Forgiving 288 
 
 The Enamoured One 200 
 
 Exin-ession and Beauty 201 
 
 Why leaps my heait 202 
 
 Trifles 204 
 
 A Portrait 20(1
 
 CO.NTliNTS. vii 
 
 I'oEMs AND Songs — contmued. 
 
 TLe Truest Friend 2>rtye 297 
 
 Spiritual Vision 20!) 
 
 Yes, tell me 'tis hopeless 30^ 
 
 Procrastination aO.'J 
 
 There's a duty .{O.j 
 
 Love's Confession ;!()(; 
 
 A Sigli :)()7 
 
 Sorrow .•{(lO 
 
 Light of Heart 310 
 
 I sought my J. ove wyi 
 
 (Jonradin 313 
 
 Near thee 318 
 
 Oh! what a World it might he! 31!) 
 
 A Sketch 321 
 
 The Hand of a Friend 323 
 
 Come, hallow the Goblet 324 
 
 Oh, blest the Home 320 
 
 Why art thou so unlike the rest ? 32(5 
 
 They have met 327 
 
 If you knew 320 
 
 Hawking iu tlie Olden Time 331 
 
 Sellishuess 333 
 
 The Covenanter's Sou 334 
 
 Song 337 
 
 My Home's in the Viilley 33,s 
 
 The Flower and the Ruin 339 
 
 TLe Snow 310 
 
 Let there be Light ;i 1 1 
 
 They are no more 343
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 dajpieir I. 
 
 Lieutenants Somerville and Percival. 
 Scene — The Garrison, Fort St. Georr/e, India. 
 
 SOMERVILLE. 
 
 I MARVEL that thou seek'st to screen this Dclmont, 
 And urge excuses for his gaUantrics ! 
 A Avcdded man shoukl nurse his home-horn flowers, 
 Not trespass o'er his neighhour's pales, and roh 
 Some unprotected garden of its hloom. 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 I screen no gallantries ; — and yet nicthinks, 
 If woman took hut half the pains to keej) 
 The hushand which she used to win the lover, 
 The home-horn flowers, of Avhich you sce»n so fond, 
 Might cliarm so much, all otlier sweets wf- ^ni-^f
 
 2 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 SOIVIERVILLE. 
 
 And this you tliink ? 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 Most veritably tliink. 
 Have I not marked the dull wife's face expand 
 To sudden joy if but a neighbour called; 
 And straight insipidly contract again 
 When the poor husband entered, labour-worn, 
 And asked her for a song — some favourite air. 
 Some tune of bygone hours — to cheer his heart. 
 And dissipate his care and thought of toil ? 
 There was a time, at such request, at once 
 She would have smiled a thousand sweet consents ; 
 But now {mimicking), "She has no taste — she has forgot; 
 People are all so clever now-o'-days, 
 She fears to touch harp or piano more.'' 
 What does the man? 
 
 SOMERVILLE. 
 
 Av, what does he ? 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 Why, if the man be worthy of the name. 
 He'll take his hat, and find his home elsewhere 
 Till warmer welcome greets him. As for me — 
 For me — oh ! I would 
 
 SOMERVILLE. 
 
 Tell us, what wouldst thou? 
 Bachelors' wives are ever the best managed :
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Mark me, tliou'lt be the veriest henpecked — hem ! 
 That ever blessed a clever wife withal. 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 I'll be a Tartar ! 
 
 SOMEIIVILLK. 
 
 Had I a sister, I dui'st ventm-e it. 
 Youi' fiery-dragon lovers ever make 
 Most dove-like husbands. We shall see, mayhap. 
 Thou may'st be called "the pattern Percival^' — 
 Of moral spouse a marvellous specimen ! 
 Tartar ! — thou'lt be the very cream of tartar 
 (Something to cool, not irritate the blood). 
 However, 'twere a matter somewhat hard 
 To match that demon, Delmont. 
 
 PEllCIVAL. 
 
 Hum ! Talk of sisters — now, had I one wed 
 To such a churl — a husband without honoui", 
 A soldier without courage, I would — zounds ! — 
 And yet the fellow must have something good, 
 Or why are all the women thus enamoui'cd ? 
 His wife, despite his usage, doats on him. 
 Never tell me : that man is not all bad 
 AVliom all the women fondle, be assured. 
 
 SOMEKVILLE. 
 
 What wouldst thou give mc for a special secret. 
 
 The secret of success with womankind, 
 
 The talisman most apt to win \\cv heart? 
 
 "Vis wortli th\ \A hole commission. What wilt give?
 
 4 DRAMATIC CIIAPTEKS. 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 They're golden secrets that are worth the buying. 
 Give? quotha, give? I'll give — thee leave to tell it. 
 
 SOMERVILLE. 
 
 Then I am mum. 
 
 PERCIVAL. \ 
 
 Pish ! tell thy secret. 
 
 SOMERVILLE. 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 >rric 
 
 'Ti 
 
 Out Avith it ! 
 
 SOMERVILLE. 
 
 ' Tis talking, comrade, talking — talk, talk, talk. 
 
 Of any thing or nothing, as it hits — 
 
 So that you talk, no matter what about. 
 
 The maids may knit their pretty brows, perchance — 
 
 Dub you a chatterer — cry, you are too free — 
 
 A giddy-brain — a heedless rattlepate — 
 
 Command you from their sight — nay, shut their ears ; 
 
 Yet still the more they chide, the more they crave. 
 
 Woman's the true Narcissus of our age. 
 
 And falls in love with what's most like herself : 
 
 The more effeminate, the more men thrive. 
 
 And there's the secret of success in Delmont. 
 
 The man's a tongue — i'faith the man's a tongue ! 
 
 A tongue of tongues — the very best of tongues l 
 
 To hear himself, the creature's all perfection.
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. O 
 
 Virtue and truth his right hand and his left ; 
 Nothing he does but smacks of something great, — 
 Easy to him, to others out of reach. 
 Delmont's a tongue as good as had his mother ; 
 If he'd no other fortune from her house. 
 He owes her gratitude for such a tongue. 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 Ay, there it is : I hick that Upsome charm 
 I'hat wins advantage — that aspiring grace 
 Which cKmhs the steep of human prejudice — 
 That promiser, which pours its gohlen gifts 
 Into the ear the while it starves the hearer, 
 Mocking his hunger with much-talked-of feasts. 
 Though scarce the bulk of but the dove's weak heart, 
 'Tis knit to power which foils the lion's fangs. 
 Making his strength a scorn : where he rends bones. 
 The mightier tongue rends kingdoms. Mark ye, sir, 
 'Tis throned above all thrones — crowns and uncroAvns 
 All heads- — leads and misleads aU governments : 
 'Tis all supreme; for know, 'twas Helen's tongue — 
 Her tongue, and not her charms — set Trov in flames : 
 (And homes of less renown it fires e'en now.) 
 'Twas Warwick's tongue that made and unmade kings; 
 'Twas 
 
 SOMERVILLE. 
 
 Whew? 
 
 Some rabid beldame, sure, hath bit the man ! 
 
 No more, good friend, as thou art merciful. 
 
 To sum up all Love's rcqiusites at once, — 
 
 A winning tongue, fine form, and handsome face, —
 
 6 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 If these please not, then 'tis no pleasing case : 
 But still, make no excuse for Delmont's guile. 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 Who, I? — not I. But hath she no protector. 
 No relative, no friend, to interfere ? 
 
 SOMERVILLE. 
 
 None. 
 
 In the defences of the last long siege 
 
 Her sire was slain ; and her brave brother lies 
 
 In Hyder's dungeon still, a prisoner. 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 And Delmont hath the heart to use her thus ! 
 So much for secret weddings. When I'm wed 
 A dozen spires, and thrice three dozen bells. 
 Shall ring of it. I would as soon not wed 
 As wed in secret ; and when I've a wife — 
 Oh, Somerville, when I've a wife 
 
 SOMERVILLE. 
 
 Ay, when ! 
 Wait but tni then : the pattern Percival, 
 With six small chikben — mercy on us, six ! 
 Come along. Marry, forsooth ? marry thy gun ; 
 Better a gun than a wife, for that brings 
 Its own stock. Marry, Percival? what, thou. 
 Whose revenue is just three groats per day ? 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 Three ? — six times three !
 
 DRAMATIC C II A 1' 1' K R S 7 
 
 SOMERVILLE. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha ! six times three — wliat a treasury ! 
 Come along ; thou shalt be wed, never fear. 
 Six times three ! 
 
 \_Exeunt, Somerville bantering.]
 
 8 DRAMATIC CIIAI'TERS, 
 
 dajptur II, 
 
 Delmont and Olivia. 
 Scene — An old Indian mansion on the banks of a river. 
 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 [Discovered gazing from the window : she speaks.~\ 
 I HAVE outwatclied the lioiir — night^s star is out; 
 And like a tear^ too sweet for sorrow^s clieek. 
 Still to tlie closing rose the dew-drop clings. 
 Ohj favoured tree ! with thy young leaves of hope. 
 Thy bloom of promises, thy fragrant sighs, 
 Thy modest beauty, blushing to be seen — 
 Oh, for thy sweetness, tenderness, and grace 
 Be henceforth called, thou rose, the Tree of Love ! 
 And for thy name, charm thou the air with sweets; 
 Sj)read thine enchantments round for him, whose step. 
 If melody may have its flowers of sound. 
 Is as the rose to mine expecting heart. 
 How is't that I am thus absorbed in him ? 
 My love scarce known a month — nay, not a month — 
 'Tis not three weeks tdl ten to-morrow morn. 
 Oh, be that hour to memory consecrate !
 
 1) li A M A T I C C II A V T E R S . 9 
 
 Three weeks ! — • 'tis but a featlier on time's breath, 
 But breathed by love it seems a whole life long, 
 For love lives years in moments. — Still he lingers : 
 Our eastern lattice yields a wider glance 
 O'er hill and river, palm and cedar-glade, • — 
 I'll to its aid, and watch till he return. 
 Alas, how small a thread seems time departed — 
 How thick a web seems weary time to come ! 
 
 [Olivia retires. As she retires, a boat is seen 
 
 approaching. Delmont .'>prin(/s ashore, 
 
 and reconnoitres.^ 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 Not here — and not expecting me, 'twould seem ! 
 Or hides she yet a moment from my siglit. 
 Intent to glad me with some sweet surprise ? 
 No — nothing stirring. Now, were I to list 
 The sober counsel of my quiet thought, 
 I should return, nor risk tlie double wrong 
 Of maid betrayed and trustful Avife aggrieved. 
 Yet if dame Nature formed me to adore, 
 [t is her fault, not mine ; if naturally 
 I am inconstant, who's to blame but Nature ? 
 If I find happiness in love's pursuit, 
 It is a common law of man's existence, — 
 All men are in pm'suit of happiness : 
 And being man — not furnishing myself. 
 Having no prescript in mine own construction — 
 If I am loving, and yet treacherous, 
 Eager to flatter where I would deceive, 
 If I am vicious, selfish, ])assionate, — 
 'Tis Nature's mariing of right elements, 
 
 c
 
 10 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Not mine. I would abhor that bhss, Variety, 
 Be constant as an Echo — if I could. 
 
 [Olivia returns to the casement: he perceives her.'] 
 Olivia ! oh, mcthought it was some flower 
 The wanton wind had Against thy casement thrown, 
 When, lo ! it proves thyself — love's sweeter flower ! 
 Oh, fairest born the night hath yet beheld, 
 Come forth, bright Grace ; or shall I climb to thee ? 
 These ivy-roots were ladders meet for love. 
 Say " Yes," and I am with thee like a bird, 
 And thou shalt sing to me amid the leaves 
 As Beauty sang to Mars. 
 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 Ah, flatterer ! 
 Would I could see thine eyes — oft truth is there 
 When falsehood's on the lip. — Nay, climb not here ; 
 I will descend to thee. 
 
 [Quits the casement. 1 
 
 DELMONT, alone. 
 Bewitching woman ! was it possible 
 That I conceived the thought of quitting thee. 
 To win whose love I'd peril all I hold? 
 Her I first wed would I divorce for thee. 
 And wed again, so thou wouldst be my bride — 
 Ay, wed again ! though from his awful grave 
 Her father's hand should rise to warn me back. 
 
 Enter olivia, singing. 
 What the Sun is to the Morning 
 When she blushing meets his view.
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 11 
 
 Gladdening all, and all adorning, — 
 Flattery, maiden, is to you. 
 
 DELMOiNT. 
 
 • 
 
 Nay, sweet, no satire against flattery. 
 
 What warms to pleasure the young maiden's eheek. 
 
 Lends to her step the hghtness of a Graeo, 
 
 And breathes an atmosphere of love around ? 
 
 Flattery ! 
 
 The minstrel lists, and calls its accents Fame ; 
 
 The warrior wears the medal flatter}^ yields. 
 
 And prates of conquest with a front of Jove : 
 
 If thou'dst not rob the world of its best coin, 
 
 No treason, good my love, 'gainst flattery. 
 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 Go on — 1 love to listen ; though methinks. 
 Thy praise, fair sir, is satii'e in disguise ; 
 But still, go on — it is a fruitful theme. 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 Oh, let me urge a more impassioned theme ! 
 I love thee, dearest — love thee, my Olivia ! 
 Crush not the liopes that kneel around thy feet. 
 And beg to live and feed upon thy smile. 
 
 OLI\ lA. 
 
 Is love so very sudden in its growtli ? 
 hove first is in the sight — then in the thought — 
 Next in the heart — and thence pervades the soul ! 
 'Tis but "in sight" with thee? at best "in thought"; 
 And thought can change as easily as the clouds
 
 12 DRAMATIC CHAI'TEILS. 
 
 Which take whatever form the sight may please. 
 When saw^st thou me the first ? It cannot be ; 
 'Tis something else which thou mistak'st for love. 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 1 wonder whcn's the time I loved thee not ! 
 Though true, perchance, I have not known thee long. 
 Yet could I swear I'd known thee all my life : 
 Tliou seem'st so much a portion of that Hfe, 
 I scarce can deem they e^er were separate. 
 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 I must confess it seems I'd known thee long. 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 Oh, blest confession ! — then thou lovest me, sweet ? 
 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 I said not so. 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 'Tis true, I am not rich. 
 No honours, fortune, fame, to share with thee ; 
 Or if^ — of such slight import, they seem dwarfed 
 Beside thy beauteous self ! — But were I rich — 
 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 And if thou Avert ? 
 
 Love is not to be bought — 'tis of the soul 
 
 The noblest element, the spirit-bond 
 
 That links the angel with humanity. 
 
 As well might' st thou attempt to purcliase heaven.
 
 DRAMATIC CllAl'TEliS. 13 
 
 To vend the stars, make traffic of tlie skies. 
 
 Or measure out wliat is immeasurable. 
 
 As count each feehng in the pulse of love. 
 
 Its height, its depth, its softness, beauty, strength. 
 
 And price affections as thou wouldst estates ! 
 
 Go to ! for shame ! — thy tongue belied thy heart. 
 
 Love is God's seal upon the universe — 
 
 The hand and sign of His omnipotence ; 
 
 And hearts enshrining love the most on earth. 
 
 Find here the most of heaven. 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 Oh, true — devoutly, eloquently true ! 
 
 And yet, dear girl, my wish was natural : 
 
 Love's ever prodigal of its possessions. 
 
 Gives all away, yet longs for more to give ; 
 
 Love craves a thousand things to yield to love — 
 
 Would give the world, yet count itself but poor : 
 
 'Twas thus I meant. — Come, tell me if thou lovest? 
 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 Canst thou not read it in these blushing lines 
 
 My heart too swiftly wTites upon my cheek. 
 
 And tells thee, ere my tongue, how dear thou art ? 
 
 Yet, Delmont, is it wisely risked of me. 
 
 An orphan, knoAvdng none, scarce knowing thee, 
 
 To stake my all of cartlily happiness 
 
 Upon a stranger's oath of constancy ? 
 
 And yet, if truth e'er spoke in human face. 
 
 It speaks in thine, my Delmont ; honour lives 
 
 Upon thy Ijrow as 'tMcre its natal home — 
 
 A temple fit for such a god to claim.
 
 14 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 Who flatters now ? But list ! behind yon rock^ 
 Deep roofed with trees, and tapestried with moss, 
 I saw an old half Indian temple hid, 
 As Nature of her shrine held jealous care; 
 Thither, sweet maid, if thou wilt deign it so, 
 The priest oui* loving hearts and hands shall join. 
 
 Delmont ! 
 
 My life 
 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 Delmont ! 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 What fears inv love? 
 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 Let me first look once more upon thy face. 
 
 Thus 1 am an orphan, Delmont — one whose years. 
 
 Few as they seem, have suficred many sorrows ! 
 Think thou beholdst my mother at my side. 
 Her whom the grave hath hidden from my sight. 
 But whose dear love still hovers round her child ; 
 Think ^tis her voice that pleads within me now ; 
 And if thy suit be worthy of her child — 
 Such suit as thou daredst urge were she alive — 
 If thou art faithful in the eye of Heaven, 
 Look up — and ask from her — from her — my hand.
 
 I) ]{ A M A T I C CHAPTERS, 15 
 
 DELMONT, 
 
 [Looking as she directs.^ 
 As thou desir^st, I ask it, my Olivia,. 
 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 Then it is thine, dear Delmont. 
 
 [She gives her hand fondly and confidingly : 
 he leads her through the gateway into the 
 garden. Scene closes.^
 
 1G DT^AMATIC CHAPTERS, 
 
 Ciajpto III. 
 
 ElleNj Wife of Colonel Delmont. 
 AdolphuSj her Son, aged sever/ years. 
 Hannah, an old and faithful Domestic. 
 
 Scene — An Apartment, near the Garrison. 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Well, Hannah, he is here, and safe at last; 
 But grant him no such liberty again, 
 What ! cross the river from the garrison ! — 
 You shall have neither boat nor spear, young sir, 
 If you attempt such silly risks again. 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 But oh, I must mamma, must have my spear. 
 My father said that I might have my spear ; 
 When I^m a man, I am to be soldier. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 First be a man, a soldier afterwards ; 
 
 But, boy, use manhood better than thy sire.
 
 DIJAMATK" (' ]I A I'T i: K S 17 
 
 ADOLPHUs-. 
 
 What is that you say, nurse? 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Hark, liark ! the troops are marching by the door ; 
 Go out, and watch ; 'tis fine to see them march ! 
 
 [Exit Adolvhus.] 
 Your faithfubiess, my Hannah, warrants much ; 
 And I o'erlook the heat and hastiness 
 A^liich are the flaws of your incautious zeal : 
 Say, was it well to speak before the boy ? 
 A single seed implanted in his mind 
 May grow to flower, and sweeten his young life, 
 Or turn to tveed, and poison all his days. 
 He should learn nothing ill against his sire : 
 He will learn nothing, if thou lov'st his mother. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 My honoured lady — oh ! ofttimes my heart 
 Seems as 'twould speak or burst. 
 
 Your hauiihtv lord 
 Is all unworthy this unceasing care 
 To screen his conduct : this most useless heed. 
 His acts are tongues, which, could you stay men's mouths, 
 Would speak themselves, without or mouth or tongue. 
 Lady, I'm growing grey in scr^dtude ; 
 These arms so oft have nursed you at my breast 
 AMien you were motherless, that I forget 
 At times my station. Oh ! 'tis bitter, lady. 
 To nurse the infant 3 ou must not call child ; 
 To have a mother's love, yet feel that you 
 Are but a vassal in that child's esteem ! 
 
 b
 
 18 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Yet of a good and honest race I come, 
 Nor lowly horn nor hred — 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Again too hot ; hut 'tis thy over zeal — 
 
 A failing of thy temper, not thy truth. 
 
 Therefore no more : you fill mine ears with tales. 
 
 My heart with tears, my mind with misery. 
 
 And then vac^e faithfulness in hrief excuse. 
 
 If Delmont loves not now, he loved me once ; 
 
 If he's indifferent, haply 'twas my fault ; 
 
 If harsh and cold, where should his faults he hid 
 
 But in the bosom of his truthful wife ? 
 
 It may not be that he is all to blame ; 
 
 /have a hundred faults, which being slight 
 
 Are haply not less difiicult to bear. 
 
 I am too serious, silent, spiritless. 
 
 For one enamoured of society. 
 
 His gaiety — 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Would it were gaiety, and nothing more ! 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Of what dare any one accuse him more ? 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Men speak to one another what they ne'er 
 Dream of proclaiming to an injured wife ; 
 None, save a creature over-warm for prudence. 
 Would let her tongue ^ni place in jeopardy. 
 I list the things which gain no entrance here. 
 Things that would change this confidence to doubt.
 
 DRAMATIC CHATTERS. 19 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Doubt ? Never ! — 
 
 I'd tear tlie traitorous portiou from my heart 
 
 Which dared to doubt his houour : — Doid)t ? 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 The wisest doubt. 
 
 Doubt all things, and of all things Man the most. 
 
 Your husband 
 
 ELLEN, incensed. 
 Nurse ! — 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 I say your husband wrongs you. 
 
 ELLEX. 
 
 One truth you've learnt — which is, that 1 can love. 
 One truth you've yet to learn — that I can hate. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Wilt thou go with me, and believe thine ears ? 
 
 [Ellen hesitates.^ 
 In one brief horn- the boat will place us where 
 There'll need no second voice to prove him false. 
 W^ilt thou go with me ? 
 
 kllln. 
 To prove liiin false ! 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 The l)oat is at the stair.
 
 20 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 ELLEN. 
 To prove . . . quick ! lead nie ! 
 
 [Passes over to Hannah^ then pauses.'] 
 I will not go. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Nor thine own ears believe ? 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 No — nor mine eyes. 
 No, ere these eyes could witness to liis shame, 
 My heart would blind them with its own quick tears 
 And shut out truth for ever. There's a word, 
 A Avord — a little word — so full of love, 
 'Twoidd hold its faith against a world of proof; 
 That word is Wife ! 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 He does deny the rite. 
 
 [Ellen starts, but expresses dissent.] 
 Nay, 'tis even said 
 He meditates a marriage with another. 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 ' Tis false ! impossible ! but now I see 
 Thou art resolved indeed to drive me mad. 
 
 [TValks agitatedly.'] 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 He owns no rite, acknowledges no priest ; 
 
 Nay, even now, wooes one into the toil 
 
 Through which he lured thine unsuspecting truth.
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 21 
 
 Ikit he must hire some other kna\dsh priest ; 
 He who wed thee is dead ! 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Dead ! the priest who wed us, dead ! 
 
 Denies his marriage ! — wedding, dost thou say ? 
 
 Then what am I ? and what, O heaven ! my child V 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 I spoke to rouse, not sink thy nature thus : 
 I bring thee truth, put in its boldest shape. 
 To stir thee into action, — thou must act ! — 
 But ere thou act'st — must hope ! 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Hope ? — woman's hope ?^ — Oh ! 'tis the breath of heaven, 
 
 The iris of her being ! but her fate 
 
 Is in the breath of man, and there, alas ! 
 
 All things of heaven do wither and consume. 
 
 my poor brother ! should his dungeon- walls 
 Repeat one echo of this misery. 
 
 How Avill he \M'ench the chains which bind his limbs ! 
 He dare not do it ! — though priest be dead, 
 And evidence removed — he dai'c not do it ! 
 
 1 have a Ijrother still — 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Would he were here ! 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 He will be here ! — 
 
 As siirclv as the deed, lie will br liere !
 
 22 DRAMATIC CHAPTEKS. 
 
 Heaven hath the means to work out its intents : 
 I look from justice thwarted upon earthy 
 To Justice throned above. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 At last then thou'rt convinced ? 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 \With broken utterance, but gathering hope 
 as she proceeds.^ 
 No^ not convinced; not quite — not quite — convinced ; 
 He may have enemies , 
 Traducers, slanderers of his simplest act ; 
 The best are not exempt from calumny ! 
 Thou hast confounded — not convinced me yet : 
 Thou'lt see ... I know . . . his manner's hght . . . he's gay. 
 He says a thousand tilings which are to him 
 Mere straws, mere feathers of his conversation. 
 And these, if misinterpreted, might lead . . . 
 Yes, yes . . . 'tis plain ; some word misunderstood, 
 Some coui'tly phrase, some passing gallantry. 
 Which vanity hath construed into love — 
 Devotion — passion ! — No — still, still I trust ! 
 Still in my husband's honour I confide ! 
 I stake my life on that which being lost 
 Leaves life but worthless. 
 
 Enter Adolphus, running. 
 My father's boat is floating by the walls, 
 May I run to him, mother ? — ■ may I ? may I ? 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 To whom, mv child ?
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. '2^ 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 My father. — I saw his boat upon the — 
 Why do you weep, dear motlier ? — I'll not go, 
 If goinf? makes you weep. 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 All is not lost whilst thou art left, my child, 
 All is not darkness whilst I see thy face. 
 
 \_Kisses fdm.^ 
 Oh ! fail me not, my heart, but bear me up 
 Till he himself his own accuser prove — 
 Then break, and give me rest — and give me rest ! 
 
 [_She sinks into a chair, Adolphus em- 
 bracing her, Hannah weeping; scene 
 closes.']
 
 24 D R A ]M A T T C C H A 1' T E R S . 
 
 (EJaijp ter I^. 
 
 Scene — The sea coast; vessel in the distance; sailors 
 carousing on the shore. 
 
 Ralph and Stephen coming forward. 
 
 STEPHEN. 
 
 It seems to me, friend Ralph, that when certain kings 
 and conquerors parcelled out the land, they selected all 
 the hest inside-places for themselves, and left poor Jack 
 the outside crust. And hard enough baked it is on this 
 highway to purgatory. 
 
 RALPH. 
 
 Well, a man's a man, messmate, though his lot be 
 hard and poor. 
 
 STEPHEN. 
 
 A man's a man ! — pooh, pooh, Ralph ; thou might'st 
 as well tell me that a coat's a coat ! Now a coat is not 
 a coat, but a character. A coat is a sacred thing on a 
 king, honourable on a minister, worshipful on a judge, 
 respected on a gentleman, obnoxious on the needy.
 
 D T? A M A T I C CHAPTERS. 25 
 
 infectious on the beggar, and, aftci' that, a walking- 
 disease to the end of the chapter ! There is more in a 
 coat, Ralph, than thy five wits can distinguish. 
 
 RALPH. 
 
 As how, messmate ? as how ? 
 
 STEPHEN. 
 
 As how, Ralph? Why, sometimes a coat is not a 
 coat, but a deception, when Vanity wears the coat of 
 Philantrophy, Pride that of Humility, Hypocrisy the 
 coat of Sanctity, &c. ; or when the lying Aagrant slips 
 on the honest sailor's or soldier's coat to gull the un- 
 suspicious \allagers of their hard-won coin. Is a coat 
 a coat, then, Ralph ; or has it a wider name and signifi- 
 cation ? 
 
 RALPH. 
 
 No, no, messmate; no land pirates; no false flags; 
 fight the battle of life, but stick to your colours, say I : 
 no lul)berly shirking. 
 
 STEPHEN. 
 
 That's hearty. \Vell, old sailor, tliou must under- 
 stand that a coat in a draAving-room is a very different 
 affair to a coat on a pauper's back; the very sleeves 
 loarn their own importance, and may nudge a lady's 
 elbow without Ijcing impertinent; the collar knows 
 that it is silk velvet, and stands up for its own con- 
 sequence ; there is not a button-hole l)ut has a 
 silky consciousness of its connexion with buttons of 
 quality. A gentleman's coat may aspire to the vnt of 
 
 E
 
 26 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 lamp-breaking without fear of a jail; hut a pauper's 
 coat is presumed to know hetter, and must take the 
 consequences. A man's a man, indeed ! Is dry junk 
 turtle ? 
 
 RALPH. 
 
 This is college learning. See you, now, what it is to 
 he grammatical; there is nothing like grammar. I hold 
 it that grammar is the navigation of language. I could 
 never have sailed through such a yarn as that without 
 stranding ; some words are like whirlpools, Stephen — 
 they twist a man round before he knows where he is. 
 Did you ever find that, messmate? But it was whis- 
 pered on board that thou ran from college when a lad ; 
 was it there thou picked up this ? 
 
 STEPHEN. 
 
 Picked up this ? What I see, Ralph, a mole might 
 see ; what I say, a stone might say. Pick it up ? any 
 where, every where. Things are known by their proper- 
 ties, Ralph. 
 
 RALPH. 
 
 What properties, Master Stephen? 
 
 STEPHEN. 
 
 Don't be such a goose. What properties? Thou 
 wouldst not expect to find plums on a crab-tree ? 
 
 RALPH. 
 
 Not exactly.
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 27 
 
 STEPHEN. 
 
 No; I should think not. Well, then, things arc 
 known by their properties : as thus — now plaee thy 
 thumb on thy forefinger, so — Wealth is good. 
 
 KALPH. 
 
 Wealth is good. 
 
 STEPHEN. 
 
 The man is rich; tryo, the roan must be good, and is 
 thus known by his iiropertji I Noav place thy forefinger 
 on thy nose, Ralph; for herein lies the gist of the 
 argument. Poverty is bad. 
 
 RALPH. 
 
 Very, Master Stephen. 
 
 STEPHEN. 
 
 Be quiet ; poverty is bad — the man is poor ; artjo, 
 the man must be bad. 
 
 RALPH. 
 
 No, no ; bar hands there, messmate ; the doctor is 
 not the physic. 
 
 STEPHEN. 
 
 But the man's bad that takes the physic, or ought to 
 be ; for there is badness witliin him. 
 
 RALPH. 
 
 The man — the doctor — that is , . . Come, capsize
 
 28 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 your jokes, Master Stephen ; no humming an old sailor. 
 I say it again, a man's a man. 
 
 STEPHEN. 
 
 Ay, well, thou mayst say it, Ralph; but canst thou 
 prove it, Ralph ? There's the business. Now here is 
 this inglorious rascal, who promised our glorious captain 
 a large sum if he'd consent to smuggle away his wife 
 and child. Is he a man ? or art thou a man ? or am I 
 a man ? to stand by, Ralph, and — 
 
 RALPH. 
 
 Hush ! there be listeners. Prudence ! 
 
 STEPHEN, 
 
 Who cares ? I ran off from better things once than 
 I should quit by running away from this : however, 
 they say that the light foam of the sea hardens itself 
 into a shell; mayhap I shall harden in time. But, 
 prudence, as thou sayst, prudence ! where didst thou 
 "pick up" that word, Ralph? 'Tis an easy word to 
 learn, but a difficidt one to remember. Prudence? 
 Well, come along ; prudence is not a bad pilot. 
 
 [Exeunt.^
 
 D R A M A T I C C II A i' T E R S . 29 
 
 Scene — The interior of an old Indian temple; a mujle 
 stream of light rests upon a fallen shrine and idol; 
 broken pillars and masonry scattered around. 
 
 Enter Delmont, musing. 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 Is it some cunning coinage of the priest — 
 
 A mere creation for his exorcism ? 
 
 Or is there that self-haunting fiend — a conscience ? 
 
 I cannot rest ; sin is a foe to sleep ! 
 
 Yet how to act ? — 
 
 Give up Olivia ? 
 Sooner give up my life ! Away ! 'tis weak ; 
 For ill to think is vile as ill to act. 
 The thinker of a wrong needs but the time 
 And courage for the act : 'tis cowardice 
 Protects his reputation. Conscience ? p>>ha\v ! 
 A priesthood's legacy to timorous minds. 
 The wrong 1 meditate I \\'\\\ [)erform. \^A pause.'] 
 
 This moral world's full ol" immoral flaws :
 
 30 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Convicts upon conjecture in the mood ; 
 
 And when the mood is o'er, the veriest knave 
 
 That masks deceit with candour well assumed 
 
 Will win the race 'gainst plodding honesty ! 
 
 There's not a house, whoe'er the tenant be, 
 
 But grants me welcome ; though my gallantries 
 
 Are as a common echo to the ear. 
 
 What's venial in a handsome-featured rake 
 
 Is grossness, baseness, in the sallow-cheeked. 
 
 Scarce worth, for such a world, to soil my hands 
 
 With vulgar tools, with instruments so mean ; 
 
 But sharp necessity 's not over nice ! 
 
 I've seen this smuggling captain on the coast ; 
 
 He sails at midnight ; and, for payment fixed. 
 
 Agrees to follow as I choose to lead. 
 
 There is no time to think ; pause, and the tide 
 
 Slips by. If she consent, why well, 'tis well ; 
 
 If not, 'tis but compelling. 
 
 Still he stays. 
 Though past the hour affixed to meet me here. 
 Will he prove false, play me the double knave. 
 And sell his hireling conscience o'er again ? 
 
 [Footsteps heard apj)roaching .'\ 
 No ; here he comes. 
 
 Ah ! 'tis a woman's step ! 
 [Ellen is seen descending the dark and 
 broken steps of the Temple.^ 
 Ellen ? Impossible ! Can she have heard ? 
 Wliat demon tempts her here to serve my scheme ? 
 
 ELLEN, approaching timidly. 
 Blame me not, Delmont, that I hither come ; 
 
 {
 
 D R A M A T T C CHAPTERS. 31 
 
 For there are rumours out against your honour, 
 Things which must sorely grieve you but to hear, 
 And which, when heard, must quickly be repugned. 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 What is suspected, madam ? 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Suspected ? 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 So ; you mislikc the term. 
 
 Suspicion, madam, owns a many masks ; 
 
 It rarely leaves its features as they are. 
 
 Amongst the rest, 'tis oft its cue to wear 
 
 The mask of friendship ; seemingly alive 
 
 But to one's benefit — yet sooth the while 
 
 It hints, and doubts, and fears, all is not avcII. 
 
 Sometimes it steals the very glance of love ; 
 
 And whilst its tones but A\dtness to affection. 
 
 Its thoughts are boiling o'er A\ntli calumnv. 
 
 Suspected! what's suspected? Is't not so? 
 
 Or " nnnours," as you say. What of these " rumours?" 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Oh ! calumnies ! audacioiis calumnies ! 
 
 Such as — that thou . . . . T cannot toll thee here. 
 
 Let us be gone. 
 
 ^'^ 
 
 del:\iont, aside. 
 'Tis as I thought — she's heard 
 Better to break at once, and know the worst.
 
 32 I) R A :M A T I C C H A T' T E R S . 
 
 ELLEN. 
 Come, quit this wild and desolate spot, 
 And when our boy embraces thee at home 
 ('Tis very long since thou hast seen him, Delmont), 
 1^11 tell thee all — nothing conceal, dear husband. 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 Husband ? — 
 
 I bade you say Avhat rumours brought you here ; 
 
 How knew you in this place I might be found ? — 
 
 Husband ? 
 
 What proof have ye of that which you assert ? 
 
 Must I be husband to monotony ; 
 
 The dull see-saw of matrimonial life. 
 
 If life it may be called where life is none ? 
 
 But listless, vacant dulness, or perchance. 
 
 To spur the lazy spirit of the time. 
 
 Some everlasting tale of careless varlets. 
 
 i 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Whence comes this sudden unexpected passion ? 
 
 What have I said — what done, to start this change ? ' 
 
 DELMONT, with increasing vehemence. 
 Change ? 
 
 No : all are changeable but women ! 
 They never change ; no, never — they're immaculate ! 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Oh, cruel triumph, first make sad the heart, 
 And then reproach it for its silentness ! 
 First list indifferentlv to all that vields,
 
 D R A 3r A T I C C H A V T K R S . 33 
 
 Or ought to yield, a father's breast delight, 
 
 And then, when long neglect hath dulled the sense, 
 
 Complain of dulness ! What I have done 
 
 Seems barren to your wish ; what left undone, 
 
 Is negligence or wi'ong. Notliing I do. 
 
 Or leave undone, is right : would I were dead ! 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 Mean you your death has ever been my wish ? 
 Or if you mean not that, what is't you mean, 
 That vou revolt mv feelings with such words, 
 And urge forbearance to the \ittermost ? 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 You have re\iled me — when did I reply V 
 
 You have contemned me ^ when did I coniphiiu V 
 
 Oh, tyranny of temper, that would wound 
 
 Even the innocent to screen itself; 
 
 Would rather aggravate a Avrong by aid 
 
 Of whispered falsehood, counterfeit report. 
 
 Or misconception Avilfully provoked, 
 
 Than own one error, or confess one faidt ! 
 
 Oh, there's more mercy in a wicked act 
 
 Than in false tongue ; more, more humanity 
 
 In brutes than in man's brutal temper ! 
 
 When will Oppression cease to wound the weak. 
 
 And Power learn mercy ? 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 Most excellent ! 
 Practise declaiming now, and you'll ho eloquent ; 
 Correcting others whilst you rail yourself.
 
 34 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 But since in one respect we seem agreed, 
 Why drag a chain that galls the neck of both ? 
 Wliy sharpen discord on the hone of hate ? 
 Take passage straight for England ; and if coin 
 Can pay you for obedience, it is yours. 
 But go or not, your son to England goes ! 
 His mind shall not be warped against his sire ; 
 His hate, at least, shall be a natural growth, 
 Not grafted by his mother in revenge. 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Heard I aright ? O God, heard I aright ? 
 
 My son? thou mean'st it not ! Give up my son? 
 
 That which makes life amends for half its woes ; 
 
 My only comfort, solace under heaven ! 
 
 Oh, fix some bounds to this unnatural hate. 
 
 Some limit to this endless cruelty ! 
 
 Have pity on a mother's helplessness ! 
 
 Leave me not friendless, childless, husbandless. 
 
 Or — thou mayst have a murder at thy door 
 
 Not long remorse may cleanse ! 
 
 [Passing Delmont, and pacing about 
 distractedly ^ 
 
 DELMONT, aside. 
 
 This wretchedness 
 Undoes what I would do. Her tears — what then ? 
 'Tis known that women's tears can find their eyes 
 Without their hearts ; they weep for anything. 
 Or nothing, as their nerves may chance to be 
 Or in or out of order, temper, humour. 
 A tear is nought but selfishness dissolved ;
 
 DRAMATIC CllAl'TERS. 35 
 
 Self -pride is lim-t, aud thcu self-pity weeps ! 
 
 \_A jjuusc] 
 Must I wait long for youi* decision, madam ? 
 I am not used to waver in resolve ; 
 And that metliinks you know. We must be brief. 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Is it a trifling task you give my heart ? 
 
 I must have time ; this sudden force may prove 
 
 A scheme to hurry me to some misact ! 
 
 I ask for time to counsel with myself, 
 
 For I am in this world without a friend — 
 
 It seems as heaven itself abandoned me ! 
 
 I must have time ! — and time for what ? for thought V 
 
 God, have pity on my aching brain ! 
 
 For man hath none ; — I say, I must have time ; 
 
 1 will have time ; I will not answer now. 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 But I am now to act ; therefore conclude, 
 
 Either the boy and you together go. 
 
 Or he alone ! 
 
 The vessel sails at night ; when it departs 
 
 No other ship may quit the coast for months. 
 
 I wait but your decision — ay or no. 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Distract me not ! I wish to do the best 
 
 For my poor injured boy — you'll drive me mad ! 
 
 1 cannot act if you do diive me mad ! 
 
 Not mc alone, l)ut you betray your child ! 
 
 Is he fit quarry for that kite-like lieart ?
 
 36 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 But Heaven's protracted vengeance yet shall fall : 
 The sequel of the wrong you here commit 
 Is with a higher power ! Delmont, beware ! 
 I have a brother ; one whose deep revenge 
 Would hunt ye down, were he to chase the world : 
 While yet there's time, beware ! — I say, beware ! 
 
 DELMONT. 
 
 You threaten, madam ! — By your own report 
 Our lives are not the happiest with each other ; 
 No matter whose the fault, so stands the fact : 
 England's your native home — I offer wealth 
 In England with your son ! Is that so hard ? 
 What coin will give content, that coin is youi's. 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Content ? 
 
 What mockery ! content ? — oh, Delmont, Delmont ! 
 
 What hath content on earth to do with me ? 
 
 Without thy love wealth is but beggary : 
 
 I would have welcomed pain and penury. 
 
 So that they spared me thee — the same thou wert ; 
 
 For thou wert loving once, and good, and generous, 
 
 AU that a doting heart might idolise ! 
 
 Think 'tis the morn the priest first joined our hands. 
 
 Delmont, vehemently. 
 I do deny the rite ! You are no wife ! 
 
 [Ellen shy'ieks, and stands transfixed, gazing 
 on Mm. A pause^ 
 This is but trifling, madam. When the ship-bell tolls 
 You must equip yourself within the hour ;
 
 DRAMATIC CHArTERS. 37 
 
 For by the fiend I worship do I SAvear, 
 A^Tiether you will or no — come hut that hoiu' — 
 The bov shall sail. 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Oh, monstrous cruelty ! unheard-of perfidy ! 
 False husband, faitldess father, peijiu'ed friend ; 
 Yes, burn all record of thy treachery — 
 All written document of thine offence — 
 Spurn the high sanctity of holy law. 
 Apostate both from natui'e and from God ! 
 Yet, Delmont, from the ashes of my Avrong 
 A spirit yet shall start thou canst not slu-ive. 
 Morn, noon, and fearful eve — at home, abroad. 
 In bed, at board, that voice shall haunt thee still ; 
 
 Hear ye it not ? ^tis dooming noAV thy soul 
 
 [The ship-bell tolls at a distance — EllExN hears, 
 
 totters towards Delmont, and, overpoioered, 
 
 sinks on her knees.^ 
 
 delmont. 
 You hear ! 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 Dread power of heaven, assist me ere I die ! 
 Is there no mercy ? 
 
 [She cUii(js tu him, Del.mont throws her off.] 
 Mercy ! have mercy ! 
 Do not hurni mv child — thv child, that loves thee; 
 Thou wouldst not Avound all things that seek thy love. 
 And make him, too, thy victim? Oh, relent ! 
 
 [He turns away.]
 
 38 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Alas ! 'tis vain : no rock so obdurate. 
 No stone so pitiless as thy resolve ! 
 
 [Delmont endeavours to leave her — she 
 clings to him.'] 
 Thou shalt not touch him ; stay, I will consent — 
 Yield anything ! O God, what have I done 
 To be so wTctched ? None have pity, none ! 
 Not even Heaven hath pity, or its voice 
 Had surely spoke to thee in thunder now ! 
 
 my dear child, my last sole hope and refuge. 
 Love thy poor mother ! love thy hapless mother ! 
 Comfort her yet in her extremity ! 
 
 Who for thy sake yields all of life — but thee ! 
 Though houseless, friendless, poor, and desolate, 
 (For never will we touch one doit of thine,) — • 
 Thou, my wronged boy, wilt love thy mother still ! 
 
 [Delmont still endeavouring to leave her.] 
 Thou goest not yet ; no, not one step ; for thou 
 Wouldst kill him with that look ! — • I do consent — 
 
 1 leave for — England. 
 
 [She faints, and, as Delmont rushes out, four 
 sailors enter from the steps of the upper 
 J'em/j/e — Delmont points to Ellen. — 
 Scene closes.
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 39 
 
 €6a]pitieir ^l. 
 
 Six year's are supposed to have elapsed since Chap. V. 
 
 Scene — T7ie Interior of a ivell-furnished English Cot- 
 tage ; a small table set tvith a simple evening meal ; 
 Dorothy, very old and deaf, seated by the tvood 
 fire; Hannah, her granddaughter, tvalking about 
 impatiently ; clock strikes eleven ; Hannah listens to 
 the storm which is raging without, and then speaks. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Still he comes not ! still, still he comes not ! 
 How the wind howls, wild as a dying wolf" 
 Through the black forest ! and the heaxy rain 
 Beats 'gainst the groaning casement dismally : 
 How wilt thou struggle with this rulliau blast. 
 My poor, lone boy '? 
 
 Mother, I say — so you 
 But get your old warm chair, the lad may die ! 
 Five times I've braved the tempest, yet in vain ; 
 Better to see him dead than fear him so ! 
 Mother, I say, Avill you not hear, nor speak?
 
 40 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 What said Adolphus when he left tliis morn ? 
 What took he with him ? Oh, that yon can sit 
 Tame and unmoved whilst I . . , 
 Quick, what said he ? 
 
 j>onoTTiY, feebly arousing herself. 
 
 Didst thou speak, daughter ? 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Adolphus, mother, what took he forth ? 
 
 [Suddenly turning aside a cloak.^ 
 I do not see his spear : went he with that ? 
 
 DOROTHY. 
 
 Adolphus, dear — hath not the lad returned ? 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Thou know'st he hath not: I have sought, talked, raved. 
 Since nine o' the clock, outwearying the time, 
 And now thou ask'st me, "Hath he not returned?" 
 TVill — thou should'st ask — will, will he e'er return ? 
 
 Dorothy, with increasing attention. 
 'Tis a "vvild night ; but I've heard many such. 
 The winds blow feebler than in my young days : 
 Ah ! I remember me in fiftj^-eight. 
 That was a storm ! half Colne made desolate ! 
 We lay upon our faces, and thus low 
 Awaited death. 
 
 Hannah, interrupting her. 
 Mother, you tr)^ all patience : here you speak
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS, 41 
 
 Of sixty years ago as yesterday ; 
 
 And tilings of yesterday, to-day, an houi', 
 
 Nay, of a moment passed, your memory finds not ! 
 
 Went he not hunting, mother — tell me that ? 
 
 Oh, heaven, some peril may beset his path, 
 
 Aud T no help, no help, no help ! 
 
 [Covering her face ivitli her hands, and 
 sobbimj bitterly. ~\ 
 
 DOROTHY, 
 
 [ VlHio rises slowly, and with great difficulty, from 
 her chair, approaches her daughter with tot- 
 terring steps, in the last weakness of extreme 
 old age.l 
 Hast thou no Trust? no Helper? Go to Him, 
 Thou who art heavy laden and oppressed, 
 Lay at His feet thy fears. My child, I'm old ; 
 Thy mother's mother hath been long on earth 
 (Heaven take me in its time !) ; but never yet 
 Found she the humble truster in her God 
 Forgotten in her need ! Take comfort, daughter : 
 He that directs the blind bird's weary flight 
 Will light the storm-path of this wandering boy. 
 
 [Hannah staj^ts up, and again paces back /cards 
 and forioards to the door, to the windoiv, 
 in increasing agitation.'] 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Mother, I cannot pray: my thoughts arc wild; 
 I think a thousand e^^ls. 
 
 [Pauses, and collects he}'.telf to speak calmly. ] 
 He took his spear?
 
 42 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 DOROTHY. 
 
 Surely he did. 
 
 [Hannah clasps her hands tightly, as in great 
 inward distress.~\ 
 
 A hundred times before 
 Thou'st known him take his spear, and cautioned not. 
 The lad might be thine own, thou frettest so. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 He is my own ; in double love mine own ! 
 Left by his dying mother to my charge : 
 Poor gentle heart ! deceived and broken heart ! 
 Oh, when at last we lost that Indian coast. 
 Few words she spoke, and those so wild and weak. 
 No ear, save Pity's, might comprise their grief! 
 " Oh, misery !" — and ever night and day 
 Those words made dry her lips — " oh, misery !" 
 And thus she reached our cold, sad English coast ; 
 And thus, ere forty hours elapsed, she died ! 
 Loving him still who broke her loving heart ! 
 My own ! Oh, yes ; in double love my own ! 
 
 DOROTHY. 
 
 Why wished she that her grave should be unknown 
 To her poor child ? — that was a hard request ; 
 Hard and unnatural. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 No, say not hard : 
 She feared the son might in his mother's wrongs 
 Forget the sire, and think but of revenge. 
 "Oh, keep him innocent of all, dear friend;
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 43 
 
 " And should his sire repent, then bring them both, 
 " And I will speak forgiveness from my grave ! 
 " I know thy worth; bless thee, thou faithfid heart !" 
 And thus . . . she died. 
 
 DOROTHY. 
 
 Well, I am old ; behke I am too old, 
 
 And see not this as thou wouldst have me sec it : 
 
 I would have she^vn the boy her place of rest. 
 
 His little knees beside her lonely grave. 
 
 The prayers poured from his little heart to heaven. 
 
 Had surely made the mother's spirit blest ! 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Oh, to have seen her by that vessel's side, 
 
 Gazing her heart out towards that Indian strand. 
 
 And dying inch by inch ! IVe seen strong men, 
 
 Hard, weather-beaten, reckless, sea-bred men, 
 
 "With weeping eyes gaze on her piteous face. 
 
 And cui'se the cruelty that stabbed her peace ! 
 
 When he's away, as now, with chance of ill. 
 
 His mother's look, her heart-worn, weary look. 
 
 Her last beseeching prayer, to watch her child. 
 
 Is ^vith me e'en as then ; 'twould drive me mad 
 
 Should aught endanger him. [Pacbir/ to and fro.] 
 
 I cannot rest ; quiet is torture to rac. 
 
 There was that Indian gipsy prowling near. 
 
 That Midglcy, as they caU her ; she who goes 
 
 Idling and pilfering with these forest-men : 
 
 Who knows but she — the witch — may be cmploycil 
 
 To work him evil ! ' Twere a deed to suit 
 
 The mahcc of his vile inhuman sii'c,
 
 44 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Wlio^ as I hear, is uow within the isle. 
 Alas, my boy ! my poor, lost, helpless boy ! 
 Thine only aid a feeble woman's love ! 
 
 [A sudden crash of storm without ; Hannah 
 snatches her cloak and belts it round her.^ 
 
 DOROTHY. 
 
 Whither now? Thou'rt dreaming, sure? 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Bar close the door, mother ; here is wood. 
 Fuel to keep thee warm. I'U not be long ; 
 Thon need'st not fear . . . 
 
 DOROTHY. 
 
 Fear ? I am too old for fear ! 
 
 The helplessness of age is its protection. 
 
 [Hannah opens the door ; the storm drives 
 furiously ; she starts back as irresolute ; a 
 distant cry is heard, and she rushes out 
 despairingly ; Dorothy slowly settles her- 
 self in her old chair. Scene closes. 
 
 i
 
 DRAMATIC CHAl'TERS. 45 
 
 Falkner, the Brother of Ellen, escaped from India, in 
 pursuit o/" Delmont; Bertha, the Heiress of Ind- 
 worth Castle, his Betrothed. 
 
 Scene — A Library in the Castle of Indworth ; Falk- 
 NER and Bertha seated. 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 You over-estimate the chance of fortune ! 
 What fortune have the birds that sing at morn, 
 Filling the grove with music and rejoicement? 
 What fortune claim the flowers beyond the soil. 
 The little soil wherein they bloom and perish ? 
 And yet their lovehness pines not more soon 
 For their sad lack of fortune. Wliat the trees, 
 That lift as proudly to the skies their heads 
 As thougli proclaimed the princes of the land ? 
 Fortune ! — it is a tinsel soimd, my Faulkner, 
 And, in itself, itself of nought assurance, 
 Nor love, nor health, nor happiness ; for here 
 Fortune is l)orn of cai-th, and clings to clay. 
 'Tis a scant teniu'c — a poor worldly term ! 
 Love is immortal ! happiness, eternal !
 
 46 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. ^ 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Ohj lovely monitress ! 'tis weU that truth i 
 
 Is in thy breast as beauty on thy brow, 
 
 For the worst counsel would seem best from thee : 
 
 The weakest reason match the wisest ; love. 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 The nobly born are not the only noble ! 
 There is a line more royal, more majestic, 
 Than is the sceptred line of mighty crowns ; 
 An ancestry so bright with glorious names 
 That he, who truly feels himself akin 
 To such, may stand before the throne — noble 
 Amidst the noblest ; kingly amidst kings ! 
 He that inherits Honour, Virtue, Truth, 
 Springs from a lineage next to the divine ; 
 For these were heirs of God ; and we, their heirs. 
 Prove nearest God, when we stand next to them ! 
 
 \_She rises.l 
 Man, heir to these is rich — and Wealth may bow 
 To Greatness it can cherish, — not create ! 
 
 FALKNER, Hsinff, and approaching her. 
 Thou'rt rich in that which maketh riches poor. 
 There is an emanation from thy love 
 Which elevates, ennobles, and encharms me ; 
 I list thy voice and think thy tongue an angeFs ! 
 Existence hath no Hght but beams from thee ; 
 Present and future have no name but thine. 
 Nor mind nor memory ! Oh, my own beloved ! 
 And yet 'tis madness thus to breathe my soul, 
 Thus pour its hidden fulness at thy feet :
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 47 
 
 For wherefore shouldst tliou link thy cloudless fate 
 With my, I fear, but evil destiny ? 
 Better thou badst me quit thy sight for ever 
 Than bind thy lot with one so desolate — 
 So poor — in all so undesernng thee ! 
 Better forgetfulncss than such remembrance. 
 My love is cursed, cursed as the ivy, Bertha, 
 Wliich kills the thing it clings to ! 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 No, Falkncr, no, 
 Not desolate — my heart shall be thy home ; 
 Not poor — I hold my wealth but for thy service ; 
 Not cm'sed, my Falkner, no ! for I will bless thee. 
 Tliou knowst not half the love shrined in my heart. 
 What it would do, not do, to make thee happy ! 
 
 [Pauses, then speaks half rep7'oachfulJy .'] 
 Methought thou hadst o'ercome those darker moods 
 ^\Tiich shook thy spirit when I knew thee first. 
 And that thy night had found at length love's morn, 
 Love's morn of roses — roses whose glad hue 
 Seemed as an angel's cheek had pressed them last ; 
 And now thy thoughts, as they were mourners, sit 
 Wailing the death of hope within thy heart. 
 
 FALKNER, staHhig. 
 Death ? spcak'st thou of death, my Bertha ? 
 Tell me, my love, believ'st thou aught in omens ? 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 If they be good, not else.
 
 48 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Say^ didst thou note this morn ? 
 
 How beautiful the God of Light awoke^ 
 
 Rose with surpassing glory ; his bright head 
 
 Crowned with immortal rays^ that all the East 
 
 Lifted its golden voices, and was glad ! 
 
 Forth beamed the god o'er pearl and purple cloud, 
 
 That as enamoured of his presence seemed ; 
 
 And Morn, all blushes, spoke her happiness. 
 
 Thus looked the time ; when scarce few moments fled, 
 
 And lo ! bright Phoebus lay as in a shroud. 
 
 Black clouds, like mourners, swept in funeral train. 
 
 And Morn, sweet Morn, like a young widow, wept. 
 
 Where last the footsteps of her god had passed. 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 A weeping dawn oft makes a laughing day ; 
 
 Thy feehng seems to feed on things of gloom ; 
 
 This is not wise, nor just to Providence : 
 
 Call Fancy to bring forth her brighter hues. 
 
 Walk on the golden-sanded shores of Hope ! 
 
 Strike thy false prophet from his temple down, 
 
 And set up Truth, heart- smihng Truth, instead. 
 
 Omens ? I'll conjure twenty, have but patience. 
 
 Listen : 
 
 I had a bird, a little graceful bird. 
 
 Its cage was like a fairy palace stored. 
 
 But still it seemed unhappy ; still its beak 
 
 Beat 'gainst the glittering wires impatiently, 
 
 And all its love — for much it seemed to love me — 
 
 Could not restrain its spirit from the air. 
 
 The sunny, happy air of liberty.
 
 1) R A M A T I C C H A I* T E R S . 49 
 
 Thougli liavd to part witli my tlien sole companion, 
 I took tlic discontented from its perch, 
 Kissed its cold, glossy beak and bade it go. \P(mses.'] 
 You listen, love ? 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 I do ; 'twas like yoiu'self ! 
 
 I5ERTHA. 
 
 Next morn a tapping at my casement bronght ! 
 
 It was my bird, and in its beak a flower — 
 
 A memory of the meadoAvs wandered o'er ; 
 
 The next day, and the next, some token still ! 
 
 At last a purple feather at my foot 
 
 The fond bird dropped ; a little moment perched 
 
 Within its cage ! — a moment looked around. 
 
 And then away, ne'er to return again ! 
 
 Some love-mate in the woods awaited it. 
 
 And in its happy nest it soon forgot 
 
 The empty cage o'er wliich its mistress wept ! 
 
 An omen, say'st thou ? oh, for car/e, read /wart, 
 
 And thou'st an omen of forsaken love ; 
 
 Lo\dng that one who better loves another ; 
 
 Sowing aflections whose sad fruit is tears ! 
 
 Yet hast thou vowed thou loved not one save me ; 
 
 Nor cousin, sister — no? is it not no? 
 
 FALKNEll. 
 
 Nor sister? thou slialt hear. 
 1 dreamt I had a sister graced as thou; 
 As beautiful, yet different in her beauty; 
 For she was like the twiliglit, soft ;iiu1 dar1<, 
 
 11
 
 50 DRAMATIC CHATTERS. 
 
 Thou^ like the morning, dewy-eyed and fair ; 
 And, as within thy lap my glad cheek lay, 
 Methonght she came and blessed us. 
 
 Suddenly, 
 As though a cloud had swept across the sun. 
 She looked a corpse ! a halo circled her. 
 And in that light thy face grew cold and fixed ! 
 I turned ; l^eneath my foot the firm earth fell 
 As in convulsion ; with it down I sank. 
 Thou shrieking for that help which none might give. 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Did I not leap the chasm to thy side ? 
 No? . . . 
 
 Then ^twas indeed a dream, an idle dream ; 
 No image of our lot ; no omen, love ! 
 Which still had held more probability 
 Than I should live, and yet behold thee die ! 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Is then thy love so deep ? 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 It is ! it is ! 
 I think time lost that is not found with thee ; 
 Time nothing worth but thus to sit with thee. 
 To hear thy manly spirit thus discourse. 
 Speak with an eloquence to capture time, 
 And make love hang enraptured on thy words. 
 I've Hved alone — much, very much alone — 
 And long before I kncAV thee I had formed. 
 In the romance of my young girhsh heart.
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 51 
 
 A being like thee — speaking, looking, like tlice ! 
 
 But, oh, I am too 1)old to teU thee this ! 
 
 'Tis wrong; it had appeared more maidenly 
 
 To have concealed, not to have let thee kno^ni. 
 
 To — 
 
 I blush to think liow weak I must appear. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 My faithful love, my bride, my now soon wife ! 
 And when thou bear'st my name, my Bertha, 
 We will away to climes where love may smile. 
 And make our home in some new paradise, 
 AVhich Nature, liberal mother, hath endowed 
 AMth loveliness beyond a season's bloom, 
 AVhere never memory shall in sables come. 
 But thou be my presiding deity ; 
 And we will love as we had but one heart. 
 One mind, one hope, one joy, one liappiness ! 
 Shall it be so ? 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Even as thou wilt : 
 What is thv wish is mine : Avhat way suits thee 
 That way would I still go : thy liome still mine. 
 For, oh, my Falkner, 
 Aflcctions never die ; when Hfe is o'er, 
 They take the wings of a diviner world, 
 And grow inmiortal ! 
 
 I'ALKXER. 
 
 Afy own beloved I 
 >A'hy N])euk so SMCct, and vet so mournfully?
 
 52 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 It was the eclio of thine own dear voice. 
 
 Which evermore is sad ; as though it pined 
 
 For nobler realms, for beings loftier. 
 
 Where every tone was eloquent of God ! 
 
 Come ! I have flowers to shew will make thee glad : 
 
 Thy gift of plants, they wear their choicest bloom ; 
 
 I, who believe not in distracting omens. 
 
 Have faith in flowers and their inspiring looks ; 
 
 Come, nay, I loill — mark you that rebel word — 
 
 I will not have thee sad ! 
 
 [Exeunt, she endeavow'ing to cheer Falkner, 
 ivho smiles, and leads her out affedionatelij.'] 
 
 i
 
 DRAMATIC CHAP T E R S . 53 
 
 €fiaipto OTIII. 
 
 Time — Early dawn. Scene — A deep liolloiv in the 
 
 wilds of the forest. 
 
 Delmont^ now Lord Kelford, (havimj succeeded lo the 
 title and estates of a distant relative,) discovered 
 seated vpon the fallen trmik of a tree. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Now once again in England, that wise land 
 
 Where wives are masters ! Give mc Indian wives ; 
 
 I find no taste for female government, 
 
 Nor vote for parliament in petticoats ! 
 
 Yet British power was ever feminine, 
 
 Or how came Woman first to rule the waves ? 
 
 No matter ; men are most ingenious 
 
 In forging weights for their own backs to carry. 
 
 One Aveight the less my own broad shoulder bears : 
 
 Olivia's dead ! Consumption, as they say — 
 
 And they arc wise in tlicir own eyes that say it ! 
 
 So let it pass. Consumption be it then ; 
 
 She's dead, poor girl ! and from her quiet rest
 
 54 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Ellen no more can wake to thwart my will. 
 Some men might deem themselves unfortunate^ — 
 Two wives — both beautiful — and buried both ! 
 But mourning is the lot of human kind, 
 And resignation comes when needed most. 
 'Tis wonderful how much I seem resigned ! 
 Yet more resigned, if one existing now 
 Slept with his mother : were his head with hers, 
 Marriage with Bertha might be feasible ; 
 But whilst he breathes, he is the living key 
 To what the world might term an ugly story. 
 But yester eve I marked one in these woods — 
 One whom I knew abroad in earlier times, 
 A fellow branded for some petty crime. 
 And afterwards a smuggler on the coast ; 
 One, as I deem, well fitted to perform 
 This act, on which I build security. 
 And to my wish he comes. 
 
 [Looking down an avenue of the 'wood.'\ 
 A precious rogue, 
 If mind but match with look ; a prettier knave 
 I would not wish to gain in Christendom. 
 
 [WoLVBANE enters, and crosses Kelford.] 
 How noAv, old friend ! passing without a word ? 
 'Tis not so lately that we met, that thou 
 Shouldst shun my greeting. 
 
 WoLFBANE, examining Kelford. 
 I know you not. 
 
 KKLFORI). 
 
 No ? Let me see ! ^tis ten — nav more than ten, —
 
 DRAMATIC CHAl'TERS. 55 
 
 'Tis thirteen years, old woodsman, is it not, 
 Since thou and I first met ? 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 You are deceived ; I am not of this clime, 
 Nor half ten years in England. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 What? 
 
 Nor at Thiagan? [Wolfbane starts.'] 
 
 Come, your hand. [He gives his left hand reluctantly.'] 
 
 Not this ! not this ! the one I'd wish to shake 
 
 Is that on which was seared a felon-brand. 
 
 [Snatching his rigid hand.] 
 Ay, here it is ; fresh as ^twere newly grilled ! 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 The brand? 
 
 Curses upon thee that thou shak'st me thus ! 
 
 The brand ! and Avhercfore branded ? Knowing me. 
 
 Thou shouldst know that ; knoAving not that. 
 
 Thou knowest nought of me. 
 
 Say, for what crime 
 That horrid iron quivered to the bone ? 
 Whom had I rol)bed? what mortal being injm'cd? 
 'Twas sworn I cultivated evil arts 
 To work my neighbours harm ! that by my spells 
 Cattle had died, and blight devoured the grain; 
 Know thou, unless some tyrant, like the rest. 
 Not Art, but Ignoraucc, is full of blight ! 
 Not Art, but Eigotrv, is full of deatli I
 
 56 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Error is ever obstinate ; and man — 
 
 [Suddenly pausing, and suppressing his 'passion J] 
 But to tlie purpose. Sir, I studied science ; 
 Gave years, long years, my best of life, to tliougbt ; 
 My days and nights to bold experiments. 
 And for results, wliicli should have won me fame. 
 They gave " hard labour and imprisonment ;" 
 For theories, for such discoveries 
 As might have gained me honour, they conferred 
 The brand ! 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 And thank thy lenient judges thou vrcrt not 
 Chained to the stake, and forthwith burnt alive ! 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 Thanks ? 
 
 May curses thick as mildew wither them ! 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 They'll wither without curses; — but enough. 
 Why sought ye not for counsel ? 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 1 was poor. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Or friend, avIio would have cleared your character ? 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 I was unfortunate : 
 
 Poverty and misfortune have no friends.
 
 DRAMATIC f'TTAI'TERS. .>< 
 
 And what knew tliey of Indian mysteries ? 
 
 I tell thee, by a law as clearly shewn 
 
 As that which governs worlds — as that which wheels 
 
 The everlasting planets in their course — 
 
 I could in few brief moments fix thee there, 
 
 Helpless as marble, not a limb could move ! 
 
 No, not a nerve within thy frame relax 
 
 Until my breath unlocked it ! 
 
 This, men say, 
 Is magic, madness, or some de\'ilish lore, 
 Bought at the price of man's immortal soul ! 
 Dolts ! 
 
 Science hath marvels which earth's counsellors 
 Dare not believe for fear, nor see for pride ! 
 
 K E L Fo R D, sneering ly . 
 Think of the gratitude of futiu'e ages : 
 Tlie monuments to Ocnius; think of Fame ! 
 Think all well lost so that thou Aviu the World ! 
 
 WOLFliANK. 
 
 The World? 
 
 Wliat recks the World so that the World's amused? 
 My branding was a public holiday ! 
 The World ? who were its benefactors, say ? 
 And what their recompense ? The historic page 
 Crimsons w^th shame to show it ! 
 Not all the tears whicli humau eyes have shed 
 Can wash the World of its ingratitude ! 
 Florence rewarded Galileo's truth, 
 With what? witli persecution, bondage, hate, 
 Charges of heresy and guilt. 'Tis true 
 
 1
 
 58 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 They did not brand liini ; that reward was left 
 For later times and meaner advocates. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 But of your present practice, what say men V 
 ^Tis witchcraft vet, if rumour lies not still. 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 What could I do? 
 
 Debarred all natural refuge — those respects 
 
 Which make the social happiness of life — 
 
 Loving mankind, yet of mankind an outcast ; 
 
 What could I do V What roof was for the houseless ? 
 
 Starved, hooted, branded, was I driven at last 
 
 To herd with these, a gang of gipsy-vagrants ; 
 
 Men who with trembling souls beheld my power. 
 
 And straight resolved obedience : here I live — 
 
 These forest wilds my home. 
 
 Would men were more alike, and loved their like. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Men more alike ! 
 
 Each leaf of the same tree is not exact ; ' 
 
 Each grain of the same dust in something varies ; 
 
 Even in eggs there is a difference ! 
 
 Some fresh and youthfvd, clear and tender skinned, 
 
 Others opake, and of a coarser germ ; 
 
 Some of a shell that's difficult to break, 
 
 And oft, when broken, prove not worth the pains. 
 
 Some of no flavour save a musty one. 
 
 Like a bad temper quick to give offence ; 
 
 Some fair outside but rotten at the volk !
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 59 
 
 Others a little cracked ; [Gibin/jly at Wolfbane.] 
 
 And addled some ! 
 
 Zoimds, wouldst thou have less difference in a man 
 Tlian in an e^g ? 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 No: 
 
 AYould to heaven that easily as an egg 
 
 We could hold man between us and the light. 
 
 Test by a taper thus his hidden heart. 
 
 And learn its soundness ! 
 
 [Kelford laughs sneeringly .~\ 
 Now for vourself : 
 What seek you, that you crossed my footpath now. 
 And lu'gcd acquaintance on me ? 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Seek? 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 Men of your caste seek rarely friends from ours. 
 Unless good service may be wrung fi'om them. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 'Tis shrewdly guessed ; and to ])e candid now — 
 For I've especial reverence for candour — 
 Tlicrc is a youth, I fain M'cre any where 
 But where he is ! If tliou canst snare him hence, 
 Thy pa\Tnent shall exceed thy trouble's worth 
 By some few ducats. If tlic lad resist, 
 (Though I woukl have thee tender of his health,) 
 Vet in a frav ofttimes a casual hlnw
 
 f)0 DRAMATIC ("HAPTERS. 
 
 May knock the life out ; and iu such event. 
 Thy risk being great, the greater thy reward ! 
 Hark, in thine ear — the fifties shall be hundi'cds. 
 Lodge him but where, for some few years to come, 
 His face may never greet my sight again. 
 And name a recompense to please thyself : 
 But lodge him where he'll trouble earth no more, 
 And — but I trust thou comprehendst me well — 
 I would not for the world thou judg'st so ill 
 As think I'd counsel violence. 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 'Tis clear : 
 Some accidents are fatal ; and a blow 
 Given in a brawl's a thing of common course. 
 And wins but common notice. . . . 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 There ! there thou hast it : 
 What sayst thou — thy reward I . . . 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 Our gang shall track him out, be thou assured. — 
 Better beneath my care than where he is ! [Aside.] 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Then forth with me : I'll give thee such description 
 As to his capture suddenly may lead. 
 Cowards keep poor ; 'tis better than philosophy 
 To win a life's reward by one hour's service : 
 The stone thou break' st his head with will eclipse 
 The golden stone of old pliilosophy. [Exeunt.]
 
 DRAMATIC CHAl'TERS. () I 
 
 [As they retire Adolphus is seen descending a 
 rocky and mountainous height of the forest ; 
 he descends clinging to the fir-trees, slowly 
 and with difficulty, his spear broken.'] 
 
 ADOLPHUS, leaping to the ground. 
 1 think the deuce is in my feet for rambling ; 
 I ever was a rambler from a child : 
 Sliew me a boat, and straightway I must sail — 
 A spear, and I must hunt ! set me ^mid flowers. 
 And I must off to share them with some child, 
 A rambler like myself ! You mioht as soon 
 Attempt to stay the sunbeam, that disports 
 O'er hill and forest, lake and valley side. 
 As seek to settle me. 
 
 Shut doors, and there are windows : fasten both, 
 'Tis all the same; for ramble out I must I 
 'Tis the perpetual motion of the mind. 
 An impulse of the blood, and Avhich, in sooth, 
 Make bones and body often pay for it ! 
 
 [Looking at his spear-st(iff.~\ 
 Thou traitor staff', to fail thy master thus : 
 Call'st thou this service — just when needed most, 
 To split upon thy master? Out upon thee ! 
 Thy mother tree believed thee ])ctter branch 
 Of her good honest root. 
 
 So, here am I. 
 Bewihlercd in the forest, and, Avhat's more, 
 In tliiit wild skirt which hears an c\il fame. 
 Yet what care I r I'vil can touch mc not I 
 I wear a sacred charm u|)ou my hirast, 
 Left with a mother's l)lcssing ; \\rr hist gift !
 
 62 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Which, like some heavenly spirit breathing hope. 
 And confidence, and love, I wear about me. 
 Now, once again to try my fortune : If the staff 
 Had shewn a British heart, of native firmness, 
 I had found home despite this wild, blind dawn ! 
 
 [^Sudden rush of storm mid lightning?^ 
 Methought the winds had stormed till out of breath, 
 And we'd had peace for lack of lungs to rail ! 
 My poor old nurse ! how the good dame will fret. 
 And waste her love with watching ! 
 
 Ah, a light ! 
 One of those false misleading fires — there 're many such. 
 And many human staffs that fail their trust 
 As thou hast done, thou most unworthy servant : 
 See thou protect'st thy master's head at least 
 Some little better than his wearied feet. 
 
 Light still ! and voices too ! 
 
 What, ho ! help, friends ! 
 [Exit, calling.^
 
 I) R A M A T I C CHAPTERS. Go 
 
 €Saipiteir IX.> 
 
 Scene — A deep holloiv in the wilds of the forest ; Witches 
 carousing ; Midgley, Toadfoot, Nightshade, Rat- 
 STAK, and others. * 
 
 Chorus of Witches. 
 
 "Wlicre unholy tempests blow, 
 Welcome fox and carrion-crow, 
 AVizard-bat, and goblin oavI, 
 Ghosts and shapes that nightly prowl, 
 Venomed snake and slimy toad, 
 Sights that hint of hell's abode ; 
 Wclc(mie brindcd cat and grey, 
 'Tis the Witches' holvdav ! 
 
 Prickly branch and thorny weed. 
 Things on human pain that feed ; 
 Meteors gleaming to betray. 
 False and foid make holiday ! 
 Plank, that on the treacherous wave 
 Mocked the clinging to their grave, 
 Welcome with thy ghostly prey, 
 'Tis the WitHirs' liolvdav !
 
 } 
 
 64 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Vapours of infernal dew^ 
 Stars ambition overthrew. 
 Secret fires that inly slay. 
 Waste and Want make holy day ! 
 Welcome Sea, thou life ensnaring ; 
 Welcome Earth, with thy despairing ; 
 Welcome Winds, on wrecks that prey ; 
 'Tis the Witches holvdav ! 
 
 MiDGLEY Speaks. 
 'Twas a night to make fiends quail, 
 E,ain and lightning, wind and hail ; 
 Shrieks and storms, and shuddering voices. 
 Death-like groans that hell rejoices : 
 In the caldron of the dark 
 Something brewing : we must hark ! 
 There will be a deed ere long. 
 Or these portents use false tongue ! 
 
 TOADFOOT. 
 
 There will be a deed of sin ! 
 On the cloud, without, mthin, 
 This was writ in lines of blood, 
 Which the storm-fiends understood. 
 
 woLFBANE, sings without. 
 The midnight is yelling. 
 The demons' flight telling ; 
 The witch-fire is blazing, 
 The evil-eye gazing : 
 
 Come in !
 
 1) R A M A 1 I C C H A 1' T E R S . 05 
 
 The wild liags are trooping 
 With howling and whooping, 
 With cursing and driving 
 The red air is writhing. 
 
 Like sin ! 
 Branch, hedge-stick, and broom. 
 Seem alive in the gloom ; 
 Like foes that have striven. 
 The black clouds are driven 
 
 Amain ; 
 Whilst rising and rounding. 
 Description confounding, 
 Speeds on the wild rout 
 With l)liud havock and shout 
 
 In their train ! 
 The mountains are gliding. 
 The giant-crags riding, 
 The forest is crashing. 
 The mad ocean dashing — 
 
 So, ho ! 
 As a drunkard returning. 
 The old earth is whirling ; 
 While thunder-rain quafKng, 
 With haggard fiends laughing 
 
 We go ! 
 
 Enter Woi.iuANK. 
 
 TOADFOOT. 
 
 Joy, Wolfbanc ; joy ! 
 Tlu^ filK'U hath sped ! 
 
 The nirfie bath stood !
 
 I 
 
 66 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 The sword is bright 
 That ere the night 
 Shall quiver red 
 
 With blood ! 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 Mount thee^ Toadfoot ; climb the air ; 
 Scatter guilty passions there : 
 Bid them fall on human sight 
 With a pressure and a blight ! 
 Sting the brain and sear the eyes, 
 Bid betraying phantoms rise : 
 Let his reason quit control — 
 Loose revenge upon his soul ! 
 O'er his dark and destined head 
 Hang the spell with murder red ! 
 
 ADOLPHUS, without. 
 
 What, ho ! help, friends ! 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 Footsteps on the forest-dew. 
 Young, yet not to sorrow new ; 
 Yet that hot and hurrying tread 
 Could it but awake the Dead, 
 Rouse the guilty from his bed. 
 It might start a tale of sin 
 Fit for fiends to revel in ! 
 Swift he comes ! but when away — 
 Dawn ! what hath thy book to say ? 
 
 [Examining the heavens.]
 
 DRAMATIC ClIAl'TKUS. 07 
 
 Crimson is the house of Life, 
 Accident with Fate at strife, 
 Wliilst Revenge half hides the knife ! 
 
 Enter Adolphus. 
 
 [Confused f/ihbering of Witches. '\ 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 Welcome lost one ! thou art mine ! 
 
 Hang on air the mystic sign. 
 
 [A I?f/ht is flung upon the air ; it floats ; 
 then appears to fait, but suddenly 
 changes, and soars out of sight.] 
 
 Boy, a guarded life is thine ; 
 
 Fear not, thou hast nought to fear ; 
 
 Welcome to the Witches' cheer ! 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Wolf banc, lend the hoy to me ; 
 I will tend him warily ! 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 stay ! 
 Tell me what these sights may mean. 
 
 WOLFBANE. 
 
 Gaze, hut speak not, till the scene 
 Pass as it had never been ! 
 
 [WoLFBAXE warrs his u-ond : a mngicat 
 scene opens . >r}/h u-'ild dance of 
 IV'ilrhes.']
 
 68 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 WOLFBANE sifigs. 
 
 Come ! hither come ! 
 Come near, come far ; 
 Ye that with the falling star 
 Speed destruction, hither come ! 
 Ever first and ever last — 
 Advance ! 
 To the thunder-drum 
 Of the stormv blast 
 We dance ! 
 Ha ! ha ! for the wild witch-dance ! 
 
 Guilt gives the key 
 
 To misery ; 
 And soon we'll see 
 The gibbet-tree, 
 And round the Dead we'll dance ! 
 
 Ha! ha! 
 Ha ! ha ! for the wild mtch-dance ! 
 
 [Chorus and revel of Witches ; Adolphus 
 swung from one to another into the 
 centre ring, with Midgley, Night- 
 shade, and WoLFBANE. ^cene closes.']
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. (}9 
 
 (B'^upUx X. 
 
 Scene — A romantic vieiv of lake and mountain ; Falk- 
 NER, musing and solitary, discovered leaniuij again si 
 a rock which fences the lake : he speaks. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Hear mc. Eternal Justice, in whose hand 
 Are grasped the judgments of impartial Truth ! 
 Thee I invoke ! To thee I lift mv voice, 
 Thought, feeling, all that may denote a man, 
 Once the proud heir of a most honoured name ; 
 The brother of a true and virtuous maid. 
 Who in all gentler offices CAanced 
 The sweet perfection of a sister's love ! 
 Thee I invoke ! Here as bereft I stand, 
 Bankrupt of spirit, heart and home insolvent. 
 Weigh my unbalanced wrong, and sentence give ; 
 Set me this knave but once witliin my grasp. 
 Let me straight wash dishonour from my blood, 
 Or bid mc tbiuk tliou, Justice, art no more — 
 Truth, Equity, Imt (bcaitis that cheat the heart 
 With hopes that lack rc^sults — 
 
 Shadows that shape
 
 70 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 The grandeur of a Judgment absolute^ 
 Yet, when approached, dissolve in painted air, 
 Leaving us nought of Virtue but the show, 
 Lending us nought of Justice but the name ! 
 
 Enter Jurus. 
 
 JURTJS. 
 
 There he broods again, ever lamenting : 
 I knew him last a soldier, high in honour, 
 Lofty in spirit, jealous of a look. 
 With form and face to win all hearts' regard. 
 I find him lacking of his olden spirit. 
 Mysterious, courting solitude ; heedless of that 
 "Which was his pride before — Society ! 
 I'll e'en accost him, take it as he will. 
 
 \_Ap2)roachi?ig Falkner.] 
 What now, my Falkner ? evermore alone ? 
 Feeding green fancy with forbidden fruit ? 
 But that thy cheek seems thinner than becoming, 
 I'd guess some maiden thus bewildered thee. 
 
 FALKNER, 
 
 A truce, my fi-iend — jest not with misery ! 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 Am I a friend ? 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 None better 'neath the sun.
 
 ]) ]i A M A T I C CHAPTERS. 71 
 
 JURUS, 
 Then thoa defraucrst tliy friend of liis right due : 
 Friend to tliy tongue — a stranger to tliy thought ; 
 Friend to thine ear — an alien to thine heart ; 
 Friend hut in name — not trusted heart and thought ! 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Why thus entreat me to thine own discomfort? 
 Be satisfied ; I love thy peace too well 
 To hearken thy request. 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 Why this attire ? 
 No new misfortune to the multitude 
 My friend seems born to suffer ? 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 No more a soldier, Jurus ; l)ut tcaclicr, scribe, 
 Preceptor, secretary, — what you will — 
 In the castle hard by. 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 Of the fair Lady Bertha ? 
 
 Preceptor, sayst thou? 
 
 I'faith a pupil of so graced a spirit, 
 
 So ])cautiful Anthal, tliat even T, 
 
 The proud magician, as the peasants style me. 
 
 Would change my place for thiiu). 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Magician, Jurus ? still for mystic lore ? 
 Still wearying the stars to counsel thee ? 
 Still building thy foundation upon clouds ?
 
 7'2 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 What men do otherwise than build on clouds ? 
 
 PALKNER. 
 
 Thy new astrology may serve a friend : 
 Hast thou no sign to track a villain's haunts? 
 Doth sin leave no impurity on air, 
 Predictive of its whereabout ? If not. 
 Thy boasted science, comrade, is not worth 
 The instinct of a dog. 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 Wrong not science ! 
 Doubt not thy friend ; nor thine own mind abuse : 
 What knave doth this world hide that thou wouldst find ? 
 And wherefore? 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 A villain . . . and yet why make sick thy heart 
 
 With misery of mine ? [Pauses, agitated.] 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 So moved, my friend : 
 Come, let us be again as college youths ; 
 Pour all thy thoughts into as true a breast. 
 As faithful to thine honour, as of yore. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 My sister, Jurus — 
 
 My idolised, my most beloved sister. 
 
 My only one — we two were all in all ; 
 
 Sole children of our house : shared the same hopes ;
 
 1) If A M A T f C CH A I' T K \t S. 73 
 
 At the same knee breathed the same praj^er together ; 
 Read the same books ; admii'ed tlie self-same walks ; 
 She gathered flowers for me^ and I for her ; 
 Our joys were one ; and ^twas a rivalry 
 Whieh could most love the other ! 
 
 Pardon me — 
 Those were sweet times, my Jurus, when her face, 
 Her young, her innocent, and blooming face. 
 Peeped at my study-window, and, with smiles. 
 Called me from books to Nature's eloquence ; 
 Those were dear hours, had I but known their woi-th. 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 Thy sister? Is she, then, dead? 
 
 FALKNEK. 
 
 Murdered ! and by the cruellest of blows 
 Which strikes at life through reputation, Jurus. 
 Yet she was pure, — oh, most assuredly pure ! 
 Angels might call her sister — and do now, 
 Do even now — in heaven. 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 I have no words — amazement holds me mute. 
 
 FALKNEK. 
 
 I was a captive, chained in Ilydcr's cell. 
 When first there came some whisper of dishonour; 
 Some slander coupled with my sister's name ! 
 Heavens, how I chafed ! how cursed the dungeon-chain 
 Which stopped both ascertainment and revenge ! 
 
 [JVaJks to and fro, offitaied.] 
 
 L
 
 74 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 From hints mysterious^ and lialf utterance. 
 
 The whisper grew and grew (among the prisoners 
 
 Who'd information from the garrison) ; 
 
 The whisper grew from hint and doubt to surety ! 
 
 Then each particular step of this dark act : 
 
 A villain had beguiled her innocence, 
 
 Her artless unsuspicion of deceit. 
 
 With a false marriage ! 
 
 Infamous defraud, 
 Which calls on God to witness perjury ! 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 The marriage then . . 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Was false ! utterly false ! 
 The priest some tool — some miscreant of his own ! 
 The witnesses his vassals ! all a lie ! 
 Got up to wound the dove which sought his breast ; 
 The innocent wife to brand with infamy ! 
 O God, mv Jm-ns, can such monsters sleep ? 
 If sleep, not dream ? if dream, what horrors then 
 Must conscience conjure up to blast their sight — 
 Horrors to which death were mercy ! 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 Thy noble sister ! and was this her fate ? 
 She whose excelling beauty shed a charm 
 Where'er she moved ; so fidl of elegance. 
 That but to see her left remembered grace 
 For after-thought to muse upon : and . . .
 
 DRAMATIC CllAl'TERS. 75 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 And so loAing, Jurus, oh, so loving ; 
 
 So rich in every gentle excellence, 
 
 That it would make one weep — yea, weep — to think 
 
 Of love so pure and man so merciless ! 
 
 Weep — but not tears, not tears ! 
 
 Tears were not made 
 To wash out infamy ! [Daslmig aside his grief.'] 
 
 Oh, what a voice is lost ! 
 'Twas linked to music once, but now to madness ! 
 But she — in her dead beauty — is a shrine 
 Where every day and every hour my thoughts 
 Do offer mournful tribute for her loss ! 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 But his name ! thou gav'st me not his name. 
 
 FALKNER, to liimself. 
 Still in thv time, Eternal Retribution — 
 In thy good time ! 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 Give me his name, that I may learn to curse it ! 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Del , the villain's name is liatcful to my tongue : 
 
 Delmont. Tliougli 1 liavc vainly asked, and sought 
 To Hud liim bv that name. 
 
 .ruRUs. 
 Delmont ! 
 Wliy^ he is hrir nf old Glcnmorcncy
 
 76 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Lord Kelford his new title. If 'tis lie, 
 One more abandoned ne'er disgraced a lineage. 
 I bid tliee spare bim not; 'twere well the world 
 Were rid of such a monster. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Kelford ! not Delmont ? 
 
 So, 'twas thus I missed him ! 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 He dwells but few miles hence. 
 Within the mountain fastness. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 So near ? — so near ? — thank God ; 
 I mark it well. 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 What sayst thou ? 
 
 FALKNER, to himSclf. 
 
 Kelford ? How my hand clutches. 
 As though the air held daggers for me ! 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 Falkner, art thou possessed ? beware, thy face 
 Betrays unhallowed purpose ; meet him still 
 As foe to foe, no daggers in the dark ! 
 
 FALKNER, 'With difficulty restraining his passion. 
 1 feel my hand upon his throat : 
 Methinks I shriek in his perfidious ears,
 
 DRAMATIC CHAP T E R S . 77 
 
 Kclford ! Lord Kclford ! 'tis a Falkncr strikes ! 
 A brother's vengeance clears a sister's "wrongs ! 
 I have him now — at last — within my reach — 
 My rage — at last ! this moment pays for years, 
 Of wild, unprofitable, wearying search ! 
 Kclford ? You're sure his name is Kelford ? 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 Lord Kelford is his name. 
 
 FALKNEK. 
 
 I shall not soon forget it, trust me, Jui'us ! 
 
 'Twould make my sword eat through its very sheath — 
 
 A spell to conjure murder ! 
 
 JUKUS. 
 
 Murder? calm thy thoughts; 
 Season all things 'svitli caution — see the man ! 
 This is no debt for hastv settlement : 
 Though profligate, he yet hath power and rank ! 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Rank ? Tell mc what is rank ? Unless the man 
 Match with his station, title but degrades. 
 Contrasting its ascendancy ^yith that 
 Wliich is below the common altitude ! 
 As sunbeams gikl a ])uddlc but to shew 
 TIow mean a thing may glitter for a time ! 
 His rank ? assuredlv I'll mind his rank : 
 Shew me the track.
 
 78 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 JUKUS. 
 His very castle, if" thou wilt. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! thanks Jurus — five years are shaken 
 As so much dust from oft' my eager feet ! 
 I am a youth again — he lives — he lives ! 
 'Twere worth a thousand lives to know he lives ! 
 And I may yet avenge ! 
 
 [Exit hastily, Jvrvs folloiving.']
 
 I) ]{ A M A T I C C IT A 1' T E R S . 79 
 
 mjiupM XI. 
 
 ScENB — Interior of the cottage; the last crimson ray of 
 the setting sun streamimj through, the narrow case- 
 ment ; Dorothy asleep on a low couch; Hannah 
 loatching. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 There is no hope — 
 
 The hunters tell me he would cross the ridge. 
 That savugc ridge which slopes to the raAdne : 
 That narrow, winding, and precipitous ridge : 
 Despite their counsel and experience — go. 
 Trusting existence to the merest chance. 
 The hazard of a step, which, missed, is death ! 
 'Twas late, he said : otlicrs had tried the pass. 
 And so would he : ^twould save him miles ! 
 How oft a life's been lost to sa^e a mile. 
 Perchance a moment only : on they rush — 
 The car o'ertakes them, or the branch betrays. 
 And men lift up a cri])i)lc or a corpse ! 
 
 [Dorothy moves on the couch.'] 
 Arc you not easy, mother ? [A pause.] 
 
 She sleeps : 'twas but the liand that slii)])rd aside ; 
 Yet like I not this sleep ; it is too calm :
 
 80 DR A ]\I A TIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 There's something fearful in its silentness ! 
 The thin Hps yield their breath — but oh, so slight, 
 It stirs not the grey hair that loosely hangs 
 O'er that spare eheek and lean discoloured neck. 
 Again she moves ; it is an awful sight ! 
 
 [Dorothy aivakes, and endeavours to rise; 
 Hannah assists, and props her up with 
 pillows; speaking kindly.^ 
 Feel you still that pain ? 
 
 It strained you sorely whilst it lasted, mother. 
 But you've slept well. 
 
 DOROTHY. 
 
 I shall sleep better soon. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 God grant it. It is hard to see you pained ! 
 Sharp as it is, sooner a thousand times 
 I'd bear the pang myself, than see you pained : 
 That's well — you're better now? 
 
 DOROTHY. 
 
 Soon — I shall be better soon : 
 
 The grave hath called — I heard its voice in sleep ; 
 
 The fourscore years and ten of my poor life 
 
 Hath one step more to make, and that's the grave ! 
 
 This heart seems tired of beating ; seared with age. 
 
 Death wiU be rest to it, and peace to me. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Yom- dream hath left you sad — I'll bring you food ; 
 'Twill chase these thoughts, which oft attend the sick.
 
 I ) If A .M A r I (' C H A 1* T K R S. 81 
 
 DOKOTHV. 
 
 True ; kindly meant, and more than kindly said : 
 But never more sliall I taste human food. 
 God hless thee, daughter of my own. loved eliild ! 
 Good as she was to me, slie left her heart, 
 And all its goodness too, within thy hreast 
 When she died, leaving thee : 
 
 'Twas a blest hour 
 That brought thee safe; from India ! 
 India? [Sifddcnbj raisin^/ lierself, and searching 
 
 anxiously round the cottage.^ 
 The boy ? Is he not found ? Speak — quick ! 
 Adolphus — where is he ? 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 He knows ATlio all things knoM's, — none else, none else. 
 
 DOROTHY. 
 
 And sought'st thou not His aid? 
 
 [Hannah is silent.] 
 That was a fault my child, a grievous fault : 
 These old and weary eyes are soon to close. 
 Yet ere they lose God's blessed light —let them 
 See thine look up to Him. 
 
 IIAXN AH. 
 
 'Tis useless, mother, useless — lie is dead I 
 
 DOROTHY, rising slowly hut resolutely, until she sits 
 
 at her full height. 
 'Tis my command - the last that I shall make! 
 Thou'st knelt beside my knee a little child ; 
 
 M
 
 82 DRAMATIC C TT A P T E R S . 
 
 I charge thee kneel there now, even at my knee ! 
 
 [Hannah, subdued and sorrowful, obeys her 
 meekly. Dorothy folds her daughter's 
 hands m hers, and lifts them heaven- 
 ward.^ 
 
 God, hear our prayer ! Protect this wandering boy ! 
 
 All strength but Thine is weakness : hear us Thou. 
 
 Our trust is still in Thee ! Great help of hearts ! 
 
 Our trust — is still — in — Thee ! — 
 
 [DoROTHY/fl/& back, and dies; Midgley, ivhd 
 is watching tlirough the casement, starts 
 back as she witnesses the death of Doro- 
 thy ; then approaches once more, and 
 cautiously opens the casement.^ 
 
 MIDfiLKY. 
 
 Peace to this roof! 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Away, deceitful hag ! 
 My sorrow needs no filling up of thine ! 
 Mother and son both gone — both lost — both dead. 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Nor lost — nor dead : thy son, Adol])hus, lives. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Thou'rt human, sure ? 
 
 Thou could^st not be so hard, unfeeling, vile. 
 As mock me in an hour so dread as this. 
 And trifle ^dth affliction deep as mine?
 
 I) li A M A T 1 (' (■ 1 1 A 1' T I-: li S . 83 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Adolplius lives ! 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Why comes he not ? He could not better come 
 Than now ; I have most need of comfort now ! 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 I cannot stay ; 'twere dangerous to stay ! 
 
 I mean thee well, have always meant thee well, 
 Despite thy douhts, and sneers, and usages : 
 In future think a dark and hag-like face 
 
 May hide a heart as fair as those who boast 
 I'he outward ^•autage of a fairer cheek. 
 Thy boy is safe ! 
 
 Hut come he may not yet. Meet me beside 
 The bridge, beyond the chasin in the wood : 
 Believe he's safe : let that suffice to night. 
 
 [^IiDGLEY }iastens from the rusement.^ 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 I I shall ! — it shall ! [A pause.] 
 How strange a thing is death ! though deaf for years. 
 Vet seemed she to detect the shghtest sound 
 
 For hours before she died ! AVhat can it be 
 
 Which in its visitation thus dissolves 
 
 The impediment of years? I know not : 
 
 This — this T know, that I will straight o'ercome 
 
 My heat of temper: many a hasty Mord 
 
 Have T addressed 'gainst thee; I)iit I ivpcnt, — 
 
 llepent, and ask thee pardon on my knees; 
 
 Lil'elcss as tliou best there ; |i;iiil()n, pale corpse ! 
 
 'rii;it 1 viwifteii ha\e ofleiuled thee.
 
 84 I) R A iSI A T I C CHATTERS. 
 
 Thy dying lesson, motlier, is not lost ! 
 
 ^Tis His own work ! Mv trust is now in llim ! 
 
 [PIannah bends weejuiu/ oi-er the body of Douo- 
 THY. Scene efoses.l
 
 DRAMATIC CUAJ'TEliS. 8i5 
 
 Scene — A svinptaons apartment w Kelford (Jast/c : 
 KklI'ORD, attired in a loose floivinf/ robe, /ounr/inf/ 
 upon a sofa ; around appear marble trusts and statues 
 from the antique ; Indian curiosities, rases of flowers, 
 Iwoks, and music, adorn the taf)tes .• the irhole apart- 
 ment ea:hit)itin(j a)i air of e.iirenie Inxary and rejlne- 
 ment : he spet/ks. 
 
 KLLroiti). 
 This Clorio fivts me — she's too loxiii;;- far ; 
 Her feelings overstep lier l)o\ 's (lisii;iiise : 
 She's ever on the latcli ol' a discovery, 
 Which made, would I jiiuj^ love's bankru})t stock to sale! 
 Then for a catalo<>;ne of damaj^ed vows — 
 Words of an hour, en<::raAed on adamant ; 
 And Mliispcr'd nonsense, echoed thunder-loiid I 
 Indeed she had ontwearied me, and lonj;:, 
 lint for her cheerful nature, whicli still suiilcs 
 'Mid fallinp; tears, as moonlijjcht 'midst tli(> dew. 
 She is a I'iddlc cxcii to herself: 
 One iiioiiH'iit ]U'iisivc next, as wliimsical I 
 Would try temptation to the utrcrmost.
 
 86 1> K A M A T 1 (' C n A J' T K R S . 
 
 And still keep virtuous on the brink of vice. 
 She's one most like to choose some desperate act, 
 Were I not cautious ; and this frets me. Frets ? 
 They'd need have patience who live much with women. 
 Her tongue ! 'tis too o'er-ripe a page's tongue ; 
 That tongue which, like a silver bell, rings on 
 O'er much, methiidvs, on one particidar note. 
 Marriage, forsooth ! As though the Lord of Kelford 
 Should mate him with . . . 
 
 But here she comes. 
 
 CLOKio sinffs without. 
 With the solitude of ages. 
 
 In the hoary woods sublime. 
 Hung two vast and glorious cages. 
 
 Which belonged to Time. 
 Songs from one came sweet and pleasant, 
 
 From the other hope seem'd cast. 
 The merry bird was called the Present, 
 The melancholy bird the Past. 
 
 [Enter Clorio, singing, with lute and 
 flowers.'] 
 Time, I saw, was feeding ever 
 
 His sweet favourite from his store ; 
 But the Past he came to never. 
 
 Though she'd been his joy before ! 
 Still the Past would give its warning, 
 
 " Not so long wilt thou be dear." 
 Though the bird sang night and morning. 
 Never would the Present hear ! 
 
 [Repeats sloivly and inipressire/t/.] 
 NcA or would the Present hear !
 
 DRA^fATIC CHAPTERS. 8/ 
 
 \_Sif//is, then suddenly changes to u 
 I'u/ht and livehj air.] 
 From the fields, fi-om the fields, 
 
 I have gather' d fresh flowers, 
 The sweetest and rarest 
 
 That graee summer hours : 
 I've roses, wild roses, 
 
 Whieh beam in their light. 
 Like the lips of a beauty, 
 
 All balmy and In'ight ! 
 
 From the woods, from tlu^ woods, 
 
 Where the bird-songs are gay, 
 And where young lovers walk 
 
 III tlio clear moon ray : 
 I have flowers of all hues, 
 
 Like a rich sun-set skv, 
 Gold, piu'ple, and crimson — 
 
 Oil, come, come and buy ! 
 
 See here, my lord : 
 The flowers are Flora's library, uiid iiiiuo. 
 Sec here's the gorgeous poppy; i\\{\ you know 
 This proud flower wears a crown ? by bards untold. 
 But in its bloom the crown is at its heart — 
 hi seed, upon its licad. The crowned poppy ! 
 Come, offer homage at its coronation ! 
 And here's that gem, the lily of the vale ! 
 What strange disparity ajjpcars betwixt 
 The fairy flower and its gigantic leaf! 
 fjike Love upon tlic hip ol' I Ici-ciilcs, 
 Hiding lier beauty on his aiiijjlc breast,
 
 88 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Content to be unseen by all save him ! 
 Nature plays freaks in floral marriages 
 Almost as strange as man oft plays in his. 
 But you are weary ? 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 No ; you make me think, 
 And thought is silent: listeners should be mute. 
 
 CLORIO. 
 
 I always fancy silence a rebuke. 
 
 Nothing to hear, leaves nothing to reply. 
 
 Say something, if 'tis only to find fault. 
 
 Now, here's a glass where Venus' self hath looked, 
 
 And left her beauty's image ; and mark this. 
 
 The purple larkspur ! Might not royalty 
 
 Eejoice to Avear the robe this simple flower 
 
 So modestly assumes ? Are these not books ? 
 
 Look on the lily pure, and tremble, guilt ! 
 
 I read their coloured pages, and grow wise. 
 
 KELFOHD. 
 
 'Tis a girl's love; 
 
 Thou'lt change these thoughts with years ; 
 
 For hath not nature nobler works than flowers V 
 
 CLORIO. 
 
 The trees — the village trees — I love them all ; 
 The oak, whose firm heart breasts the haughty wave ; 
 The pine, ambitious of the starry sky ; 
 Willow, that weeping bends, like widowed woe — 
 The Niobe of Trees ! And vet thou'lt smile 
 
 I
 
 DRAMATIC CHAl'TKRS. <S9 
 
 When I l)ut name my favourite ! Pray guess. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 The ehesnut — 'tis a grove witliiu itself; 
 Yet 'twas Salvator's idol ere 'twas thine. 
 
 CLORIO. 
 
 My passion shines less lofty : 'tis the haAvthorn, 
 
 Whose green arms twine my home ! I shake with joy 
 
 Its Icafv hand, and welcome its old face. 
 
 You laugh ! \A pause.] 
 
 Right well I know the tree can see me not, 
 
 But He who made both tree and girl doth look 
 
 In angel silence down, and blesses both ! 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 I'm schooled ; my young enthiisiast, speak on. 
 'Tis pity love like tliine should e'er know change. 
 
 CLORIO. 
 
 But some I hate ; they look like evil things. 
 The wrinkled elder, the sepulchral yew, 
 The rank aiul haggard fir, witch of the woods ! 
 The g\df-betrayiug tree, that spreads a net 
 ^Po snare the hunter's foot ; and many moi-e. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Of these nuoii. 'Vhy hand is on ihy lute: 
 \Vhat hast tlion new to oft'er — tun(> or song? 
 
 CI.OKIO. 
 
 If will were skill, then would 1 sini;- indeed. 
 
 N
 
 90 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 KELFOKD. 
 
 When skill is wilful, there's more prate than speed. 
 
 CLORio sings. 
 What is richer far than gold ? 
 
 Sweeter than the lips of morn ? 
 Brighter than those hopes untold^ 
 
 Dying fast as they are born ? 
 Say for what kings bend the knee, 
 
 Deeming it beyond a throne. 
 Know'st thou not? Oh, 'tis to be 
 
 Loved but for one^s self alone ! 
 
 Loved as hearts may love and live, 
 
 With no sordid view beyond ! 
 All I ask the world to give 
 
 Is a constant heart and fond ! 
 Were I monarch of the sea. 
 
 Gold and priceless gems my own, 
 I'd resign them all to be 
 
 Loved but for mvself alone ! 
 
 KELFORD, gazing upon her admiringly. 
 My nightingale ! my ever beautiful ! 
 I^hy voice hath borrowed sweetness from thy love. 
 'Tis worth Love's hearing when the heart's the lute 
 The feelings play upon ! 
 
 Love's the true master ! 
 He lends a sunlight unto song, which wanting. 
 Leaves all expression cold and spiritless. 
 There's nought so sweet as love. 
 
 Think' st thou not thus?
 
 DUA.MATIC {• 11 A I'TE It S. 91 
 
 CLORIO. 
 Nought so sweet as love of thine ; 
 If still thou lov'st me ? 
 
 KELFOKJ). 
 
 Love thee ! Sluill 1 swear ? 
 
 15y Cupid's self 
 
 CLORIO, intcrruptiny him arckhj, and with sadden 
 
 animation. 
 Nay, swear not ! — least by him, the Proteus god ! 
 The boy hath grown a man — his ciu'ly locks 
 Shorn of their golden beauty — and his wings, 
 His odorous plumes, alack ! are stripp'd for quills. 
 Each day at Doctors' Commons, wigg'd and gowu'd, 
 He greets the bench, and wins the applauding coui't 
 With knowledge of estates, green parks, and grounds. 
 Shews curious skill in searching musty wills; 
 Finds figure in a fortune, be she humped ! 
 Nay, e'en a limp nuiy seem a graceful glide, 
 A charming eccentricity of gait ! 
 AVealth is your only multi})licr : it makes one 
 So much like two, you'd scarcely note the loss ! 
 Two eyes? 'tis an extravagance of sight ! 
 (iold is the rouge which makes a wan check Ijlooin. 
 Protest by Cupid V 'Tis a sorry oath ! 
 No; swear upon the altar of these flowers: 
 And prove thou false, each leaf shall find a tongue 
 To bid incautious love beware man's aows ; 
 For, like the leaves, they'll fall and l)e no more, 
 And leave an autumn in the heart, ])erchance, 
 Whose hopes sIkiU droop, shall die like wither'd lea\c'.>.
 
 92 DRAMATIC C H A i' T E R S . 
 
 Alas, for love ! 
 
 [Clorio sighs, and pulls the floivers, scat- 
 tering their bloom sorrowfully.^ 
 
 KELFORD, aside. 
 What a creature it is! 
 How brilliant, liow romantic, how capricious ! 
 Now Avill she pout for a week, unless I coax 
 And soothe her humour. 
 
 [Aloud.] So gay, and now so grave ! 
 Thus joy is ever timid of its power. 
 Whilst grief is all too bold. Resume thy smiles ; 
 Joy is the sunlight of the heart. Thou know'st 
 We count a myriad clouds for but one sun. 
 Be, then. Affection our security. 
 We'll marry truth to joy ; and Truth's eternal, 
 So Joy may prove immortal, married thus. 
 Nay, one smile ! 
 
 One, like the red seal on love's perfumed note ! 
 Ay, now thou look'st thyself! As beauteous 
 As that hour I saw thee first, and worshipped ! 
 
 [Enter Beauford.] 
 I'm busy ! 
 
 A¥hat, Beauford, is it thou? 
 I'll hear thy song anon, my pretty page. 
 
 [Exit Clorio poutingly, but returns unseen, 
 
 and conceals herself behind a marble 
 
 group, listening^ 
 Now what of Bertha ? Will she list my suit ? 
 Accepted she my note ? Speak, what said she ? 
 How looked she? Come, thy news and quickly.
 
 I ) ]i A M A T I C C 11 A r T E U S. 1)3 
 
 BEAUFORD. 
 
 Tliou'rt a strange, chaugcfiil being. Fresh from vows 
 
 To one who loves thee to idolatry, 
 
 As saints love some pure shrine and passionless. 
 
 Is't well, mv lord ? If this same ardour hold 
 
 For Lady Bertha, what is Glorious fate ? 
 
 Or 'tis not worth, perchance, your lordship's question, 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Preach not, but speed thy news. Thou saw'st her not? 
 
 I read it in thy look ; thy pale, vexed lip. 
 
 Not liking the cramp tidings it must yield, 
 
 Delays its office with this senseless chat 
 
 Of Clorio. Clorio ! AV here's the use of it? 
 
 I must have some one to amuse dull hours. 
 
 I'd think the night but dark with all its stars. 
 
 If Avanting that best light of human life. 
 
 The light of woman's eyes. For Clorio here. 
 
 She makes a better page and pleasantcr 
 
 That she loves well her master; nothing more. 
 
 BEAUFORD. 
 
 Nothing more ? 
 
 A\ by this disguise is fatal to her fame. 
 
 Who looks for virtue 'ncatli tlie roof of \ice? 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Disguise ? tut man, the world is fidl of it ! 
 
 It hourly walks the street — a })u1)lic speaker — 
 
 The busiest meddler known witliin the city ! 
 
 Disguise ? 
 
 AV'hy, wliat a paradox is human Hfc I
 
 94 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 For ever seeming other tliau it is. 
 Ambitious of a straw, and casting down 
 The wealth of years to grasp it ; eager still 
 The substance for the shadow to exchange ! 
 Men of deep mind assuming coxcomb airs. 
 Whilst fops discourse like learned philosophers. 
 The maiden prates of battles, sieges, broils — 
 Changes her gumpowder for gunpowder — 
 Her beads for bullets — caps for cannon-balls, 
 And deems her chamber door but half secure 
 Unless she sleep with sword beneath her pillow ! 
 The warrior, with a lassitude of limb. 
 Lets not the whitest hand allure his feet 
 Into the fascinations of the waltz ; 
 Whilst the worn veteran, old and gouty-toed. 
 Smirks at the fairest, and with hobbling gait 
 Seeks the distraction of his toes, and dances ! 
 The tall man hooks his shoulders to look less ; 
 The little stretch to cracking to seem tall ! 
 The groom affects to be a gentleman — 
 The peer assumes the habits of a groom I 
 And thus in the strange farce of human life. 
 The old and young — lean, fat, and short, and tall 
 The grave, the gay, the trivial and profound, 
 Are handy-pandy which is which ? and guess — 
 But farthest from the point : 'tis odds your right! 
 Some read the book the best the wrong side up, 
 And such should solve, or still with me exclaim. 
 Zounds ! what a paradox is human life ! 
 Disguise? quotha: why 'tis the very thing 
 Thou art about ! Disguise, which suits thee not : 
 Let's have it; come my note's refused? 
 Thy stops forbade her door ?
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. D') 
 
 BEAUFOllD. 
 
 'Tis even so, Avith much more contumely. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 The Graces cm'se her with their absence, then ! 
 
 Love never cross the threshold of her house ! 
 
 Now could 1 hate — if it were in my nature 
 
 To hate the Beautiful ! \_A pause.'] 
 
 I have a scheme 
 May reach her vet : this scorn is something new 
 In the sweet history of my gallantries ; 
 'Tis a fresh movement in the game, and spurs 
 My science in love's mysteries ; come, 
 We'll speak of this still farther : woman yet 
 Hath rarely proved an overmatch for Kelford, [^Ea,'eunt.] 
 
 CLOiiio alarmed and agitated, steps fonvard. 
 Heard I aright ? And I have loved this man, 
 This cold and systematic libertine, 
 AVho feeds his vanity on love betrayed. 
 Makes women's tears a daily sacrifice ! 
 O man, ungrateful, false, unfeeling man, 
 That tramplest on the sweetest boon God gave — 
 A woman's heart ! say in thy sickness who 
 Makes her fond arms a pillow for thy head? 
 Who, when that high and haughty bearing droops, 
 Sits like a ministeiing angel ])y thy side 
 To whisper hope, and comfort, and affection? 
 Woman ! 
 
 Hear it, O Truth, and register her name ! 
 Say, when misfortune treads on (mterprise. 
 When storms commercial cast thee on the shore 
 All wrecked and l)ankrupt of thy golden freight.
 
 96 DRAMATIC C H A I' T ]-: R S . 
 
 Who, when the herd forsake thee, yet chngs true ? 
 
 And still thy harsh and altered temper bears 
 
 With wise forgiveness, serving thee the more 
 
 That other friends should have forsaken thee ; 
 
 Coining affections to make rich thy home. 
 
 And prove to thee, whilst God still left thee her. 
 
 Thou never — oh, thou never couldst be poor ! 
 
 Who suffering half so much is so forgiving ? 
 
 Who counselling so well is heard so ill ? 
 
 Who loving so entirely, so devotedly, 
 
 Hath her love wounded half so cruelly ? 
 
 The rose of her affections, leaf by leaf. 
 
 Oft scattered on the harsh and cruel winds, 
 
 Unheeded where it falls, how soon it dies ! 
 
 And tell me, man, remorseless, reckless man. 
 
 Who, when the very softness of her nature. 
 
 Her tenderness, her weakness bids her fall 
 
 To thy relentless arts and perfidy — who. 
 
 Who abandons her to the sharp pelting 
 
 Of a pitiless world ? shorn to the quick, 
 
 Outcast and desolate, to mate with shame. 
 
 Or find her only pillow in the grave ? 
 
 Who? 
 
 God hides His face, and angels mourn — 'tis Man. 
 
 [Exit.] 
 
 i
 
 I) R A M A TI C CHAPTERS. 1)7 
 
 €(6)aipto XIII. 
 
 Scene — A villaye; peasants merry -makin (/ ; Jacob very 
 consec/uetitial amongst them. 
 
 PEASANT. 
 
 Jacob, give thee joy ! We give thee joy, Jaeol) ! 
 'Tis .said tliou art to bo clerk of tlic parish. 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 It hath pleased the good minister 
 So to appoint it. 
 
 PEASANT. 
 
 The good minister? nay, the good Jacob 
 So to deserve it. 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 I do not vaunt — success maketh a man proud. 
 Nevertheless I assume no pride, ])casants ; 
 Though clerk is a pretty name and a worsbipful, 
 Nevertheless I ask you not to say 
 Clerk Jacol) ! T say 1 ask ye not to call inc 
 Clerk Jacob ! 
 
 o
 
 98 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Although every man's title is his right : 
 
 Delectus esset dignitatis. 
 
 And Clerk Jacob's mine, if every man got his due. 
 
 I confess that I have a pretty manner witlial, 
 
 And a voice of some mellifluousness. 
 
 Albeit it becometh not me so to exalt 
 
 Mine own acquirements : princibus cede. 
 
 PEASANT. 
 
 We give you joy, Mr. Clerk Jacob. 
 
 JACOB, smiling conceitedly . 
 Nay, good people ; nay, of a verity 
 I take it most unfriendly of you, 
 As to the Mister — plain Clerk Jacob ! 
 I would assume no dignity unworthy 
 The occasion and the antiquity of mine office. 
 Vitiis nemo sine nascitur. I pretend not 
 To be better than my neighbours. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Now, as thou art a learned clerk, I put it to thee, 
 Believ'st thou aught of witchcraft '? 
 
 PEASANT. 
 
 Witchcraft ? Oh, la, neighbours, let us away. 
 
 I dare never sleep alone o' nights 
 
 If I listen to witchcraft. [Exeunt Peasants.] 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 Of what craft, good Master Clown ? 
 
 I
 
 D 11 A i\l A T I C C II A i' T E R S . i)i) 
 
 CLOWN, 
 
 Of witchcraft, sorcery, of bead and ])ook ; 
 
 Of magic circles, round which dead men's bones 
 
 Dance to the hollow di'um of their own coffins. 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 Of a verity. Clown : did not the Avisest queen, 
 Ay, and the best old England ever crowned. 
 Did not Elizabeth considt the stars. 
 And summoned Dee, the great astronomer, 
 Conjiu'or, foreteller, and Satan's agent. 
 To name the day for her own coronation ? 
 Jklicve in witchcraft? Of a surety, Clown. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 But hold they intercourse with spirits, thinkst thou V 
 Eh, Jacob? thou art learned ; a reader, Jacob ; 
 A studier of sciences, I've seen ; but mum I 
 I spied thee throat deep in old musty books. 
 Parchments, and piled papers ; and I said. 
 If thou wouldst seek out knowledge, ^Master Clown, 
 Shake hands now with thyself; for here's the man 
 Could send thee home \nth every brain-shell loaded. 
 Tell me, though, honestly — now good Sir Clerk — 
 Heliev'st in "numbers mystical." Eii, Jacob? — 
 Eh, good Sir Clerk — good ]\raster Jacol) — Clerk! 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 Why Clown, — y^/o/ Jiomines tot senteiitm — 
 As many men so many opinions : 
 Nathless I like not secinsi'. . . .
 
 100 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 CLOWN interrupting him eayerly, and rubbhuj 
 his hands. 
 No — well; no more do I. 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 What ? 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Nay, I said nothing — did I ? Well, good Jacob, 
 Thou lik'st not seeing. . , 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 Mystical numbers from all time have been 
 The ready beads of superstition, Clown — 
 Credulity the thread to hang them on ! 
 Nevertheless I like not number seven. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 No, thou lik'st better luimber one, Clerk Jacob ; 
 A jest — no disrespect to thine office — a poor jest ! 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 Thirteen at table suits my fancy not, 
 For thereon hangs a fatal prophecy. 
 
 CLOWN, solemnly. 
 Nine has been cursed. 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 Not cursed ; there be nine Muses : 
 Curse not the Muses, (/loAvn.
 
 DRAMATIC" CllAI'TEUS. KH 
 
 CLOWN. 
 1 know not wliat a JNIuse is. 
 
 JAC015. 
 
 Why tliou amuses — ha ! was 1 not quick ? 
 'Twas jest for jest — a veiy nimble wit ! 
 Three Graces . . . 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Three? 
 
 I know but two : what's the third ? 
 
 AVe say but two i' the kitchen, 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 Not know ? then knowing not the tldrd 
 
 Mak'st thee a graceless Clown ! 
 
 I la, good again, i' faith — a spicy wit ; 
 
 A very racy wit. \Go'my.\ 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Nay, an' you be a fetching of Avit, 
 
 I am myself no indifferent carrier : 
 
 Tell me now — [Exit Jacoik] 
 
 Gone? [Goes a few steps, and calls after hint.'] 
 
 Jacob ! Clerk Jacob ! canst thou tell me . . . 
 
 He's gone, without hearing my best ! 
 
 lie should have heard my best; 
 
 Peter says its my best ! AVhy is . . . [Enter Peter.] 
 
 I've told it thee before, Peter. 
 
 I'KTEU. 
 
 Twenty times; thou scorest my memory daily.
 
 IU2 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 I lack counsel, Peter ; construe me this — 
 
 Is good sleeping true sign of a good conscience ? 
 
 PETER. 
 
 Sure, as good eating is sign of a good appetite. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Then listen ; for I have that withal to tell thee 
 Will knock the feet of thy knowledge from under thee : 
 A bad conscience sleepeth not during the night — 
 Good ! 
 
 PETER. 
 
 How, good ? 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Nay, the conscience is bad, but the impi'imis good ; 
 
 A bad conscience walketh at midnight — 
 
 Muttereth to itself — holdeth discourse 
 
 With things in\dsible; 
 
 For your bad conscience hath a cowardly sight ! 
 
 PETER. 
 
 Well, Avell, get rid of thy bad conscience : 
 What next? 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Lend me thine ear, and keep thy tongue close 
 Betwixt thy teeth, thus, lest it slip to thy lips : 
 Then follows it, Master Peter, \W1iispering.'] 
 
 That this Falkner
 
 DRAMATIC CJIAl'TKIiS. ^()o 
 
 Hath an evil conscience ! I sleep over liim ; 
 First floor of all others from the ceiling, 
 Cool in winter, hot in summer ; I'm hut a clown — 
 It matters not where I lodge. 
 
 But as I tell thee, 
 This Falkncr waketh me all horu's of the night : 
 It's not a little can rouse me, for I'm a hard sleeper. 
 Well ! I start me up — midnight ; the old tower 
 Striking one, two, three ; and bolt upright I listen : 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp, to and fro ; then a noise 
 As though some one threw himself heavily 
 Into a chair ; then — nearer yet ! — groans — Peter ; 
 Such heart-splitting groans : oh, dear ! 
 Then a window sloAvly and creakingly 
 Heaved up, as though the air of the place 
 Had grown too hot for him. 
 
 Once, when I could hear it no longer, I knocked, 
 And inquired whether he were ill ? 
 
 PKTER. 
 
 Well 'f 
 
 CLOW^N. 
 
 Well ; no reply — silent as fear : after 
 Waiting some time I retm-ned to my loft. 
 And heard no more of him that night. 
 Take my word for it, Peter, if our lady 
 Weddcth him, the 1)rid;d wreath will prove 
 Of black flowers ; a garland of crape. 
 With gloves to match ; no man li\ctli h)ng 
 That sleepeth not: they say lie's been in India! 
 I like not people that liave been in India.
 
 104 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 PETER. 
 
 Tliou mightst as well tell me — tliey say he's not 
 Had his dinner ; I like not people 
 Who have not had their dinner. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Well, peradventure I don't. 
 
 PETER. 
 
 Don't what ? 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Like people who have not had their dinner. 
 
 PETER. 
 
 Thy most marvellous reason ? 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 'Tis plain as a pikestaff. 
 People who have not had their dinner 
 Are empty ; emptiness is folly ; 
 Folly is depravity — dost thou mark ? 
 Depra-^dty is vice^ and vice is crime : 
 Err/o, it is a crime to be hungry ! 
 People who have not had their dinner 
 Lack virtue ; therein they are obnoxious. 
 Therefore in my disfavour. 
 
 PETER. 
 
 Thou hast been in wise company, 
 
 Where thou hast found more 7vhys than ivherefores ; 
 
 But herein thou art un^vise, 
 
 Therefore a clown !
 
 1) U A M A T I (' t; II A I' T K R S. 1 (>5 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 A non seqnitiir, Peter — a non set/uitur. 
 
 Thy civility is a little soured in the hleachiiig ; 
 
 That is to say, thou takest hbertics. 
 
 PETER. 
 
 Let me take the further liberty 
 Of advising thee . . . 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Ay, Master Peter, 
 
 PETER. 
 
 Not to be over liberal with thy stoi'v 
 Of this Falkner : thy not likiiii;- him 
 Matters little, but his not Hking thee 
 Might cost thee thy place, lie wary, CloAvn. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 I will, an thou wilt own now 1 have a learning. 
 
 And a nice skill as to causes — cute in question 
 
 I do enjoy a bit of your deep })hilosophy — 
 
 I should like to dive, and bring up 
 
 Out of the great sea of knowledge 
 
 The why and the wherefore of every thing. 
 
 PETER. 
 
 Keep as thou art, Clown ; the sea of folly 
 Ilath as many divers within it, 
 And the knowledge they bring to the surface 
 Is equally popnlar.
 
 lOG DRAMATIC CIlAi'TERS. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Popular ? 
 
 I remember an orator, Peter, 
 
 A fine, lisping, mincing, gentleman. 
 
 So rnuch in love with liis own eloquence 
 
 That he was always clipping his own words. 
 
 PETER. 
 
 Clipping ! ha, ha, ha ! thou shin'st to day. Clown. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 I had but little schooling worth calling ; 
 
 But genius, Peter, genius makes up for it. 
 
 Old Leadline, the schoolmaster, owns to this day 
 
 That when only in two letters, I made them 
 
 Sound out like words of three syllables. 
 
 Ay, Peter, but fine scholarship's a fine thing. 
 
 I learnt just sufficient to puzzle my brains. 
 
 And so made me a clown ! If I get 
 
 A good thought, 'tis a blunder of nature ! 
 
 PETER. 
 
 Why then, thy wisdom, Clown, might blunder here : 
 This Falkner, after all, may be in love ! 
 Forgetful of his food — why proof of love ! 
 Absent when spoken to — sure sign of love ! 
 Given to lonely musing — still 'tis love ! 
 Sleepless o' nights — undoubtedly 'tis love ! 
 Thy adder's nest will prove a very dove's. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Love ? if that be love, I know no picture on't.
 
 I) R A M A r I C CHAP ']• l<; li s. I (li 
 
 Tlic Love 1 «a\v Avas apple-cheeked and plump; 
 
 A game of forfeits in the rogue^s blue eyes ; 
 
 Love, Peter ? — pish, go wash thine eyes, good Peter ; 
 
 Love's ever where there's feasting — mind you that. 
 
 Love, quotha ? I'd as soon wed the church-clock, 
 
 And be struck on the head all hours of the day ; 
 
 Not l)ut a wise man may be mistaken, Peter, 
 
 And one of less wisdom set him right. 
 
 Thou hast scholarship ! 
 
 If I had sat on a Tjatin form for a fortnight, 
 
 T^ike thee, I'd have known the language ere this. 
 
 PETER. 
 
 So, then. 
 
 Thou dost own that some arc wiser tliaii thou y 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Ay, some are wise, Peter, 
 
 And some are other- wise, Peter ! 
 
 1 wish Jacob heard that : 
 
 Some arc wise, and some are otherwise, Peter. 
 
 PETEK, 
 
 Come along. . 
 
 [^Si'izbnj hhii jokhufhf by tin; car, uiid piiUbiri 
 him. off.] 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 lla! you sec I'ui not lo be led by the nose. [Kjriin/.]
 
 108 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 mmpM xww. 
 
 Scene — Gardens and oniamental grounds adjoining the 
 castle ; statues of the Classic Deities grace the many 
 beautiful ivalks and vistas. Enter Lady Bertha 
 and Annette. 
 
 LADY BERTHA. 
 
 Most sweetly sang you ; but though music be 
 
 Almost a passion of my beings still 
 
 The verse, like to a silver swan, should float 
 
 Upon the stream of melody, and clear 
 
 Its graceful presence should be borne along, 
 
 Defined and perfect in its loveliness : 
 
 Note following note, like wave succeeding wave. 
 
 Should lift its theme still higher than itself, 
 
 Not drown it in the tide of harmony, 
 
 Lose it in billows of ambitious sounds. 
 
 As thou didst now. 'Twas passing sweet, I own; 
 
 But there were words as sweet, the which I lost. 
 
 And should be glad to hear. Let's have them ; come. 
 
 And that without the music.
 
 J ) 11 A M A r 1 C C 11 A r T E R S. 1 < I! ) 
 
 ANNETTE^ t'eptats the soiiy. 
 I told uiy lips tliey must disj^iiisc 
 
 The secret of rov soul ; 
 But, oh, uiy heart flew to my eyes, 
 
 Aud told almost the whole ! 
 
 Oh, eyes too swift of love to speak, 
 
 No more such thoughts reveal ; 
 'Twas vain : Love next upon my cheek 
 
 Wrote all I would conceal ! 
 
 And thus by every glance betrayed, 
 
 My hidden love made known, 
 I'm of my very heart afraid. 
 
 For it seems not my own ! 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 'Tis as I thought, Avords worthy of the notes; 
 
 If both thou canst not give, though both were best. 
 
 Then sacrifice the music, not the muse ! 
 
 Sounds must be Avinged with thoughts and living words 
 
 To touch the heart ; without them sweetness clies, 
 
 Like odours robbed from flowers. 
 
 I'd sit and list 
 The simplest village air that lips could breathe 
 If in its simple spirit lay enshrined 
 The poet's warmth, the poet's ardent soul. 
 Remember this : better to read than sing ; 
 One task well done outvalues two doiu^ ill. 
 
 ANNETTE. 
 
 I will remember, madam : bul in this
 
 110 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 I followed out the method I was taught ; 
 
 To give the note, nor heed, they said, the words. 
 
 Which were to music but subordinate. 
 
 IJERTHA. 
 
 Hear this, ye spirits of harmonious song ! 
 Poets that language have immortalized ; 
 Enriched it with expressions sweet as love ! 
 Speak, mead and river, singing bird and brook. 
 Mountain and vale, forest and flowery dell. 
 Speak for your poet ! Oh, there's not a bud 
 Whose odorous birth the winds are conscious of 
 But owes associations sweeter far 
 Than its sweet self unto the poet's song ! 
 There's not a feeling, passion, sentiment, 
 Grace, beauty, or attraction, but receives 
 A charm from his melodious utterance, — 
 A spiritual gift, which half connects 
 The earthly with divine ; makes beauty's self 
 Accordant to harmonious influences ! 
 Oh, passionate spirit of poetic song, 
 How could I worship thee ! . . . 
 
 But I forget . 
 
 ANNETTE. 
 
 Look, dear lady, what marble god is this. 
 Whose noble head bears such resemblance to . . 
 
 BERTHA, interrupting Iter. 
 To Falkner, thou woiddst say. Apollo, girl : 
 It is, indeed, most like that lofty front. 
 Where intellect doth sit as on a throne ;
 
 D \i A M A TIC C If A 1' 1' E Ji S. 11 I 
 
 The moutli instinct with gracious eloquence^ 
 The g^i'andcur of that all imperial air, 
 The majesty of manhood and of grace ! 
 And yet unlike ; for he, my love, seems sad. 
 Though all things smile as happy in his presence : 
 This god wore joy upon his conquering broAV, 
 Yet sorrow dwelt where'er his footsteps trod ; 
 No, 'tis not like, it is not like my Falkner! 
 
 ANNETTE. 
 
 The very children of the vilhigc h)ve him, 
 Hold out their little hands with gifts of flowers, 
 Or aught to win a Avord, a look, a smile. 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Would they were here with flowers to win him now, 
 For all the world is dark without his smile : 
 My 1^'alkner ; no ; he hath no paragon : 
 His voice is as the music of his looks — 
 Mournful, yet sorrowful as not of earth. 
 But as an angel thought of others' woes ! 
 Oh, he is all that Love may idolize. 
 Exalted by its own idolatry ! 
 
 ANNETTE. 
 
 Yes ; Love is still its own interpreter, 
 None but itself should be its advocate. 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Oh, there's but one sweet word in all tlic woi-ld. 
 And that is Love : to Ioa'c this beauteous earth. 
 This brilliant heaven, and llini th.at holds them thus.
 
 112 ] ) R A M A T I C C II A I' T K R S . 
 
 In glory and perfection al)solute, 
 
 Lasting as Truth, in His almighty hand ! 
 
 To gaze upon the Earth's majestic face, 
 
 And say, Here breathes the genius of a God ! 
 
 To love the world, yet single from its breast 
 
 One being to be loved beyond the world. 
 
 Oh, then it is we live ; then, then we live ! 
 
 Aftection is a child of Love, but wayward ; 
 
 The mortal child of an immortal mother ! 
 
 But Love itself! Seek from the centre, first, 
 
 To shake the sun ere shake true stedfast Love ! 
 
 Harshness and cruelty, hate, coldness, scorn. 
 
 May make Love weep, but never make Love change. 
 
 Rob every flower from earth, and Love will find 
 
 Some way to bid it bloom ! Cover Love's path 
 
 With sharpest flint; and though her life ebbed forth 
 
 At every step, unmurmuring would she tread : 
 
 For in her breast — deep in her holy breast — 
 
 One flower still grows, root of celestial soil. 
 
 And angels' tears have watered its blest bloom, 
 
 Angrels have wreathed its leaves around their heads. 
 
 So beautiful it is, and called its name. 
 
 That sweet flower's sweeter name. Forgiveness ! 
 
 ANNETTE. 
 
 My dear, dear lady, God in mercy grant 
 
 Such love may find abundant recompense ; 
 
 Yet thou'rt so sanguine, ardent, confident, 
 
 I tremble, lady, for thy happiness ! 
 
 What would st thou do should accident befall him?
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 113 
 
 BERTHAj alarmed. 
 Accident ? Falkner ? he's beeu gone full long : 
 Know'st thou aught of it ? Hath some evil chanced ? 
 What is it? Speak! quick — quick, whilst I can bear it! 
 
 ANNETTE. 
 
 Nothing, dear lady ; no, I but surmised . . . 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Surmised? did but surmise ! 'tis very strange ! 
 And yet he has been long, full long away : 
 I marvel it escaped me. 
 
 From the turret 
 The rough, wild road for miles is \dsible, — 
 Haste, tell me what thou seest ; and if him 
 Wave thy hand thus. [Exit Annette.] 
 
 O God, Avhat fear is this ? 
 
 Enter Falkner, ivho starts, as though wishful to have 
 
 avoided her. 
 
 bertha. 
 Thou com'st at last ! 
 Falkner, dear Falkner, thou hast lingered long I 
 
 FALKNER, after several ineffectual efforts, in a broken 
 
 voice. 
 They linger long who bring unhappy news ; 
 Slow are the steps which bear a hea\7 heart ; 
 Tardy the tongue that utters words like mine — 
 I come to sav, farcMcll.
 
 114 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Farewell ? 
 
 But for a time. 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Farewell ? Impossible ! thou mean'st it not ! 
 
 PALKNER. 
 
 Farewell; 'tis but a word that startles thee; 
 
 Were it "Good niglit," 'twould breathe of earlier meeting: 
 
 But many say "good night" who meet no more! 
 
 Death finds them at the turning of an hour, 
 
 And from their hopeful pillow to their grave 
 
 Is but one step. 
 
 Why, say 'tis not "farewell?" and let us part 
 
 As though to-morrow bound our lot again. 
 
 To-morrow eomes — 
 
 A new to-morrow dawns for time to leap. 
 
 And our farewell is but a sleep, a dream. 
 
 To find that morn where parting weeps no more, 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Parting? Farewell? Am I alive? Fallmer? 
 
 Thou lov'st me ? I have not offended thee ? 
 
 I have said nothing to have wrought this change ? 
 
 Or have I loved thee so devotedly 
 
 My very truth is turned into offence ? 
 
 What have I done that I should see thee thus. 
 
 With looks that do avoid, and love me not?
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 115 
 
 1 ALK-NKU. 
 
 That love thee not? 
 
 When all Tvithin my soul grew desolate 
 
 'IVas Bertha grasped the thorn to save nie paiu ; 
 
 'Twas Bertha's love, like sunlight, o'er me fell; 
 
 Bertha, whose pity gave me back the world, 
 
 llobed in the brightness her own beauty flung, 
 
 And earth once more resembled Paradise ! 
 
 That love thee not ? With looks that love thee not ? 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Oh, be thou merciful, and kill me, Falkner ! 
 
 \_TValks in violent (tyitutioni] 
 Oh, it was most unkind, unfeeling, rash : 
 I saw thee not — I knew thee not — had been 
 Most happy in my quiet orphanage, 
 Hadst thou not come to shew my day, like night. 
 With all the magic of thine intellect. 
 Thy thnlling tenderness of look and voice. 
 To win the love of mine enchanted heart ! 
 Oh, Heaven can witness how intensely dear 
 The sound but of a passing word became ; 
 And thou — for pastime, for mere vanity — 
 Hast niu'scd this flower to cut it from my heart, 
 No matter how it bleed beneath tliv knife ! 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Bertha ? 
 
 HERTHA. 
 
 Oh, Avas it right — or ki)iil -or generous — 
 
 To woo —yet wound : to sue ^ yet sting the heart? 
 
 Whose onlv weakness was in too much faith !
 
 110 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Honour is love's vicegerent upon earth — 
 Was — was it honourable ? 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Bertha ? 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 You spoke of wealth : 
 
 But what was wealth to me who had thy love. 
 
 Or, oh, too fond — too weak — deemed that 1 had : 
 
 Love far surpassing wealth ! Of title spoke ; 
 
 But, weighed 'gainst nobler natures, titles seemed 
 
 The trinkets of a throne. Higher than kings 
 
 Is He who true pre-eminence creates : 
 
 Greater is He who stamps upon man's brow 
 
 Nature's high patent of nobility. 
 
 Wealth, title, all, were penury compared 
 
 To that best wealth, best title to be thine : 
 
 " Thine own !" '' thine own !" I asked no other name. 
 
 No other rank, no dearer dignity; 
 
 To be '' thy wife," in its sufficient love. 
 
 Comprised all riches, honours, and degrees. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Yet hear me, Bertha. . . . 
 
 BERTHA, passionately . 
 Hear me ! 
 
 And pause ; yea, pause awhile, my Palkner ; 
 I am not one to bear this agony. 
 Nor Avait the gradual breaking of a heart ; 
 And should we meet, indeed, no more on earth, 
 Then tremble, Falkner, lest we meet hereafter !
 
 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 117 
 
 FALKNEll. 
 
 Thou'rt not so rash ? Let time bring time's account, 
 
 And let us meet it ! 
 
 Heap fire upon me — torture me with words 
 
 Which, if thou think'st I merit, speak, nor spare. 
 
 Though every syllable's a poisoned thorn : 
 
 Yet is my heart so full of direst pains 
 
 It scarce can writhe much more ! 
 
 Oh, misery of memory, to be 
 
 What I have been ; to hear what I noAv hear ; 
 
 Whichever way I turn, is wretchedness. 
 
 Not love thee ? no, not love thee ? Witness all 
 
 Ye blessed powers whose element is love ; 
 
 Be witness heaven, which, like a shrine of love. 
 
 Sends light, and life, and union to the world ; 
 
 Witness all holy and all beautiful 
 
 How dear, how passionately dear, I love ! 
 
 And witness, too, this dreaded destiny. 
 
 That ever and for ever dogs my steps 
 
 Like the foul shadow of some spirit doomed. 
 
 Alone constrains my tongue to say .... 
 
 BERTHA, shriekiny. 
 No, say it not ! 
 Thou wilt not say farewell ? 
 Oh, Falkncr, shew some pity ; or, if thou goest 
 Then fear what I may do ! Fear and despair ! 
 I am distracted, wild — 'twere madness now 
 To leave me to myself. 
 I know not what 1 do — or what may do 1 
 I am distraught with more than brain can bear.
 
 118 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 FALKNER, tlSlde. 
 
 Be iron, nerves : be firm, my faltering heart : 
 Thou hast an eagle's flight, and not a dove's : 
 To waver now were to rehnquish all. 
 And yet .... 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Thou canst not go — thou'st not the heart to go. 
 What, crush the dove which made thy breast her home? 
 Thou canst not do it, or looks belie the heart ; 
 'Twere cruelty to do it — alas, thy pride — 
 I knew thy pride, but not thy cruelty ! 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Of what should I be proud — of misery ? 
 
 The victim at the rack shrieks not — for pride ! 
 
 Such pride should even be thy Falkner's now. 
 
 And yet — and yet — I weep, my Bertha, weep ; 
 
 Tell me these tears are but false witnesses — 
 
 Say that this quivering Hp is still untrue — 
 
 This throbbing pulse — deceit ; tell me this heart. 
 
 That with tumultuous beatings cleaves my breast 
 
 As though 'twould find a passage to thy feet. 
 
 Is hypocrite ! — say still 'tis cruelty ! 
 
 'Twere blissful to be aught but what I am; 
 
 Madness were mercy to this misery ! 
 
 Again, that word again, ' twere what to do it ? 
 
 BERTHA, imploringly. 
 Yet, for all this, thou didst not say farewell ? 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Clod knows I did — and must.
 
 DRAMA T I C (M I A r T E R S. 11 9 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Then, guise it as thou wilt, ' tis cruelty ! 
 
 Thou dar'st not see the heart bleed thou hast liroken ; 
 
 I'hou stabh^st and leav'st thy victim. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Am I so base ! 
 
 I who've sought honour's path — 
 
 As to the height of all achievement here ; 
 
 Who, were death cast between my path and it, 
 
 Had clung to honour rather than to life ! 
 
 To hear — [Bertha droops; he supports her.'] 
 
 Bertha, my love, I will not say farewell ! 
 
 l^cars, tears — still tears to kiss away ! 
 
 I am a boy, a child, and not a man. 
 
 An infant, that the fates dash where they will ! 
 
 I'll see thee, love, again, and speedily — when. 
 
 If thoid't take this hand 'tis thine for ever ! 
 
 But we must quit this spot : be patient, love. 
 
 Thou canst not hear me if thou wecpcst thus. 
 
 \_A pause — she recovers — Falkner retiring.] 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Stay, Falkner, I conjure thee ! 
 I command thee, stay ! 
 
 [Falkner turns, she steps before him.] 
 Thou gocst not hence. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Not hence ? 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 No!
 
 120 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 What can restrain me? 
 
 BERTHA, sinking and exhausted ivith agitation. 
 A fragile tiling — a slight and powerless thing — 
 Yet one thou could' st not, ingrate as thou art, 
 Thoii would'st not tread upon ! no, no, nor scorn. 
 Nor roughly pass ; no, nor for kingdoms leave ! 
 Though thou regard'st it little now perchance ; 
 Yet then, my Falkner, then 'twill rivet thee, 
 As though an angel cried, " Thou goest not hence." 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Nor earth, nor all earth holds, may stay my foot ! 
 
 It is my fate ; I act not of myself, 
 
 Biit am the very thrall of destiny ! 
 
 What's that may grapple fate and bar its path ? 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 My corpse ! [Swoons at his feet. 1 
 
 FALKNER, kneeling and raising her tenderly and 
 
 'pityingly. 
 Straws — straws are we upon the stream of fate ! 
 Oh, worse than blind not to have this foreseen ! 
 My poor, wronged girl, thus pale and stricken down. 
 How in thy desolation dearer far 
 Than in the beaming beauty of thy hope ! 
 How weak looks vengeance near thine angel face ; 
 It palsies so the hoarded hate of years. 
 That guilt might stand within the dagger's reach, 
 Yet vengeance turn aside with tears — not blood !
 
 I) R A ^r A i' I c c ri A I' r k it s . 121 
 
 My love, my Bertha, have I veins of stone, 
 Unknowing mercy — knowing scarce myself; 
 My very hand seems changed and strange to me ! 
 My love, I will return ! a little while ! 
 But for a little while, I do not say farewell ! 
 
 [He bears her off with great tenderness and 
 sorrow.] 
 
 R
 
 122 UR A M A J' 1 C C W A T T I-: R S . 
 
 Sitetiiif xw. 
 
 Scene — A wooded ridge sloping to a ravine; a ivild rude 
 bridge spanning a rocky chasm ; two of the gipsy- 
 gang are seen crossing the bridge; they comeforivard. 
 
 BROLSON. 
 
 Thy scheme's o'er long — the briefer plan the better — 
 
 A dagger in his throat were qnicker done, 
 
 And quieter. Granting we seize the lad, 
 
 What then ? At every step there stands a bar : 
 
 Take we the path thy project travels out — 
 
 Detection is as certain as the act ; 
 
 And we may lock the gyves upon our wrists 
 
 At once. Egad, I feel them now even with thy talk. 
 
 RIVDILL. 
 
 Pooh, thou Avert born at night, and thus thy brain 
 Is full of boggart shapes and nervous fears ; 
 I, who saw light one fine bright summer-morn, 
 Am fearless, enterprising, strong, and bold ; 
 Belike too sanguine — ' tis a better fault 
 Than thine, of meeting trouble half the way.
 
 1 ) II A M A T I C C HAP 1' K li S . 1 2o 
 
 BROLSON. 
 
 If thou demurr'st, why be it so^ say I. 
 
 But think, his death just doubles cm' reward. 
 
 KIVDILL. 
 
 And Wolfbane, too, how wilt thou manage him ? 
 
 15KOLSON. 
 
 Lord Kelford dou])ts this Wolfbanc, and demands 
 Our utmost seerecy, with prompt despatch. 
 
 IIIVDILL. 
 
 Secrecy with AVolfbanc V with . . . ha! ha! ha! 
 Were he against the mui'der of this youth, 
 If thy quick hand were even at his throat, 
 Thy knee upon his breast, thy daggcr^s point 
 UpUfted for the blow — that Wolf bane's eye 
 Would, like a spell, arrest it in mid-air, 
 And fix thee powerless ! 
 
 BKOLSON. 
 
 I defy liis power ! first for the deed. 
 
 And next for the reward, w hich having fast, 
 
 We'll put some thousand leagues between this Mood 
 
 And our abiding-place. What need wc fear? 
 
 Ul\ i)lLL. 
 
 Fear? 
 
 Fear his art, his spells. Laugh on, 1 care not ! 
 I too can laugh pretended power to scorn ; 
 lUit W'olfbanc's no pretender : In- ha.s power ! 
 I've seen, ay, felt it shivering tlu'ough iii\ iVanii' 
 Until 1 stood like ice; no foot could stir,
 
 124 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 The ground and I were one, incorporate, 
 Until he breathed upon each marble limb. 
 And I stepped free ! 
 
 BROLSON. 
 
 Stand back, for here he comes. 
 
 RivDiLL, jwa/e and trembling. 
 Who? Wolf bane? 
 
 BROLSON. 
 
 No, ^tis that witch, old Midgley. 
 
 And with her comes our prize — look to thy knife : 
 
 Back . , . 'neath the trees ! 
 
 So, we^re in luck. [They conceal themselves ?\ 
 
 Enter Midgley and Adolphus. 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 How drear and dismal hang these toppling cliffs, 
 Haggard with age ? It seems a place unblest ! 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 'Tis scarce the spot for thy young eyes, my boy. 
 
 They'd better love the free and open fields 
 
 Than these o'erhanging, frowning precipices : 
 
 There are as strange deformities in Nature, 
 
 As many passionate and reckless features. 
 
 As there be moods of mind : thy love is yet 
 
 For Nature's mild, unwrinkled countenance — 
 
 It suits the softer memories of thy youth. 
 
 But cheer thee ; thine' s a good brave heart, my boy. 
 
 And most unlike thy proud unnatural father.
 
 DRAMATIC" CHAPTERS. 125 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 My father ? You knew my father, then ? 
 I've some remembrance of a lofty form — 
 A noble soldier whom they called my father ; 
 Was he so ? 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Thy sire was in the army. 
 
 ADOLPHUS 
 
 Mine is a dim, deceiving memory : 
 Sometimes I fancy I have dreamt it all. 
 You knew my father ? Oh, I'm glad to speak 
 With one that knew my father ! 
 What is thv name 
 
 y 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Call me Midgley. 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 Midijlev ! it seems as in a dream I'd heard 
 
 That name before ; yet is not all a dream ? 
 
 This savage wild, these woods, thyself? 
 
 The Availing voices of the wind-lashed trees. 
 
 As though the storm had scourged them ruefully V 
 
 And these strange mutterings of mysterious things ? 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 This wood is never silent ; its great heart 
 Beats with a thousand pidses ; in the night 
 'Twoidd make one think that spirits walked abroad, 
 Such shapes and sounds startle the eye and car. 
 But of vour father y Think vou of liim still V
 
 ]2{) DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 There never passed the day I thought uot of him : 
 I love my father ; but my heart ne'er beat, 
 JNIy eyes ne'er filled with tears, my tongue ne'er faltered^ 
 As when I thought of her, my poor, lost mother ! 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Dead ! that, too, I know ; woe for her loss ! 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 Dost thou believe the Dead can list our prayers ? 
 That they, who loved us to their end of days, 
 Retain their sympathy with human love ? 
 That, conscious of our tenderness, they watch 
 In angel pity o'er us ? Can it be 
 That our remembrance is yet dear to them ? 
 Oh, blest persuasion ! oh, most sweet belief ! 
 Angels of brightness, is there one indeed. 
 One of your heavenly host, who watcheth now. 
 With all a mother's tenderness of gaze. 
 To guard the pathway of her orphan child ? 
 Oh, when, dear angel-mother, may I kneel 
 Beside thy humble grave, in humble hope 
 That still thou seest my love, and lov'st me still ! 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 I have Avept more with thee, and for thee, boy. 
 Than e'er I sorrowed for my own hard griefs. 
 Or death of kin, where tears are natural. 
 If e'er thy mother watched, she watcheth now ! 
 What age wert thou when she, thy mother, died ? 
 'Tis fancy, boy; thou canst not recollect her !
 
 P TJ A M A T 1 C (.' IF A I' T K R S. 1 1^7 
 
 ADOLPHl S. 
 
 Oh, ves, I do ! Not recollect mv motlier? 
 
 I was not six, yet I remember her : 
 
 Thouo-h nothing in the room, nor frame, nor f'urnitnro, 
 
 Nor aught, only my mother ! only my poor mother ! 
 
 How pale she looked ! I cannot call her features : 
 
 A pale and weeping face, and garbed in black ; 
 
 So pale, I weep at its remembered paleness ! 
 
 Oh, I bethink me well — how close she clasped me ! 
 
 Again, and once again, how sad she spoke, 
 
 ^Till some one entered, speaking angrily. 
 
 And bore her weeping, shrieking, and imploring, 
 
 Where I ne^er saw her more ! 
 
 And now she's dead! my poor, nnhappy mother, 
 
 i^nd left me with one only wish on earth, 
 
 AVliich I have prayed for daily, yes, and nightly ; 
 
 It is to see her grave, to kneel upon it. 
 
 To say how much I loved, would have consoled her. 
 
 How still I cherish her dear memon% 
 
 And that I count the swiftly passing days 
 
 As steps upon the road which leads mc to lier I 
 
 :\riDGLEV. 
 
 / know thy mother's gi*avc ! 
 Now, wouldst thou to it? 
 
 A DO LP H us. 
 
 Thou know'st it? thou? They said she died abroad. 
 Was buried none knew where ; but let us go I 
 Thou'rt human? nothing evil? that would tempt my soul. 
 And make mv love the bait for mv ix^rdition? 
 I am a boy, a poor neglected boy,
 
 128 DliAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Wishing to be good, yet no one teaching me ; 
 I know not where begins that sin we read of, 
 That sin against the Spirit, where it ends. 
 I may be jeopardising even now 
 That hope which is the lamp of my existence, 
 To reach my mother's sainted arms in heaven ! 
 What art thovi ? thou hast a dark, unpardoned look, 
 Like one God hides his face against . . . 
 
 [Starts away, alarmed.] 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 I am going to thy mother's grave ! 
 Wilt go? 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 Thou wilt not harm my soul ? 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 But one besides myself can shew it thee, 
 
 And when we die 
 
 All knowledge of her burial-place dies too ! 
 
 Thine eyes will never gaze with filial love 
 
 Upon that hallowed mould ! [Going.] 
 
 [Exit MiDGLEY.] 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 Hear me ! have mercy ! 
 
 Oh, assist me, Heaven ! 
 
 Angels, that hover round me in my dreams. 
 
 Be near me in my waking ! ]\Iidgley stay ! 
 
 Take me ! do what thou wilt ! 
 
 Shew me my mother's grave ! [Exit Adolphus.]
 
 1) 11 A W A TI G CHAPTERS. 1 29 
 
 Re-enter Brolson and Kivdill, cuutioashj and stealthily, 
 from under the brushwood. 
 
 BROLSON, 
 
 Cast thy cloak thus round the old beldame's throat, 
 Strangle her first, then hurl her o'er yon rocks 
 Beyond the firs ; they have a dismal depth 
 No eye can penetrate. Leave him to me ; 
 The fewer hands the better for despatch ; 
 I'll finish him_, and quickly : hush ! be firm ! 
 
 [Exeunt wa^'ily.]
 
 'M^ DRAMATIC CHAPTERS, 
 
 tier 
 
 Scene — A moimtainous pass ; t/ie path ruyyed and dan- 
 gerous ; a huge trunk of pine thrown, as a bridge, 
 over a torrent. 
 
 Enter Falknicr. 
 
 FALKNEK. 
 
 Are we by both deceived, Virtue and Vice ? 
 Doth Virtue cheat and crush us ? Vice deceive 
 And curse? In different modes betrayers of our hope? 
 Dark is the world, and drear, and difficult ! 
 Nature's doom'd children are Ijaptizcd with tears. 
 And Misery is their sponsor ! 
 
 Love and Friendship are 
 But other names for life's anxieties ! 
 This little round of time, this petty sphere. 
 Revolves amidst perpetual woe and care — 
 Disease and suffering, poverty and sin ! 
 What's life to care for ? and for that honour. 
 Which I have idolised as next to heaven. 
 What is't ? — a dream, a passing dream ; and yet 
 
 I
 
 D R A M A T I € C 11 A l> T K R S . 13 I 
 
 Great minds love lofty action not for fame ! 
 ' Tis the spontaneous product of the soul, 
 Springs from itself, and is its own reward : 
 Long be it so. 
 
 Two acts I must perform, 
 Which, if I now may judge from what I feel, 
 In honour and in justice are demanded ! 
 Yet these two acts, born of my brotherly love, 
 My deep, o'erflowing, never-ebbing love. 
 May brand me but with, infamy ; and her. 
 Whose name I dare not speak and tliink upon 
 The deed I am about — what unto her 
 May be the issue ? 
 
 Enter Jurus, hastily, iaho.se interruption seems lo ruffle 
 
 Falkneu. 
 
 jurus. 
 Leave him unscathed to an oficiulcd God ! 
 His death could nothing grace thy sister's grave ; 
 Her griefs are wept away ! Think better on't ; 
 The Lady Bertha loves thee, fame reports ; 
 Think less of him, more of tliine interest. 
 If all the ^vicked must be hui-led to death. 
 The world would lack inhabitants ere long ; 
 I'd have thee to thine interest more alert 
 Than cast thy life upon :i ruffian's sword ! 
 
 FALKNEu, contemptuously. 
 Interest! Self-interest! 'Tis tlic common cant, 
 I^he mean in mind call ^^^sdoln of tlic world ; 
 'Tis that which leads the shallow strcan) of life,
 
 132 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Arrays the hypocrite in virtue's guise^ 
 Calls over-reaching, knowledge of mankind ! 
 Dull Honesty the workhouse slave^ whose rags 
 Lend jests to those whose finer cunning thrives. 
 Self-interest ! 'Tis a thing whose heart is coin ! 
 And yet the higher ^drtues of the soul 
 Find in its mouth an hourly currency ; 
 None speak of reputation, honour, worth, 
 Frank liberality, and generous faith, 
 None, like self-interest ; so expert the cheat. 
 It half deceives itself with its own vaunts ! 
 Self-interest ! 'tis the dastard's ready shield, 
 The tyrant's plea, the swindler's crafty creed. 
 Who, honouring law, stops short of legal crime ; 
 ' Tis — mark me, sir ! a boaster in success ; 
 A mean and abject driveller in that hour 
 Adversity's sharp whip cracks at its heels ! 
 Self-interest ! name it not ! there is no sound 
 So sickening, so perfidious to mine ears : 
 If e'er my stay offend thee, there's the word 
 Shall rid thee of my presence ! Interest ! 
 Self-interest ! 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 Too hot, and over nice ! 
 But 'tis thy humour to behold things thus. 
 With a most jaundiced and distcmper'd view; 
 If each man studied his true interest 
 His feUow-men were better' d by that study. 
 Exaggeration is not argument. 
 Nor hard words facts. But be that as thou wilt, 
 Another's happiness is in thy keeping !
 
 DRAMATIC CHATTERS. 133 
 
 'I'hou liast no right to peril her young life 
 
 In perilling thine own : avoid this man ! 
 
 His sins, like bloodhounds, hunt him to a death 
 
 More sure, more keen, than stab of any steel ! 
 
 When broken, friendless, old before his time. 
 
 Revenge could seek no fiercer punishment. 
 
 Less abject, less debased, might claim thy sword. 
 
 Oh, I implore thee give this venture pause ! 
 
 Instead of the corrosion of thy conscience, 
 
 Reap the enjojTiient of a godlike act. 
 
 And learn forgiveness ! 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Jurus ! 
 
 Thou'st heard of one, a pilgrim to some slu'inc. 
 
 Who travelled weeks and months, nor food, nor sleep. 
 
 For the drj^ crust could scarce deserve that name, 
 
 And the fcAV snatches of outwcaried nature 
 
 Might scarcely claim the title of repose. 
 
 AMiat woiddst thou think, after all toil and fasting, 
 
 All conquering of the rough impediments 
 
 IMountain, flood, rock, might cast upon his Avay, 
 
 To count not elemental harassings — 
 
 If, when his eye beheld the shrine he souglit, 
 
 His foot pressed — ay, within few steps of all 
 
 For which he'd welcomed pain, fatigue, and fasting. 
 
 Thou crossedst his path, and saidst, "Proceed no further, 
 
 Religion points to thy neglected home ! 
 
 'Tis Superstition, and not Sanctity, 
 
 Which mocks thee here ! Get to thy vineyard Ijack ! " 
 
 Thinkst thou he'd turn his staff from east to west, 
 
 And oasilv, as the blown thistle-down,
 
 134 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Go, at thy breath, the way thou mar shall' dst him ? 
 No ! Feelings time hath rooted change not thus : 
 Granting his theme Devotion, mine Revenge ! 
 His Love, mine Hate ! Why human hate is fixed 
 As Herculean rock when love's a reed ! 
 Thus 'tis with me, each hour that intervenes 
 Between Resolve and my assured Revenge 
 Is cursed as barren ! Let me hence ! 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 A moment and I quit thee ; yet beware 
 
 Lest Passion urge thee down a gulf so deep 
 
 That Honour ne'er again may snatch thee back ; 
 
 Stain not thy sword but in accepted challenge. 
 
 And Heaven shield well the right! [Falkner impatient ?\ 
 
 Be calm ! 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Thou seest I'm calm ! 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 Calm ? Yes, that calm which follows when we hurl 
 
 A rock from some high cliff that fronts the sea; 
 
 That calm which intervenes between its fall 
 
 And its hoarse thunder in the deep below ! 
 
 Thus calm art thou ! For now is thy descent ; 
 
 The thunder is to come ! [Falkner still more impatient.] 
 
 Soon, thou shalt go soon ! 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Shall? Nay, I will!
 
 1) Ji A M A t"[ C C U a 1' T ]•: li s . 1 35 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 Thou shalt ! 
 
 I'ALKNER. 
 
 'Tis shaminjij time to linger; but hereafter, 
 
 Lest thou mightst think hadst thou resisted moi-c 
 
 I had ])een turned away from this intent, 
 
 PU tell thee, Jurus, of my dream last night. 
 
 My sleep is but a torture of foul dreams, 
 
 And not repose. ^Tavrs a dull, vapoury night, 
 
 The stars came few, and in their misty hoods 
 
 Looked cold and comfortless ; straight in my dream 
 
 Steps numberless I saw, as to a throne. 
 
 The throne itself invisible ; yet something 
 
 Vast and imperial through the hovering clouds 
 
 Mine eye coidd trace, heaving its shadowy front 
 
 Midway amidst the heavens. On the steps 
 
 Forms of all times, all ages, and all nations — 
 
 The young, the old, the brave, the beautiful, 
 
 The proud and poor, the beggar and the prince, 
 
 The maiden, with a presence like the rose, 
 
 The balic, as from the mother's breast -withdrawn. 
 
 Lay dead upon the steps of that huge pile. 
 
 Far as the sight could range nothing was there 
 
 But death ! nothing but death ! — some lay with heads 
 
 All gashed and bleeding — others Avith l)are breast 
 
 Stabbed — and the clotted current ])urp]o-dricd : 
 
 Others — 'twas hoiTible — 
 
 ^^ lien, suddenly, 
 Broad as a comet streaming ujiper air, 
 Appear'd a mighty sceptre — on engraved 
 Was Destinv. The shadow's lieaved convulsive,
 
 1 3() DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 In cloudy billows tost the sea-like sky, 
 
 And, as tkougli palsy shook their marble veins, 
 
 The throne-steps lost their dead ! I woke, 
 
 Yet did the vision long enwrap my soul. 
 
 Still blazed that mystic scripture, Destiny ! 
 
 It haunts me still ; so blinds with blood mine eyes. 
 
 That all I see is crimson to my sight — 
 
 All earth incarnadine, the very air. 
 
 Is gory ! Let me on ; thou'rt mad to hold ! 
 
 [Breaks from him.l^ 
 I follow Destiny ! [Ea^it Falkner.] 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 Counsel unloved is vain : alas, for Man, 
 
 Who lifts his evil Passions on a throne. 
 
 Crowns it with curses, swears allegiance to it. 
 
 Bends, like a slave, to minister its wish. 
 
 And steep'd in sin, cries out, "'Tis Destiny!" 
 
 Call it by any name, ' tis Passion still : 
 
 Whereon — 
 
 If there's, indeed, that thing called " Destiny," 
 
 It rides as with a whirlwind to destruction : 
 
 I foUow ; but to what V Oh, dreadful thought ! 
 
 May Pity hide the page that tells the deed. 
 
 Or blot it out for ever ! [Exit Jurus.]
 
 I) RAM A r f C C H A 1' 1' K US. \'J7 
 
 XITII. 
 
 ScKNK — T/w Fares/. 
 Enter Robbers quarrelliny. 
 
 HUOLSOX. 
 
 Either be for nic or against me, then ! 
 
 Have with the deed, or leave the deed to me, 
 
 And keep not Im-king- thus from roek to bush, 
 
 Ever resolving, nev(U' resolute ! 
 
 Make men of miee ! ('all rabbits valiant ! 
 
 I'd rather be a hare for luunan hounds 
 
 To hunt and bark at than be such as thou : 
 
 Oh, I've no patience — none, with tender thieves ! 
 
 KI \ 1)1 I.L. 
 
 If Midgley (luits liim, then his fate is sealed; 
 But not till then : one word's as good as fifty ! 
 Old Midgh'y tended inc when 1 was sick, 
 Dying of fever, and so might have died. 
 For any else but her. Thou'dst think it brave 
 To cut the throat of her who saved thy life? 
 I'm had enough, and reckless of my rojul, 
 
 T
 
 138 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 But there's one step too savage for me yet^ 
 And that is — murdering Midgley ! 
 
 BROLsoNj sneeringly. 
 Scruples of conscience ! AVhat is conscience worth V 
 Will it provide thee drink, or purchase bread ? 
 Or canst thou market with it for a crust ? 
 I'll rather to hell-common go at once, 
 And daisies pick at half a groat an acre ! 
 Put up thy conscience now, and I'll be sworn 
 I buy thee fifty better consciences 
 For half the gold this short and easy deed 
 Will gild thy palm with ! And the time, the place. 
 Never was such a spot for secret miu'der — 
 So dim and dreary, silent, wild, and lone ! 
 As Nature meant it for such purposes. 
 Curses upon it to be hampered thus . . . 
 Why, thou agreedst . . . 
 
 RIVDILL. 
 
 To slay the lad, but not to injure her : 
 There is no sum set down for slaughtering her ; 
 And if there were, I am not to be bought : 
 Nor harm, nor see harm done : so, have a care. 
 
 BllOLSON. 
 
 Go threaten girls ! The time, the place, the chance. 
 And all gone by ! all lost ! ' Twould vex a saint 
 To be thus bound and mated with a fool. 
 
 [Exit Brolson.] 
 
 RlVDlLL. 
 
 A fool !
 
 DRAMATIC CIIAJ'TERS. 130 
 
 Perchance the dismal j^ravc bcvoiid the firs 
 Thou pick'dst for Midgley soon may prove thine own ! 
 
 [Exit hastily.'] 
 
 Scene — • Edge of tJie forest ; a level tract of country ; 
 village seen in the distance. 
 
 Enter Midgley and Adolphus. 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Come, cheer thee boy ! the weary forest passed. 
 The way is smooth and easy ; that we seek 
 Lies near; within the green and quiet dell, 
 Some less than half rood from yon castle-gate : 
 Few moments' walk the churchyard will he seen. 
 And so thou sayst thy nurse was kind to thee V 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 A second mother, tender to a fault, 
 
 And often chid old Dorothy, that she 
 
 Would rarely let my stool come nigh tlu^ fire : 
 
 Poor Nurse : more than two days from out her sight ! 
 
 She's half distracted at my aljsence now. 
 
 Well ! I'll tell her soon how kind and good tlioii wert. 
 
 And what a faithful friend I found in thee. 
 
 Thou'lt come and sec us, Midgley : wilt tlioii not? 
 
 MIDGLICV. 
 
 "^rhoii woiddst uol slm( tlic door to in iiiv faceV 
 
 ^ DoLi'urs. 
 What 1?
 
 140 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 MIDGLEV. 
 
 Nor set some brutal dog to Avound my heels ? 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 What I ? 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Nor shriek out witch ? nor set thy comrades on 
 With stones to clear the viHage of my rags ? 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 Midgley ! this to me ? 
 
 I woidd not hurt the wing of a foul crow. 
 
 Nor harm a toad though it should cross my path; 
 
 God gave it life, and it should live, for me, 
 
 Unscared, unscathed; and thou, who'st l)een so kind- 
 
 Thou saidst it but to try me ? 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 1 did ! 
 
 My heart, boy, is a coffin, wherein hope, 
 
 Home, union, friendship — what should yield to us 
 
 Respect, regard, affection, 'mongst our kind' — 
 
 All, all, lie dead ! and, in their stead, I've what ? 
 
 Contempt and curses, spurns and hateful gibes. 
 
 And language beggar'd for opprobrious terms, 
 
 As witch, hag, fury, ^dper, and the like ! 
 
 W^itch ? hag ? I am a woman ! 
 
 Viper ? I am human ! 
 
 I have been tried, yet ne'er did being wrong; 
 
 Whipp'd — who'd have wept to see a dog so bruised ! 
 
 T5vanded for crimes I never did commit !
 
 DRAMATIC C II A INTERS. 141 
 
 And woiildst thou learn the reason for all this ? 
 
 Go howl it in the public market-place, 
 
 'Twas poverty'. 
 
 The witch was poor, could nothing pay the law; 
 
 Deformed, could bribe no counsel with fair looks ; 
 
 Friendless, so fitter for scourge, jail, and brand ! 
 
 The good have friends, the ffiendless must be bad. 
 
 Thou wilt have gold, my boy, remember me ! 
 
 Give me sufficient for the world's respect ; 
 
 'Twill be a trifle from thy coming wealth : 
 
 \\'ilt thou? I would be loved ! 
 
 1 thirst for woman^s sympathy, and cry; 
 
 But in this human desert is no water. 
 
 No spring for lips that mate with poverty ; 
 
 No pity, none, for those that need it most ! 
 
 Boy, not all their stones have beaten from my bi-east 
 
 God's feehng out, and still I love, love thee ! 
 
 Thou hast not turned thy noble face away. 
 
 Though I am seared and frightful to thine eyes ; 
 
 Thou hast not mocked me, jeered, nor flouted me. 
 
 Though well I know my voice a raven's croak. 
 
 My habits strange and foul ; yet thou refraind'st, 
 
 Nor spui'ncd the human reptile from thy path ; 
 
 But stead of scoffing, tears ! Deny it not, 
 
 I say thou wept when I laid bare my M'oes, 
 
 Wept! tears! and 'twas for me! God bless thee for it! 
 
 Bless thee ! God bless thee for it ! 
 
 Answer not, but follow me; 
 It does me good, it soothes my wearied brain ; 
 'Twas something still to tiiul f)nc hunuui eye 
 Could dro]) a tear for Midgl(\\ . 
 
 [K.vif, AnoLi'M I's fnllnwiiig.^
 
 1 42 1> R A M A TI C CHAT T E R S . 
 
 Scene — Wooded avenue leadifig to Kelford Castle ; the 
 moon rismg dimly ; Falkner, disguised; ivatching. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 There is a brooding horror in the hour, 
 
 As if the heavy air held breath, alarmed ! 
 
 A sluggish stifling atmosphere ; I choke 
 
 ' Neath its oppression ! 
 
 Who says that life is short ? Time hath no guagc ; 
 
 A moment may comprise eternity ; 
 
 We talk of life, its hopes and its results : 
 
 Its span-like brevity, — but I have lived 
 
 Years in a few sad hours ! It seems an age 
 
 Since dawned the day, and yet His hardly night ! 
 
 Oh, charitable Night, merciful Night, 
 
 That shuts the dreaming eyes of wretchedness, 
 
 Consoles the weary fever of the heart. 
 
 And makes the poorest equal to the rich ; 
 
 What hast thou been to mc, but misery? 
 
 Sleepless, and dark, and desolate of hope. 
 
 SJi'aces to and fro. ^
 
 1) M A I\I A TIC (J H A P T E R S. 1 43 
 
 How like a prowler do I hang about ! 
 
 1^11 lurk no more, but challenge fate at once, 
 
 And beard the villain in his sensual den. 
 
 A\'cre it not well to feign some message there 'f 
 
 Some note from Bertha whom he seeks to woo, 
 
 As Jurus tells me, and gain audience thus V 
 
 Once in the room, he goes not forth alive ! 
 
 'Twere double vengeance thus to feed his love 
 
 Then curse it in the bud ! A note of hers, 
 
 But change the name, is right for him as me. 
 
 He'll scarce come forth to night, — then in — then in ! 
 
 For every hoiu*, as ^ twere an avalanche, 
 
 O'erwhelms my being with some horrid fear 
 
 Of his escape, some wild anticipation 
 
 Of defeat, of failure, and disgrace ! 
 
 Fate do its worst — I'll dare the Avorst to come ! 
 
 [Exit Falknek towards the Castle.] 
 
 Enter Brolson and Hivdill. 
 
 luioLsoN, enraf/ed. 
 Escaped ! througli thee. 
 
 IIIVDILL. 
 
 Take my advice for once, and make the b(>st on't ; 
 This is the place, and near the tinu- ai)])ointed. 
 Kelford expects us here ■ — let's swear he's dead : 
 Receive the wage, and do tlie work at Icisui'c. 
 
 IJKOT.SON. 
 
 Not 1.
 
 144 D R A M A T I C C II A P T E R S . 
 
 KIVDILL. 
 I doubt this lord ; doubt, if the deed were done, 
 We should reap aught but threats of punishment ; 
 A rope in pay — a gibbet for reward : 
 By Cain, he comes. 
 
 Enter kklford hastily. 
 How now, Avhat seek ye here, so near the lake ? 
 Deep in the dell I bade ye both await me. 
 I^m glad you're found; glad, very glad you're found. 
 We will speak further ere ye move in this ; 
 I have thought better of the act — the boy . . . 
 
 RivDiLL, steppinff before brolson. 
 Is dead : 
 
 The blood scarce dry, as you may partly see. 
 Upon my dagger's edge. 
 
 [Kelforu starts from it shudder imj I y.'] 
 One stab sufficed. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Sta1)bed ? the bov — dead ? oh, villains ! villains ! 
 
 BROLSON. 
 
 Were Ave not Jdred to do it ? promised gold ? 
 What mean you then by this pretended horror. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 i\'Iurdered ! It cries from earth ; it Avill be heard. 
 His blood — his innocent blood.
 
 I) li A M A T I (" (' 11 A I' T E 14 S . 145 
 
 U I VI) ILL. 
 The purse — tlie <^-ol(l — our wa^e ; payment for work 
 Even we found hard to finish . . . 
 
 [Kelfokd laiKjliH (•0)ivuhive1y.'] 
 You laugh ? 
 
 KELFORI). 
 
 T^augh ? 
 
 'Twould make e'en devils merry to behold 
 
 The payment ye shall count. What ho, there, ho ! 
 
 BIIOLSON. 
 
 Nay then, to pay ourselves . . . 
 
 [RivDiLL and Bholson attack Kelford, who 
 defends himself desperately , but is at last 
 beaten doam.l 
 
 lUVDILL. 
 
 Our payment ; — Brolson, cut it from his heart. 
 
 Re-enter falkxkr, icith his sioord draivn. 
 AVhat cry w^as that? Ha, ruffians . . , 
 
 [Falkner strikes up TJrolson's sivord and 
 ivounds him; Kelford rises — and the rul)- 
 bers rush oj/.] 
 
 I' AI.KNLR. 
 
 Not hurt, I hope? 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 A tlesh Avound, nothing more ; 
 And tliat it is no more, I've your hiavc sword 
 
 u
 
 1 4(1 1) R A M A T I C C H A P T K R S . 
 
 And braver arm to thank ; — the villain's breath 
 Smoked hot ujxm my face ; an instant, and . . . 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 The odds were much against you. Can my arm 
 Avail you further in assistance home V 
 The dastards may return. 
 
 KELFOKD. 
 
 Less for your aid, than for your company, 
 I'll be your grateful debtor; 'tis not far: 
 My castle . . . 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Castle V 
 
 KELFOlll). 
 
 Stands close by, beyond the lake. 
 
 FALKNER, USlde. 
 
 His castle ? should it ? no : 
 Fate cannot be so mad. 
 
 KELFORD, seeing his agitation, turns suddenly. 
 They've not returned witli others in their train V 
 No; l)y your looks, methought they had. 
 
 FALKNER, breathlesshj . 
 Your nameV 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Kelford. 
 
 Why look ye thus ? \^'hat see you ?
 
 D R A M A T I C (' IT A V T K R S . 14' 
 
 FALKNERj in (i hour.se, Itullow iv/i/s/)cr. 
 A monster ! 
 
 KELFORl). 
 
 lleard'st tliou aright? What mcan'st tlion ? 
 I sav my name is Kelford. 
 
 » » 
 
 FALKNEK, reCOVClTHf/ . 
 
 I saved thy life — thou own'st it ? — 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 I do. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 There is a wretch — 
 
 A ruffian worse than these — viUaiii ablioncd — 
 
 Whose very name tui'us all niv blood to Wrc 
 
 And biu'ns each nerve, each writhing nerve, to tortui-e 
 
 I must have vengeance: — Wilt thou lend tliine ;iid "' 
 
 KKLFOIU). 
 
 T will. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 lie was a Irieiid, hul he betrayed liis trust ; 
 Oishonour'd those who stroxe to honour liini, 
 And uiurder'd (^iic I loved : — \\ ilt lend thine aid? 
 
 KKIJOHI). 
 
 1 will. 
 
 F.\LK.\KI!. 
 
 ^'ou promise well.
 
 148 DRAMATIC CHAl'TKUS. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 And will as Avell perform. 
 But let us to the castle. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Better here. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Go on. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Murdered, thou heardst? 
 
 He murdered her I loved ! 
 
 The first love of my heart, my young fresh heart, 
 
 Choice of its earliest wishes — life of life — 
 
 More beautiful than hues of heaven can paint. 
 
 Or angels reach, or seraphim conceive, 
 
 She was; — she is what his cursed hands have made her; 
 
 Dust of the earth ! and still the miscreant lives ; 
 
 The scoffer smiles ; — the murderer quaffs his wine, 
 
 And laughs — and laughs at vengeance. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Some rival? 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Rival ? fiend ! some fiend ! 
 
 Incarnate demon ; minister of hell : — 
 
 Accursed the hour my sister saw his face. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Sister ? thy sister ? — speakst thou of . . .
 
 D R A 31 A T I C (• 1 1 A 1' T K li S . 1 4.0 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 I was a prisoner, chained in Hyder's cell. 
 
 KELFORD, aside. 
 India! what, what do I hoarV 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Imprison'd, chain'd ; the traitor knew his time : 
 
 But ill news strides apace — I heard — heard — heard — 
 
 And called the earth to cover me. 
 
 [Falkner buries his face in his hands, dis- 
 tractedly.^ 
 
 KKLl'OKI). 
 
 Have patience. 
 
 falkner. 
 Patience ? Hear me : 
 In Indian warfare, 'neath a scorching sun, 
 I toiled in the defences of the siege, 
 And saw my father perish at my side ; 
 Whose service there some petty insolence 
 Of new authority enforced ! Ho died ; 
 But T had jiatience ! 
 
 Hear me yet : 
 I had a friend who shared my heart from youth ; 
 'Neath his command, against the Mysoreans 
 I battled, and was captured : sir, his troo}) 
 E'en to a man had fought, and perished too. 
 Ere 1, in llyder's dungeon, worse than death. 
 Had lain a prisoner; l)ut lu- — l\e retreated! 
 Tjcft me to snftri- long captivity :
 
 150 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 The torture of a bondage, by report 
 
 The most inhuman Tyranny couhl sliapc ! 
 
 He fled — but I had patience ! 
 
 God tempered me to bear it — till the news 
 
 Of a beloved sister's fame dishonoured ! 
 
 The legacy of a dead mother's love, 
 
 My father's favourite and long-cherished child, 
 
 Dishonoured, and bv one that sire had served! 
 
 'Twas then I curs6d ray chains, and challenged life 
 
 To show on earth a greater wretch than I ; 
 
 'Twas then I breathed an oath in Hyder's cell 
 
 To barter all for vengeance ! then, ' twas then, 
 
 I tore my flesh, and held my bleeding hands 
 
 To God for justice ! 
 
 I was heard ! escaped ! 
 Am here ! — Now, prate to me of patience ! 
 
 KELFOiiD, aside. 
 'Tis Falkner ! Courage — let me lose no chance — 
 Detection trembles on a point — a move — 
 Coolness and boldness must avail me now : 
 He cannot know me, from my change of name. 
 
 Thou look'st. 
 
 How? 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 As though some spell had struck thee into stone. 
 Perchance thou knew'st this . . .
 
 1) 11 A M A T I (' C II A I' T K Iv' S . 1 f)! 
 
 KELFORD eagerly, yet with, embarrassment . 
 Nothing — His notliiiig — iiotliing, save thy story. 
 A woman's name is light, and Hghtly goes. 
 
 FALKNEK. 
 
 A Woman's name is linked to something holy ! 
 
 It is a thing to love — to estimate — 
 
 To honoui' — to defend : a W^oman's name, 
 
 Oh, 'tis her wealth, her power, her patrimony ; 
 
 Which, wanting, opulence is beggary ; 
 
 All other strength, all other vigour — loeahiess ! 
 
 It is the very magnet of her life ; 
 
 The charm, the grace, the sweetness of her being : 
 
 And he wliose rancorous breath — or viler still — 
 
 AA'hose coAvard treachery that name assails. 
 
 Is villain deeper stained tlian language finds 
 
 Contempt for ! 
 
 KELFOllD. 
 
 I — you mistake, misjudge my meanings 
 I thought not to — but, but your story — 
 You lost . . . 
 
 FALKNEIl. 
 
 Long — long 'twas thought he had cscajjcd ; although 
 
 Defeat but added strength to my resohe, 
 
 Like him (the fabled) who to earth being thrown 
 
 Rose at each new prostration doubly strong. 
 
 So leapt decision from each ()^(M•th1■ov,. 
 
 All times I sought him, moi-ning, noon, and night — 
 
 A[[ [)laccs, from the music-breathing liali. 
 
 The revel and the dance — the gilded rout ;
 
 152 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Down to the meanest walls where knaves coneeal 
 At last. 
 
 KELFORD alarmed — aside. 
 There is a cnrdling horror in my blood ; 
 My words swell in my throat until too large 
 For utterance — 
 
 You, you still pursued ? 
 ^Twas wonder nature sank not 'neath the toil. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Food rarely passed these thin and fever'd lips ; 
 
 I had no appetite but for revenge — 
 
 No thirst, but for the chalice of revenge ! 
 
 It cast a shadow Hween me and my God, 
 
 Made day like night, clothed all the world in black ; 
 
 It was the hand that struck each note of time — 
 
 Revenge ! revenge ! deep, terrible revenge ! 
 
 KELFORD tremblinu, and losbuj all presence of mind. 
 What mean'st thou? 
 
 FALKNER, 
 
 At length we met ! thank God of heaven^ we met ! 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Who ? what ? art mad ? 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 The villain, monster, I was telling thee ! — 
 (I shall be choked) this double ruffian, lord. 
 This black defamer of my father's house^
 
 D R A :\r A T I (,' C H A V T K R S . 1 y)?j 
 
 Dcspoilcr of a sister's \artuous name, 
 
 We met ! 
 
 Met when the savage gloated o'er new spoil 
 
 Dainty and fair, outrivalling the okl, 
 
 And in the midst — steep'd to the lips in guilt 
 
 Perform'd, and guilt intended — lord, we met! 
 
 KELFORD, start'Dn/ hack, as wishful to eacape. 
 'Tis Falkner! 
 
 FALKNER, I'usliinf) bcfove him. 
 Oh, is it so? your lordship kiiows me, then? 
 Be blister'd thy foul tongue, and ever dumb. 
 That dared to utter, dared to breathe a name 
 Thou hast dishonourer!, villain ! 
 
 [Tlirov^s: off /lis disf/vise, (ind drains his sirord.l 
 Thy sword. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 Hear me yet, Falkner — thy sister . . . 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Sister ! . . . 
 
 "Will heaven not strike thee dead before my sight? 
 
 Coward, thy sword ! 
 
 KELFORD, rupidll/. 
 
 Not here — his blood hath not well dried — not here — 
 'Twill drag my soul to everlasting doom. 
 Give, give me time — give time — 
 I'll meet thee where thou M'ilt.
 
 154 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 FALKNEH, pressing on him,. 
 Thy sword. 
 
 One word. 
 
 Tliy sword. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 KELFORD. 
 
 One word — in mercy. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Ha! ha! lia ! ha! Mercy? 
 Thou prat'st of mercy, whilst she stands beside thee. 
 Shrouded and pale, and on her cheek a stain, 
 A brand not e'en the grave hath bleached away. 
 Who fixed it there ? Who stabbed her reputation ? 
 Who slew the modest beauty of her soul ? 
 Seest thou that dreadful finger point ? 
 
 'Twas THOU ! 
 Another yet, a grey-haired father. Nay, 
 Thou can'st not move ! Dead hands, thou mayst not see. 
 Secure thee like a vice ! 
 
 Not di'aw? Not draw? 
 [Kelford draws, and makes an agitated and un- 
 equal defence ; Falkner hea^-s doivn each 
 feeble guard, speaking all the time.~\ 
 Then to thy heart I strike the avenging steel 
 To the glad hilt — the hilt — with curses, lord ! 
 And to perdition sink thy sinful soul ; 
 For 'tis — hear it, thou doomed ! it is a Falkner's arm
 
 DRAMATIC C II A r T E R S. 155 
 
 Avenges thus a dear loved sister's sliamc ! 
 
 \_After vainly endeavom'vng to speak, Kelfoud 
 
 dies. — A pause. — Falkner approaches the 
 
 corpse.'] 
 So, dead ! Tlicn a\ hat am I, he being dead ? 
 Was't tliou, pale clod, degraded a loved name, 
 Stamped infamy upon a trusting heart. 
 And steeped a virtuous house in misery ? 
 And we endure this from such things as thou ? 
 
 Insects a blow can 
 
 [S/if/ht sounds of distant footsteps.] 
 Then I must hence — 
 But not without thee, lord, I love thee so ! 
 So love, I cannot quit thee e'en in death ! 
 To that dear sister's grave thy arts destroyed. 
 Thou, her destroyer, will I force to kneel ; 
 Ay, bend thy stiffening joints in supplication ! 
 Face to her grave thy caitiff corse I'll set, 
 Then leave thee there, with her accusing dust. 
 Until the foul fiends claim thee ! 
 
 [EiVit, hastily, ivith the body.]
 
 156 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 (Elajpto' Xm. 
 
 Scene — Interior of Keif or d Castle; Clown lislening at 
 
 the library -door. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 I'm sure I heard strange noises from this room, 
 Or from the room beyond .... 
 But always are there noises in this place, 
 As Jeannette says, noises and startling cries, 
 And doors that sing and whistle on the hinge. 
 Yet there was something more than these just now : 
 Voices in passion ! . . . [Listens agahi.'] 
 
 There's mischief brewing in this hated castle. 
 Would I were out ! I'm always in some scrape ! 
 The ferrips take my legs for bringing me, 
 And take my mistress, too, for sending me ; 
 ' Tis always. Clown, do this ! or. Clown, fetch that ! 
 Fresh orders thick as hail ! — as though a Clown 
 Had not a soul, not even to his foot ! 
 "Go, foUow Falkner," says my lady, "Clown;" 
 And here I am! [Enter Jeannette /rom side-door^ 
 
 And what's to come of it? [Listens again.'] 
 Coidd I see Jeannette now ! . . . 
 
 [Jeannette slaps him on the back.]
 
 D R A M A T 1 C (' II A 1' T K R S. 157 
 
 JEANNETTE. 
 
 What seek you here? Listening at people's doors — 
 Pine conduct, sir ; sneaking in lobbies thus, 
 And eaves-dropping . . . 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Not at doors ; eaves-dropping is at Avindows ! 
 
 JEANNETTE. 
 
 Never tell me, sir ; I'm ashamed of you ! 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Ashamed of me ! ' Twas but the other day 
 That you were proud of me. 
 
 JEANNETTE. 
 
 What ! when you saved the drowning man? ay, that 
 Was noble of you ; this is mean. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 One can't find drowning people every day. 
 
 And dive and save them. Now, woiddst thou jump in, 
 
 I'd dive a mile or I would fetch thee out ! 
 
 JEANNETTE. 
 
 Have done with you ! A pretty fetching out ! 
 Thou'd save a pudding sooner than .Tcaunotte. 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Why thou'rt my pudding, duiupliug, round and sweet, 
 
 Full of all fruits, like to a Hakewell one ! 
 
 Thy li])s arc cherries; jicaciics arc thy checks;
 
 158 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Thine eyes black currants ; and tliy nose a plum — 
 
 A white one, large and finely prominent ; 
 
 Thy teeth like nuts just blanched, and fragrant white; 
 
 Honey of rose and raspberry thy breath ; 
 
 Thine ears are figs ! . . . 
 
 JEANNETTE. 
 
 Figs ! that for your figs ! [Boxes him.] 
 
 I'll teach you, sir, to say my ears are figs ! 
 These ears your betters have admired, and oft. 
 Figs ! figs, indeed ! A murrain take your figs ! 
 
 [ Vapouring about.] 
 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Fm always in a scrape ! 
 
 Gave any one to me a purse of gold, 
 
 ' Twould lead me in some scrape before an hour : 
 
 What makes another's fortune ruins mine. 
 
 [Footsteps approaching.] 
 Here's some one coming; scrape on scrape 'twill be. 
 Now, Jeannette, then, I meant it all in jest ! 
 Like figs ! Like water-lilies, small and thin. 
 And silver fair and graceful, arc thine ears ! 
 Thou know'st I love thee ! Meant thee no offence ! 
 There's some one near, and I must not be seen. 
 
 [Jeannette opens the door half sulkily .] 
 
 JEANNETTE. 
 
 Figs, indeed ! 
 
 [Holding the door open, and boxing Clown as he 
 passes her.] 
 That 1 sliould hvc to have my ears called figs ! 
 
 [Exit after him.]
 
 1) R A M A T I C C TI A 1' T K US. 1 59 
 
 Scene — Ruins of ti Got/tic church by mooalu/lit ; tJie 
 yrave-yard, stained ivith mossy damps, weed-yrovm 
 and desolate; a tow tomb in tJie centre, ivith the 
 initials E. F., and a cross at/ore ; the corpse of 
 Kelford leaning ivith the hands clasped over the 
 tomb, the face bowed over them, a clasp-knife and 
 cord lying beside. 
 
 Enter Midgley and Adolptifs at the steps of the 
 
 gateway. 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Thy mother was a pure, unspotted wife, 
 Thyself the heir of Kelford ! May'st thou prove 
 Worthier than he who now inherits it ! 
 I've proofs substantial. 
 
 [Midgley turns and sees the corp.^e.] 
 Merciful Heaven I AMiat's that ? a corpse ? 
 Great God, that still eternal justice holds : 
 Thy hand is here ! 
 
 Boy, bend thy knee : 
 Behold thy mother's grave ! Pray for the soul 
 Of him who was thy father ; for here he lies — 
 If there be truth in siuht — a murdered man ! 
 
 APOLrnus. 
 Murdered ! 
 
 Oh, I saw nothing but my mother's grave ! 
 What monster hath done this? And yet, take heart, 
 He may have only fainted. . . . 
 
 Dead, dead ! (piite (U>ad ! 
 Oh, what a wretch aui J to find thee dead !
 
 1 60 D R A M A T I C C H A r T E U S, 
 
 I prayed to see my mother's grave, and ' twas decreed 
 
 That when I saw it I should see thee dead ! 
 
 My prayers have murdered thee, my dead-found fatlier I 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Canst thou love him whose falsehood killed thy mother? 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 He is dead ! All here have need of mercy, 
 Of pardon, of forgiveness. He is dead, 
 And will offend no more ! 
 
 [MiDGLEY examining the foot of the grave ^ 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Oh ! what is this ? a knife ! and Falkner on it ! 
 
 [_As she comes forward with the knife, enter hastily 
 Retainers and Follotvers of Lord Kelford, 
 with Officers of Justice.'] 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Seize that hag ! Take heed the lad escape not ! 
 A horrid deed^ and dreadfully they'll answer it. 
 
 [As they are about to seize Adolphus, he draws 
 himself up proudly and firmly ?\ 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 Touch me not here ! upon my mother^s grave. 
 
 I will not move a limb but as you choose. 
 
 So you keep back your hands one moment, sirs. 
 
 \He bends sorroivfully over the grave, kneels, and 
 kisses it^
 
 I) R A M A r I (• (' I[ A \'V K RS. 1 ()1 
 
 OFFLCER. 
 
 This is the second murder forind since noon ! 
 
 For 'tis more probable that poor younf;^ g-irl 
 
 Fonnd some base hand to phmge her in the wave, 
 
 Than of her own accord she had fonnd out 
 
 A stream so black, so foul, and desolate; 
 
 A place where sun did never penetrate 
 
 Since yon grey forest its first childhood knrw ! 
 
 There is an aAvful grandeur in the spot 
 
 Which had rebuked nway a suicide. 
 
 Poor soul ! how l)cautiful she looked ! T we])t, 
 
 She was so like a sister I had lost. 
 
 I wept, Avent out, and sorroAved like a child ! 
 
 Well, 'tis not oft my he.Ti't thus shames iny face ; 
 
 Yet she had parents — brothers too, perchance — 
 
 Poor souls ! poor souls ! it is a tryiuii" world. 
 
 FOLLOWKU. 
 
 AVas there no clue, then, to her parentage? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Nothing ; nor letter, token, ring ; save one 
 Mysterious paper, in Ihm' l)osom placed, 
 AArittcn thereon, "A In'idal gift to Bertha." 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 Now where yc will, T an) in Heaven's hnnds ! 
 
 AIIDGLEY. 
 
 Did 1 not tell thee, l)oy, the hag was ]ioor t 
 
 If ])ovei'ty's not guilt, why looks it soV 
 
 Ha! gyves for the hag; hind hard, good Thristinn men,
 
 162 DRAIMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 What matters it liow the old witch may suffer? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Reheve her hands. 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 What ! twice in a day ? The world grows tender, sure ! 
 [The followers bear off the corpse ; Adolphus 
 folloivs erect, yet mournfully.']
 
 I) R A Al A TIC CHAP T !>: R S. 16 
 
 o 
 
 €60ipita: XX. 
 
 Scene — Ear It/ morning; rvral lamb; a mill by a mnvn- 
 tain-stream, ivith huge stepping-stones; Clohio, still 
 in disguise, crosses the stream, and comes forward. 
 
 CLORKJ. 
 
 They're fools that love, but double fools that wed ; 
 
 Let who will wed, I'll live and die a maid : 
 
 Love ! 'tis a draught of gall, Avith one poor drop 
 
 Of honey ! A nettle hid 'neatli roses ! 
 
 'Tis years of sours to one short month of sugar ! 
 
 Love is a gambler ! — staking all her heart 
 
 Upon a single throw, and losing it ; 
 
 Where winning, she'd win nothing ! 
 
 Men's hearts arc nothing, as much feeling there 
 
 As there is feeling in a painted heart ! 
 
 Men's hearts are nothing — empty as their vows, 
 
 On which nuiids build love-castles in the air, 
 
 To fall <nud ci'iisli tliciii ; no, T'11 love no more: 
 
 I'll love no itioi'c ! 
 
 But who comes here so sad? 
 'Tis, as 1 live, a wooer of in\- liaiid
 
 1 ()4 D R A M A TIC C H A 1' T E R S . 
 
 Some twelvemouths back ; but Avbo metbought 
 Knew less of love than of pbilosopby ! 
 I'll stay and plague bim. 
 
 Some bad pined for Aveeks, 
 
 Sunk into apatby, or died of grief. 
 / feel all action ; Would I were a man ; 
 I'd cballenge every man, and one by one 
 Rid eartb of ber worst fniit ! 
 
 Enter Jukus thoughtjulhj ; Clorio walks up to him, 
 and touches him on the back with her cane. 
 
 CLOllIO. 
 
 Give you good morning, sir ; you know me not ? 
 Men have long memories when they serve or lend, 
 But short ones when they borrow — you owe me . . . 
 
 JUKUS. 
 
 What? 
 
 CLOKIO. 
 
 A kindness, sir : that is not much, you'll say ; 
 Which proves you've learnt but little of the world. 
 From which ' tis hard at any time to get 
 A kindness ! 
 
 JUKUS. 
 
 You're merrv, sir. 
 
 CLOKIO. 
 
 ]\lerry? 'tis not an hour ago I wept. 
 
 And now my heart betwixt a smile and tear 
 
 Seems vibrating ; touch yc l)ut cither side
 
 1 ) It A M A T I C ( ' 1 1 A 1' T K R S . 1 ()i3 
 
 The clijSercncc of a feather, nay, a hair — 
 I'm laughing or lamenting ! Mark you^ sir, 
 Mirth is to mourning nearer than supposerl ; 
 Smiles may be born of sorrow, joy of grief; 
 The blushes of the morn are types of t(!ars ! 
 You're a philosopher, an alchymist. 
 And should at least know this. 
 
 JURIS. 
 
 AVhat kindness owe I youV 
 
 CLOHIO. 
 
 There was a giddy girl you late a(hnired, 
 
 A clever gay coquette you favoured once. 
 
 One who'd have wrcck'd your heart within a w(>ek, 
 
 Or in a month at most : vou loved her nnicli, 
 
 And 1 persuaded you to wed her not : 
 
 This is the kindness you're my debtor for. 
 
 .UK us. 
 Mcthought I knew thy face — a something there 
 Reminded me of . . . of the kindness, sir, 
 Your counsel granted me ; there's danger oft 
 In talent; like the glowworm in the grass. 
 Its brightness is its ruin. Voor Louise ! 
 
 ci.oino. 
 You loved li("r tlu'u ? 
 
 .irurs. 
 W ould I had not ! Foi' phtinly, sir, slir was 
 Of Nature's contradictions still tlir first!
 
 T()() I) K A:\lATir CHAPTERS. 
 
 ]\Inch loved, much feared, much ceusured, much admired; 
 
 Was good, yet giddy; vain, and yet had sense; 
 
 Trustful, yet jealous; humble, yet ambitious. 
 
 She could be humljlc, good, admired, and loved. 
 
 Or giddy, vain, ambitious, and despised. 
 
 She was to me the single ray that lit 
 
 The home my heart had longed for; and when lost, 
 
 When lost . . . 
 
 CLORIO. 
 
 Lost! I thought she lived. 
 
 And that in no choice company, 'tis said. 
 
 JUKUS. 
 
 I know what's said : 
 
 Oh, we are wondrous moral — \drtuous too 
 
 In shaping paths for other feet to travel ! 
 
 Where there's no interest, no self-sacrifice. 
 
 No private ends to compass or complete. 
 
 Our sense of justice is unparalleled : 
 
 Moles are we to our own deficiencies, 
 
 Lynx-eyed to others' follies and defects. 
 
 I know what's said — 'tis Scandal, sir. 
 
 There's a nobility within her soul 
 
 At which vice stands rebuked. Vain, but not vile; 
 
 Giddy, not guilty. No; 'tis Scandal, sir. 
 
 CLOiiio to herself. 
 And I refused this man to court a fop, 
 An empty mask of man, a coxcomb, fool ! 
 
 [Turning to Jurus smilingly and sportively.']
 
 D R A ]\r A T T C C II A 1> T E R S . 1 61 
 
 Oil, scandal, sir ! I know mv Lady Scandal : 
 
 I saw her busy at our nei":libour's house. 
 
 Peeping beneath the blinds, and whispcrino- ; 
 
 Blushing- a thousand shames, with lifted hands, 
 
 As wondering to herself, " Can such things be?" 
 
 She travels half the universe and more ; 
 
 Speaks every language underneath the sun ; 
 
 Familiar Avith the Ganges as the Thames ; 
 
 Knows all from Tartary to Ethiopia, 
 
 From Moscow to Madrid. With eager step. 
 
 Fresh from St. Petersburgh she breathless brings 
 
 The hundredth /«w<r jo«.s' of Queen Catharines 
 
 She's the world's monitor, and ])eople fear 
 
 Her little finger more than courts of law. 
 
 She rails of husbands false, of wives eloped, 
 
 Of babies born the mothers only know of; 
 
 Divorces and seductions, damages ; 
 
 Of dukes and debt, conceit and beggar-pride. 
 
 And whilst she rails she laughs, and wonders where 
 
 Such creatures think tlKn'll go. 
 
 .KKlS. 
 
 You're out of breath. . . . 
 
 (I. (II! (O. 
 
 So is not Madanu' Scandal : 
 
 Nothing's too high, too low, too near, too far for Scandal ; 
 
 She speeds upon a moonl)eam, and tells tales 
 
 Of fiiir Diana and Endyuiion ; 
 
 Cautions the stars 'gainst .lu])iter's amours; 
 
 Something of Leda's swan and showers of gold ; 
 
 Swears Saturn ate his children ; nay, what's more,
 
 1 68 ]1 T{ A ]\[ A T I C C II A r T K R S. 
 
 That Venus is no credit to the skies, 
 
 And marvels how the heavens can harbour her. 
 
 To maidens lacking partners for the dance 
 
 She speaks of rival beauties, of false teeth, 
 
 Dyed locks, and padded shapes, and cheeks of rose — 
 
 Blushes just born of vegetable rouge — 
 
 Flirtings, coquettings, jiltings, and intrigues. 
 
 And thus she laughs through life: for each she whips. 
 
 She's twenty laughers to enjoy the lash. 
 
 Leave but their own backs scoreless, half the world 
 
 AVill laugh to see the other half exposed. 
 
 So Scandal keeps her audience. E'en from church 
 
 She'll seize the preacher on his passage home, 
 
 Mix Avith the congregation, and set all 
 
 The parish in a liroil : this done, she laughs. 
 
 And says the world has grown too bad for her — 
 
 This giddy world, this madcap wicked Avorld, 
 
 Has grown so bad 'twill be the death of her ! 
 
 Oh, Scandal, sir — I know mv Lady Scandal! 
 
 JTJRUS. 
 
 'Tis pity mirth like thine should e'er know change. 
 I like thy mood : thou'rt something like Louise, 
 In talent as in features ; forward, pert, 
 Yet pertness losing its offensiveness 
 In something innocent and loveable. 
 I like thee nnich ; for sorrow is with me 
 So constant in attendance, I would fain 
 Claim friendsliip with a nature light as thine. 
 What sayst thou ? shall it be so ? are we friends — 
 Tlie cheerful youth and grave philosopher? 
 Morning and night make but a single day ;
 
 I> R A M A TIC C H A P T E R S . 1 ()9 
 
 So we, though separate and different, 
 May still be one in ft-iendship ; as the day 
 Is onCy though morn and night be different. 
 
 CLORIO. 
 
 If ever fi'iend were true, I will be true. 
 Not for the sunlight merely was I born ; 
 Not for the morning only : well I know 
 The night hath glory richer than the dawn. 
 
 JURUS. 
 
 I shall believe in sympathy — believe 
 
 That souls have kindred chords, which, once but touched, 
 
 Thrill through the being with a sense of joy. 
 
 Of love, of happiness, unknown before. 
 
 I\l thank thee for thy fi-iendship, Init that thanks . . . 
 
 CLORIO, interrupting him. 
 Are words, mere words, which any one may say : 
 Let^s have '^no words" on friciulship's first sweet day. 
 
 [Exeunt.']
 
 170 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS, 
 
 €|a]pteir XXI. 
 
 Scene — A hall in Indworth Castle; Falkner stern and 
 inflexible, stands to the right of the hall; Bertha, 
 2Jale and agitated, hut full of confidence, by his side; 
 MiDGLEY and Adolphus, ivith Officers of Jus- 
 tice, at the left ; Guards, the Retainers of Lord 
 Kelpord, and the Attendants of Lady Bertha, fill 
 up the background. 
 
 bertha. 
 A sinful charge, a base malignant charge, 
 A monstrous charge, and most incredible ! 
 The witnesses unworthy least belief; 
 One living hourly, openly, in crime ; 
 One of a herd of gypsies, vagrants, robbers, 
 Who nightly in their calhng prowl the forest : 
 Who else so like as her own self to have done it ? 
 What drew her to a spot so far remote 
 As that in which you found her ? . . . 
 
 My Falkner, 
 ^Tis rightly done to treat tliis empty charge 
 With scornful silence; 'tis not worth thy tongue ! 
 I would believe the sun itself were black 
 Ere question thy fair honour !
 
 DRAMATIC {' II A I' T E R S. 171 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 The lady speaks it sooth. What proof have ye 
 To fasten this dread deed against a man, 
 A gentleman, of high repute and character, 
 Whose general bearing gives the lie to this 
 Malicious, cruel charge? What say ye? 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 The knife found by the corpse — the open knife. 
 Whereon engraved appears the name of " Falkncr." 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 'Twere a stale brain could not devise as much ! 
 The boy — what says he ? Did he see the mui'dcr ? 
 No, nor the knife ! ^T^vas found by that false hag ; 
 And 'twere poor cunning could not so contrive 
 With what name on't might suit the pui'pose best ! 
 Shame on thy lip ; I see the lie upon it ! 
 
 J LRUS, aside. 
 O might of love ! the dove become an eagle ! 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 You say your only eWdence is this, 
 
 The knife, which bears no trace of such an use ! 
 
 The knife, and nothing more ? You saw him not ? 
 
 No one escaping ? Not a glimpse to bind 
 
 A probability against this man, 
 
 Or lodge suspicion 'gainst his character? 
 
 The knife? which might be stolen for such i^irposr. 
 
 No other evidence? Sii', you are free ! 
 
 This Avoman and thr b^y must hence to prison,
 
 1 72 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 There to take trial for this heinous deed ; 
 And much I fear it will go hard with them. 
 
 ADOLPHUS. 
 
 So help us God, as we are innocent ! 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 You^re found beside the corpse, and no one near ; 
 None, save yourselves, upon the spot to question ; 
 And on your lips and in your eyes are seen 
 Terror, and tears, and misery ! Away — 
 Each circumstance but tends to criminate. 
 Guards, to your duty. Prisoners . . . 
 
 FALKNER, after an agonised struggle. 
 Stay ! 
 
 Yet — wait yet — a moment ! His true ; I — 
 They are innocent ! 
 
 [With choking utterance, and hiding his face from 
 Bertha.] 
 
 / am guilty ! 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Thou the murderer? 
 
 BERTHA. 
 
 Alas, he^s mad ! 
 Believe him not ! Falkner ! Why dost not speak I 
 Speak, ere my senses leave me ! Falkner, turn : 
 Look at me . . . [He uncovers his face.~] 
 
 Merciful Heaven, that face ! Oh, cruel ! cruel ! 
 
 [Faints, and is borne aside by her attendants.^
 
 D R A M A TIC C H A I' T E R S. 1 73 
 
 FALKNER, lookbig Up determinedly and loftily. 
 Murder . . . 
 
 ' Twas justice, and not murder ! 
 There are some crimes on which the law is silent. 
 And this was one in which my sword was law : 
 He stabbed me, and I slew him ! 
 
 OFFICEll. 
 
 Stabbed thee ? 
 
 FALKNEK, 
 
 Ay; are there no stabs but from the dagger's })oint? 
 No deeds more sharp than steel ? no words, no wrongs. 
 Whose cursed edge may wound, whose poison kill, 
 Whose venom strike, and yet the striker smile ? 
 Are there no stabbcrs but where blood must flow? 
 He struck me through the dearest heart alive — 
 The noblest, kindest heart of all the world : 
 He struck me, and I slew him ! 
 
 MIDGLKV. 
 
 Thou slew'st him that he did betray thy sister! 
 
 FALKNER, guzbig after Wvavvwx. 
 All things are equal now : / did. 
 
 MIDGLEV. 
 
 Then art thou murderer ! He betrayed Ikm- not : 
 She wns a loviii'j, \)\\yv, imd spotless wife ! 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Pure — saidst thou pure? a wife, and undisgraced r 
 Say it again — again — a spotless wife !
 
 174 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 She was his Avife. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Prove thou but that^ and I'll die blessing thee. 
 
 MiDGLEYj shelving papers from her bosom. 
 The proofs are here, and fully witnessed : 
 Methought to make them serve me in my need. 
 The priest he deem'd a knave was priest ordained ; 
 A good, though weak and easy-tempered man, 
 Who cringed to fault, but would not stoop to crime. 
 She was his wife, and thus the rite performed. 
 Concealed within, where they might clearly hear. 
 And see, and vouch, unto the ceremony. 
 He had his witnesses, but sworn to silence. 
 Until the time should come, as come it has. 
 When innocence might need their testimony. 
 To pm'ify its name to all the world. 
 Why didst thou seek this black and heaAy deed. 
 Thou proud, revengeful, miserable man ? 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 You count not the temptations men withstand. 
 But that ' neath which they fall ; whereas, if known. 
 Those well withstood were twenty 'gainst that one. 
 Thou deem'st me rash ! Was not his guilt the same ? 
 Intent as vile, unfeeling, profligate ? 
 Why shew a baffled traitor as he were 
 A man to honour ?
 
 D R A M A T I C C IT A P T E R S . 1 75 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 A siiiful mail lie was, and therefore had 
 More need of liAnns: to repent his sins. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 And wlio art tliou asserts this? 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 The sister of that priest, but one whose word 
 
 Is Uttle Avorth, were testimony wanting ; 
 
 But for these proofs and liWng witnesses 
 
 Wikl Midgley's oath might aid thy eausc but shghtly. 
 
 FALKNER, 
 
 Give — give tliem me. 
 
 [He tears them open, and attempts to read.^ 
 'Tis vain — 
 
 The letters sink and tremble 'neatli my sight : 
 The proofs are here — and yet my faithless eyes 
 Refuse to read them — valid proofs are here, 
 Proofs of her love, her innocence, her wrongs, — 
 Iniquitous as great — yet, yet I faint — 
 And the lines swim and melt in one another : — 
 Am I a man ? or weaker than the Aveakest ? 
 
 [Lie nerves himself firmly to the task, and reads ; 
 after a pause,^ 
 The priest — thy brother — Avlierc is he ? 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Dead.
 
 170 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 My — my sister knew this ? 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Alas, she did : six years ago he died. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 I see, 'twas then the tyrant struck his victim: 
 
 Struck — with a coward's weapon : — 
 
 How cam'st thou with those vile associates, 
 
 Men whom the voice of justice soon may doom — 
 
 Abandoned, godless, guilt-carousing men, 
 
 Who drink of human sorrow as 'twere wine. 
 
 And prey on men's misfortunes — knaves, whose breath 
 
 Is poison to society, whose deeds 
 
 Feed superstition with the grossest food. 
 
 And build their hell on human ignorance ? 
 
 . MIDGLEY. 
 
 Ask me no farther : what I know, I know ; 
 What I have done I have elsewhere to answer ; 
 What I believe is not for thee to judge. 
 Who, scorning God's divine authority. 
 Mocking the image of His sacred power, 
 Denied the wisdom of His heavenly mercy. 
 And struck thy brother dead before His face. 
 Still glorying in that guilt thou call'st revenge. 
 Justice and judgment ! 
 
 Oh, blind-hearted man. 
 Worse than the God-unseeing infidel. 
 Who, still believing in a Judge divine, 
 Wrests justice from him !
 
 1) R A J\r A T I C C H A V f E R S . 1 77 
 
 FALKNER, voused to the utmost passion. 
 Know'st thou not a day, nay, even an hour, 
 May make the mind, heaven-visited and pure, 
 A denizen of hell ; a moment give 
 The seed, root, leaf, and full-expanded fruit 
 Of ripened passion and of crime matured ; 
 A moment sliape the destiny of life. 
 As it did mine in Hvder's cursed cell : 
 A moment more blot out eternity. 
 And baptise guilt in blood ; brand years with shame ; 
 Rend out the core, the innocent core of the heart. 
 And plant perdition there ; change Nature's cheek 
 "From youth^s fresh beauty into haggard age ; 
 For never more the angel of the morn 
 Shall come Avith gladness to the murderer's heart. 
 But midnight and its haunting shapes be there, — 
 Midnight perpetual and perpetual dread ; 
 Whilst late Repentance, A\dth its "\Tilture-claws, 
 The murdered to the murderer shall hold up, 
 
 [As if heholdimj ivhat he descrihes.] 
 Still face to face the living and the dead. 
 The slaver and the slain — av, front to front, 
 The life-like corpse unto the corpse-like life ? 
 A moment ! 'tis a cup in HoiTor's hand ! 
 Who spoke to me of murder ? 
 
 [ TiirnJi wildly and sees Auolpius, i/'/io advances 
 toivards liim.'\ 
 My sister, too? than, too, against thy brotlu^r l* 
 Then I am lost indeed ! 
 
 [Seeing Adolphus nearer.^^ 
 Ah i who art thou, 
 Who wear'st an angel's face, yet art of earth? 
 
 A A
 
 178 DRAMATIC CH A INTERS. 
 
 MIDGLEY. 
 
 Thy sister's child. 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Her child ! her child ! 
 
 [Falkner slowly kneels ; Adolphus runs to his 
 arms ; he struggles for a moment, and then 
 bursts into an agony of tears upon the hoy's 
 breast ; then suddenly starting to his feetJ\ 
 Make way, if ye would live ! 
 Nor urge a desperate, mad, and doomed man, 
 Who counts no more your bristling fence of steel. 
 Than reeds he thus could scatter on his course : 
 Come death or freedom ! 
 
 BERTHA, breaking from her attendants. 
 Save him — O Falkner ! Save ! will no one help ? 
 None — none — none to keep this heart from breaking? 
 [Falkner throws himself violently amidst the 
 javelins and bayonets of the guards; after a 
 rapid struggle he staggers back wounded, 
 and sinks at the feet q/ Bertha.] 
 
 FALKNER, after a pause. 
 'Tis well, 'tis home! 
 
 Home? home? Alas, who may receive me there. 
 In that eternal home to which I hasten ? 
 
 [To Bertha, ivho supports him.] 
 My Bertha ! oh, had I but met thee earlier. 
 Ere this strong passion, like a baneful weed. 
 Filled every space and avenue of thought, 
 Clasping my being ^vith its poisonous leaves.
 
 D R A 31 A T I C C II A P T E R S . 1 79 
 
 I miglit liavc lived blest in thy hearths affections^ 
 
 Seen sweeter beings gambolling at my feet^ 
 
 And blessed tlic angel-voices of my home ! 
 
 I loved thee, Bertha ; none save her whose love 
 
 (jrrew with my stature, mingled with my blood. 
 
 My youthful pride and soldier-sense of honom-, 
 
 Had stood betwixt my soul's deep truth and thee. 
 
 Think of me, love, when I shall be Jio more ; 
 
 And if thou canst ^\dth kindness . . . with forgiveness ! 
 
 BERTHA.. 
 
 Shall I e'er think of thee and not Avith love ? 
 
 Speak of thee not with honour ? thou Avho wert 
 
 My heart's first, last, its own and only choice ! 
 
 'TavIII not be long that I can think of thee ; 
 
 Not long, perchance, but it will be till death ! 
 
 Long as I breathe ; long as this heart may beat, 
 
 This brain can think, whose every thought is tliine ; 
 
 Long as I live, I'll love and bless thee still ; 
 
 And shrine thee, love, in that which cannot die, — 
 
 My soul, — that, Avith God's grace, may live hereafter ; 
 
 And, oh, hereafter, love thee still in heaven ! 
 
 FALKNER. 
 
 Angel thou art, and heavenly are thy thougiits, 
 And we may meet; for Heaven forgives mankind 
 More in on(^ hour than Earth in centuries. 
 If this be death, then it is sweet to die — 
 ForgiA'iug and forgiven. 
 
 Adolphus ! 
 [He /ilaces Adolphus's haiuf in Hf;KTn.\'s.] 
 He is her child licr un])rotectcd cliild ;
 
 180 DRAMATIC CHAPTERS. 
 
 Wilt tliou — both loving and both sorrowing, 
 
 Alike in evil fortune — be to him 
 
 A friend ? . . . [Starts and gazes wildly around.'] 
 
 Hark! who calls? — her voice! Sister, I am here. 
 
 Dying for thee ! Through Him who died for aU 
 
 Seek thou thy brother mercy — mercy ! 
 
 [With sudden energy."] 
 There lay no stain upon thy dying breast, 
 That sanctuary of honour was unblurred ; 
 Angels received thee spotless, stainless. [He falls.] 
 
 Ah ! sharp is death. Close — press me closer, love ! 
 Shield me within thine arms a little while. 
 Set love 'gainst death : 'twill conquer even death. 
 'Tis all eternal. Love survives the tomb : 
 Immortal ; — 'tis immortal, Bertha ; — fixed ; — 
 Though buried ' tis not lost ; — there is a soil 
 For love to bloom again beyond the grave ! 
 
 [He dies ; Bertha /a/fe senseless upon the body.] 
 
 3BntJ of IBvnmatIr Olijaptcrs.
 
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