THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES DRAMAS. CHARLES JAMES CANNON. AUTHOR OP " THE POET'S QUEST," " THE CROWNING HOUR," " POEM3 DRAMATIC AND MISCELLANEOUS," ETC. NEW YORK: E. DUNIGAN AND BROTHER, (JAMES B. KIRKER,) 371 BROADWAY. 1857. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S57, BY CHARLES JAMES CAXXO.V, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of Xew York. PS PRELUDE. THE busy, bustling day At length is at a close ; And night has come, and with the night Come silence and repose. And how welcome they To one aweary grown, Of racking sounds, and wasting toil, And sorrow's heavy moan. But welcome most to him Who has in check all day The spirit held, whose quivering wings Are stretched to soar away, Above this crowded earthf Its ceaseless moil and care, Up to the blest empyrean, To breathe in native air. Or him in sweet idlesse, Who, by the cheerful hearth, Lives o'er his youth its fantasies, Its sadness, and its mirth ; 9677 PRELUDE. Or of the wayside flowers, He gathered as along Life's thoroughfare he passed, entwines His simple wreath of song. Or with the dull and coarse Warp of the Real weaves, A many-coloured woof, where blend All tints of morn, and eve's Rich purple and red gold, And Heaven's own azure hue, With pictured tales of gallant men, And maidens fair and true. Or from th' unpeopled void, With poet-power, creates Tilings palpable, with human forms, And human loves and hates. And in their joys and griefs, Their perils, hopes, and fears, He gives them human sympathy, In human smiles and tears. And then he fondly dreams These creatures of the mind, Wherever known, from every heart Must ready welcome find. And so, as well attired As his poor means afford, He bids them with " God speed !" go forth, And seek the world's award. PRELUDE. Perchance it may be FAME, And joy his bosom thrills ! Or praise, doled like a grudged alms, The glow of hope that chills ; Or reprobation stern : Or what to him would be Even worse neglect ; or cold contempt, Scarce veiled by courtesy. Neglect, and cold contempt ; Praise doubtful, and harsh blame ; For each a thousand chances, while There is scarce one for fame ! But nought to risk is nought To win ; and if remain A single prize in Fortune's wheel, That prize may he not gain ? Poor simple wight! dream on. Ere long that teacher stern, Old Time, shall thee a lesson read Thou wilt be sad to learn. For then the power to dream "Will be forever gone. So, while thou mayst, at hush of eve, With hopeful heart dream on. 1* CHARACTERS. LUIGI PEEELLI, a Sculptor. ORAZIO FONTANA, a Gentleman of Rome. FELICE TRAPPANI, his Friend. OTTAYIO ORSINI, a young Nobleman. PELLEGRINO, a Citizen. GIOTTO, a Youth. UGO MALDONADO, a Robber Chief. GIAX-ANGELO, his Brother. GIACOMO, . Robbers. GCISEPPE, ENRICA, the Sculptor's Daughter. CAMILLA, her Aunt. WEDDING GUESTS, CITIZENS, AND ROBBKRS. SCENE. Partly in Rome, partly in the Campagna, and partly in the Abruz-i TIME. first year of the Pontificate o/"SiXTU8 V. THE SCULPTOR'S DAUGHTER, ACT I. SCENE I. The Studio O/PEREIXI. PERELLI, and OTTAVIO disguised as an Artist. 'Tis kind of thee, young sir, to give such praise To the attempts of one whom Fortune's spite Has doomed to drudge away a life for bread. Had I been blest with early competence, I might have done what in an after age Should make my name remembered. As it is, But let that pass ! I shall not sleep less soundly In the poor grave, to which I now am hastening, Than if St. Peter's were my mausoleum. Thank Heaven for that ' 10 THE SCULPTOR'S DAUGHTER. Nay, thou dost underrate Thy worth. Among the artists who now throng Our queenly city, there are few whose names Stand higher than thine own. But yester eve, The Cardinal Orsini no mean judge Spake of a Dian of thy workmanship, -In terms of highest praise. PERELLI. Did he indeed ? That Dian, though the last work of my hand, Was the mind's first creation ; the one idol That in the inmost chamber of my heart I had set up for worship. Years and years The form that in the marble lives at last Did haunt me like a real presence. Scarce An hour a moment was it absent from me. Yet, though I made a hundred and a hundred Attempts in youth, when mind and body both Were in their vigour, not till mine old age Did the ideal stand revealed in stone. And so his Eminence spake well of it 1 OTTAVIO. Spake well 1 He spake in raptures ! \_After a pause. THE SCULPTOR'S DAUGHTER. Yet, my friend, Though good as made thou may'st thy fortune count In that, thou in thy keeping hast a treasure, To which the master-pieces oPthe world Were poor ! PEKELLI. I fear I do not understand thee. I am an artist, with the vanity, I do not doubt, imputed to my class, Yet ne'er have thought my most successful effort Has even approached I speak it in all candour The works of those I reverence as masters. OTTAVIO. Let me be plain. Thou hast a child a daughter Whose living beauties not Praxiteles Could to the cold insensate stone transfer. She is the priceless treasure that I spake of. PERELLI. The child is fair enough to look upon ; And good as she is fair. 'Tis wearing late ; I would not seem discourteous, but the hour Of rest is now at hand, and so I bid thee Kindly, good-night. OTTAVIO. Let me a little farther 12 THE SCULPTOR'S DAUGHTIIR. Trespass upon thee. With a suit I came, And yet how to prefer it hardly know. I am not what I seem ; but rich and noble ; And, with a love to which there's no compare, Do love thy daughter. PERELLI. For thy sake, fair sir, I'm sorry for it. I, thou seest, am old, Yet have I not outlived all memory Of youth, nor of the flame in the young heart By passion kindled ; and I know the pang I must inflict, if thou dost truly love, By saying, she thou lov'st can ne'er be thine. And wherefore not? PEKELLI. She is a maid betrothed. OTTAVIO. O yes, betrothed to some dull citizen, Some needy artist or unpensioned rhymer, Who for five hundred scudi would resign His right to all the charms that formed a Venus. Let him then yield his claim to her fair hand, And I those hundreds will increase to thousands. THE SCULPTOR'S DAUGHTER. 13 PERELLI. Dost know to whom thou speak'st 1 OTTAVIO. To one whose years Have taught him wisdom. Who will not forego A present good for promise of the future. Who knows for he has felt how weighty is The difference between true, solid gold, And that mere thistle-down which men call Friendship. The youth who has thy daughter's plighted troth Has found thy influence of more avail Than his deservings. Let that influence now Be used to back my suit, and I will give, Not gratitude alone, but that will gild The evening of a long and cheerless life With more than sunset splendour. PERELLI. 'Tis most plain Thou dost not know the man to whom thou speak'st. My life, 'tis true, has scarce been prosperous If man's prosperity is to be counted By the rich coins his secret coffers hold Yet has not been all cheerless. In my home, Where love has ever nestled, I have found Amends for that which from the world I suffered. U THE SCULPTOR'S DAUOHTE*. For though die choien of my youth was early Called hence to Heaven, to dwell among her kindred, /entle spirit doth my hearth still blew In the dear child hi whom I *ee revived Bianca'* loveline* of mind and feature. Nor am I now to (ear lew comfort there, Although the fealty was ent all mine I* by another shared. But thw young man, Though him I would from all the world have chosen To be the prop of my declining years, K not. n.l',11'-. iir. '}i',}'<- ; for tinCf K/irl'xi Did know herself possessor of a heart, Has he been master of it. Then, howe'er I may be nattered by a noU^h ofr^r, To lift the daughter of a nameless sculptor Up to his proud estate, my influence JI.-i-J ne'er been sought by one who knew me well. OTTAVIO, (offering a. purge.) .!J in:in! lli-.rt- is ;i Utter ittaflT For thine old age than any he in Kome. For eefttthou not, that for i.Jiy l;ni^|jt.:r's love, This youth lian j.n.fH ;< -] t },:-. }J!H weak Hiipfiort? Be wih''. M au'l hn:ak with him, An A hall in the Palace of DON LLTS. MIGUEL and LOPE meeting. MIGUEL. WELL met, fellow servant. LOPE. What, Miguel, returned at last ? I thought thee off to the New World, with the rest of our young gallants, who have more wit than gold, and more courage than brains, and never expected to see thee again, but as the owner of a gold mine, or a pearl fishery, or some such trifle, and the husband of an Indian princess at the least. But where, to speak seriously, hast thou been these two months past ? MIGUEL. On a fool's errand. LOPE. No doubt o' that, if the errand was thine own. But what didst bring home with thee ? MIGUEL. Disappointment. 120 DOLORES. LOPE. Come, man, don't be so chary of thy words. Let's have thy story. MIGUEL. Story ? Faith, I've no story to tell. I've only been on a search through Andalusia for the Donna Angustia, daughter of the good old Count del Hoyo, \vhose mar- riage with our master was so unfortunately prevented, by the untimely death of her father. But she has strangely disappeared from among her friends, who could tell me nothing about her, nor lias she left one word of farewell or explanation for the comfort of her betrothed, whom I have just left in a state bordering on despair. LOPE. And yet, I venture to say, he'll not break his heart for all that. MIGUEL. What dost thou mean ? LOPE. That there's a lady, not a hundred miles from the Court at this minute, who is very likely to console him for the loss of his sweetheart. Indeed ? DOLORES. 121 LOPE. A stranger has appeared among us in thine absence who has quite turned the heads of king and courtiers. A person of such immense wealth that the very pots and pans in his kitchen are of pure gold, and the cups ho drinks out of are entirely of precious stones. But what is considered the greatest treasure in his possession, is his daughter, a creature of most wonderful beauty, who, 'tis whispered in the best informed circles, is likely to become the wife of our master, Don Luis. MIGUEL. O, impossible ! But who is this stranger 1 LOPE. Who is ho? is a question easier asked than answered. Some say he is the veritable Prester John, and others the Devil himself. But this is the story he tells. He is a certain Don Rafael de Chacon, the last of a once powerful family, who left Spain many years ago, in search of adventures, and for the improvement of his for- tunes ; and who, after wandering over Europe, and visit- ing Africa once or twice, embarked in a vessel for the New World, where, while fighting under the banner of the Conqueror of Mexico, he was instrumental in saving the life of a great king, who, in reward for the service rendered, put him in possession of the immense treas- ures he had hidden upon the arrival of the Europeans, and gave him, besides, his only daughter in marriage, 11 122 DOLORES. who became in time the mother of the beautiful girl th;it has turned the heads of all our nobles, young and old. On his return to his native ^nd, he made some magnifi- cent presents to the king, who thereupon restored him a portion of the estates of his family, which had escheated to the crown, and gave him in addition the title of Duke of Yucatan ; and now, as a further mark of his royal regard, is anxious to bring about a marriage be- tween the present Favourite, our excellent master, and the beautiful Donna Dolores. MIGUEL. Hush, here comes Don Luis. Enter DON Luis. DON LUIS, (giving LOPE a letter.) This to the Duke of Yucatan. In person Will I call for the answer. (Exit LOPE.) Nothing heard Of young Count Ferdinand 1 MIGUEL. Nothing, my lord, But what was known before I took this journey. The castles and estates pledged by his father Are unredeemed, and whether he yet lives To claim them, no one knows. DON LUIS. Poor Ferdinand ! DOLORES. 123 Another broken link in friendship's chain ! Go, order out my horses. I will forth Beyond the walls, to breathe awhile in freedom. [Exit MIGUEL. 'Tis done. What I would not to please my king, The sting of wounded pride, and just resentment Of slighted love, have forced me into doing ; And thus my fate is sealed. Angustia ! Who didst beneath an angel's form conceal A cold, unloving heart ! the time may be When him thou hast so cruelly deserted Thine early friend, the lover of thy youth Thou wilt regret in bitterness of spirit. When sorrow comes upon thee, and on all Even on the happiest will sorrow come, Thou mayst the shelter of a true heart need, And love's sustaining power, and find them not. How must all memory of the happy past Have from thy mind been blotted, ere thou couldst Throw from thee, with such careless hand, th' affection Had been thy stay through life. And will the proud, Imperious Dolores, at whose feet The lordliest of the lordly hourly kneel In mute devotion, what is by another With scorn rejected, and to her now coldly Is offered, deign accept ? Pray Heaven she will not. [Exit. 124 DOLORES. SCENE II. An apartment in the Palace of DON RAFAEL. Enter the STUANQHK . as DON RAFAEL, leading in DOJTNA ANGUSTIA. DON RAFAEL. Most happy shall I ever deem the chance That brought the daughter of my earliest friend Unto my door, which, were it barred to all The world beside, would open of itself To give her welcome. But art thou alone? DONNA ANGUSTIA. Alone indeed ! for scarce in all the world Have I a friend. DON RAFAEL. Forget not that I live. DONNA ANGUSTIA. Thy pardon, noble sir, I did not mean To cast a doubt upon thy generous friendship. But death, and man's inconstancy, of late So fast have thinned the ranks of those whom love Once drew around me, that I find it hard, At times, to name a friend. DON RAFAEL. Then, if so poor DOLORES. 125 In friends, in fortune thou canst not be rich, For they too oft are but the shadows cast By Fortune walking in the sun. When gone The substance, disappear the shadows too. DONNA ANGUSTIA. Alas, my story does that truth too well Exemplify ! If thee it would not tire, I will relate it, for to the full heart To tell its sorrows o'er is some relief, Though such it seem not. As thou mayst remember, My father was thought rich ; and rich he was, Until the gold and gems adventurers brought From that far world, which the bold Genoese Had won in battling with the powers of ocean, Made what was wealth before seem poverty ; When to the madness of the time he yielded; And, to obtain the money that was needed, To purchase ships, and properly to man them, For the rash enterprise, which was to add A something more to that which was enough Already, put his castles and his lands In pawn, and, dying, left them unredeemed. DON RAFAEL. Most cruel and unjust ! How dared he risk, Upon an undertaking so uncertain, 11* 126 DOLORES. The fortune that was only his in trust, For parents are but stewards for their children, And cast a young and helpless creature forth Upon the never slumbering sea of life, To float or be submerged 1 DONNA ANGUSTIA. O blame not him ! He did not think to leave me unprotected, Or unprovided, who was then betrothed To one in fortune high, but not more high In fortune than in honour. DON RAFAEL. Art thou wed ? DONNA ANGUSTIA. To misery ; yes. DON RAFAEL. A widow, and so young ? DONNA ANGUSTIA. My lord, I am no widow. DON RAFAEL. Proved he false Whose troth to thee was plighted ? DONNA ANGUSTIA. I know not. About the time of my poor father's death, DOLORES. 127 Now two years past, was he called to tne court, And placed in near attendance on the king, Whose favour and affection he had won By some bold feat performed in early youth. At first his letters had a lover's fervour ; But cool and cooler as my fortunes changed Did they become, till, in a few months' space, They ceased to cast upon my lonely path One wintry ray. DON RAFAEL, (aside.) She little knows from whom Those letters came. {Aloud.) The heartless minion ! DONNA ANGUSTIA. Then, To soothe the irritation of a heart Too roughly treated, in the peaceful cloister, Unknown to all, I sought a home, and hoped, In works of love, and holy contemplation, Not only to forget the past, but make Some needful preparation for the future. Th' attempt of him who would have chained the ocean Was not more vain than that which now I made, To bind the wings of thought, that still would fly Beyond the convent walls ; and so I left Their sacred shelter, with the crowds to mingle That through the narrow streets of this vast city Roll on a living tide. 128 DOLORES. DON RAFAEL. Thou hadst a brother ? DONNA ANGUSTIA. A gallant boy, that with my father's fortune Did venture all he had to risk his life And lost it. DON RAFAEL. What thy purpose coming hither ? DONNA ANGUSTIA. To find an humble friend, who had the care Of my first years, and, with the pittance left Of former wealth, secure a home with her. DON RAFAEL. And was that all ? DONNA ANGUSTIA. What else ? DON RAFAEL. It matters not. But shouldst thou sometimes from thy lattice see A certain cavalier by chance, of course, Thy purpose seriously it would not cross ? ' Speak not ; thy blushes answer. Thou no further Shalt seek a home ; but, till a husband's love DOLORES. 129 Shall lure thee hence, be this thy place of rest. No thanks. Who waits 1 Enter SERVANT. (To SERVANT,) Conduct this noble lady Unto the chamber set apart for guests Of highest worth. (To DONNA ANGUSTIA,) Repose thee there awhile ; And in an hour my daughter shall attend thee. [Exeunt DONNA ANGUSTIA and SEEVANT. Thou miserable fly ! that rest and safety Dost think to find in ruthless spider's web ; Where, ere thou dream'st of danger, thou art meshed, Killed and devoured ; thy folly simple folk Might call't the trustfulness of innocence Must in a friendly bosom wake contempt, Then what in mine, where scorn of thy weak race To whose alliance do I owe my curse Inferior only is to my deep hate. Enter DOLORES. My Morning Star ! how brightly dost thou shine Upon the darkness of this nether world ! O who, in gazing on that radiant form, That queenly brow and air of majesty, Could dream that she, to whom all grace and grandeur But native seem, was, scarce two months agone, The humble, timid, peasant maid Dolores ? 130 DOLORES. DOLORES. Who wore humility as then she wore Her coarse habiliments because it seemed Best suited to her state, not that she was Less proud than now, when both the Indies furnish The silks and gems that mark her new condition. But timid, say'st thou? Nay, I was not timid. Reserved I might have been : but 'neath the ice Of that reserve rolled a deep stream of courage, Strong and impetuous as a mountain torrent. No ; howsoever changed I seem to others, I know myself unchanged. Even in thy fancies. For see I not, among the gems of price Thy beauty does enrich, an ornament Of little worth and rudest workmanship, Which thou dost seem to prize above all others, Because thou thought'st it once a thing of value 1 And think it still. It was my father's gift. Start not. No other ear has heard me breathe The name that by our compact now is thine. Yet, poor as it may seem, this little cross Contains within it hid a priceless treasure ; DOLORES. 131 A portion of the tree once sanctified By HIM whose bitter death thereon did purchase Life for the world. DON RAFAEL. A tale by cunning framed To cozen honest fools ! It may be so. And yet the simple faith, that moves thy scorn, Gives to the heart that nurses it more peace Than all the boasted wisdom of the world Which teaches man to doubt. The tree may ne'er Have stood on Calvary whence came the wood Enclosed in this poor cross. But, that once proven, How valueless would be what now is prized ! And, to the loss of worth in this dear treasure, Another add the owner's happiness. Keep thy philosophy ; I'll none of it ; But leave me faith. DON RAFAEL. Thou reasonest like a woman ; Not with the head, but heart. Yet am I pleased To find thee faithful even to thy fancies, Or, mid the crowds now clamorous for thy favour, Might poor Don Luis prove no thriving suitor. 132 DOLORES. The " poor Don Luis," if a suit he have, To press it surely has not been in haste, But, with a patience most commendable, Has kept aloof and given his place to others. DON RAFAEL. The diffidence of love. DOLORES. Th' indifference, rather, Of one who ne'er has known the touch of love. For had one spark of that Promethean fire Fallen on his heart, the marble would ere this Have into passion warmed. He knows not love. Enter SERVANT with a letter, which he presents to Doy RAFAEL, and vnthdram. DON RAFAEL, (after reading.} Well, for a man who knows not love, Don Luis Most truly is a strange one. Here he offers A noble name, a title won by deeds Of high emprise, a fortune all but regal, And, with all these, a hand a princess might With pride accept, unto a certain lady He cares not for, if means he what he writes. DOLORES, (eagerly. ,) Give me the letter. (Takes, and reads.) DOLORES. 188 Is this true ? am I Dolores Sanchez, poor and lowly born, Whose love has been as fervid, and unreasoning, As that of the poor pagan for the orb Which to his ignorance is indeed the God It doth but symbolize among so many, Eich, noble, beautiful, to be thus favoured 1 The wife of him whom I would rather serve Did he but love me as his meanest slave, Than with another share the proudest throne The sun looks down upon ! O my full heart ! If it in words found not relief, 'twould burst From this excess of joy ! DON RAFAEL. Nay, nay, be calm. The lover is not far behind his missive ; And should he be a witness of these transports, Too high a value might he set upon The honour he hath done us. DOLORES. Fear not me. To her who is most ignorant, true love And maiden modesty, beyond what courts Or worldly policy can do, will teach That sweet timidity which has for man Who still mistakes affected coyness for 12 134 DOLORES. True womanly reserve so great a charm. My cup of pleasure even now is dashed With bitterness of fear, lest I be found Of him unworthy. DON RAFAEL. Yet be not too humble. At what we rate ourselves the world is apt To take us, not at what's our real worth. Don Luis is a true hidalgo, proud Of his old name and pure Castilian blood, And would not think the hand of the Infanta Too much for his deservings ; and in thee Might easily mistake humility For conscious want of merit. To our rank, For which we are indebted to the king, Thou something ow'st, but to thy beauty, which Than rank is nobler, since* it comes from One To whom the king is vassal, more, far more ; And thou must show him he confers no honour That is not fully given back to him. A needless admonition ; yet I thank thee, For the good care thou tak'st to keep awake The pride thou think'st might slumber : but no fear. DOLORES. 135 Enter SERVANT. SERVANT. Senhor Don Luis de Vivero, Lord Marquis of Ronda. DON RAFAEL. Say that I come to him. (Exit SERVANT.) Remain thou here, Until I bring thy lover to thy feet. [Exit. DOLORES. My lover to my feet ? My lover ? He, For whom my love has been idolatry, Is he my lover 1 my wildest dreams, Born 'mid the hills and nurtured by the streams Where late I roamed a melancholy sprite, At war with fate, ne'er soared to such a height ! And, as I quaff th' intoxicating cup His generous love brims for me, rushes up, From this surcharged heart, through every vein A flood of joy so great, that my weak brain Reels under it ; and, did not pride repress My tears, I now could weep for happiness. [Retires up, and throws herself on a couch. 156 DOLORES. ACT III. SCENE I. A hall in the Palace of Dox RAFAEL. Enter MIGUEL, LOPE and JUANA. JUANA. WELL, of all things in this world, I do like weddings most, for every one looks so happy there, that one is sure to be put into good humour by them with all the world and the rest of mankind. Even old aunt Barbara has had a smile upon her frosty visage the whole of this LOPE. Dost mean to say, that every one looked happy at this wedding? JUANA. To be sure I do. Every face that I looked on, from that of his Eminence, the Cardinal Archbishop, down to that of the beggar who, by some means, managed to squeeze his way into the vast cathedral, already filled to suffocation, wore a look of most decided satisfaction. LOPE. Thou couldst not have looked very closely at the bride- groom then, my girl, for, to my thinking, his face wore any thing but a look of satisfaction. DOLORES. 137 Then 'twas not alone my fancy which gave to his face the expression of pain I saw stamped upon it ? I had been very angry with Don Luis, for his seeming forget- fulness of his first love, the gentle Donna Angustia ; but my anger was changed to pity this morning, when I saw him at the altar ; for I then knew that memory and con- science were at strife within him, and between them he was suffering most intensely. Not to be the husband of the beautiful Dolores, and master of all her father's wealth to boot, would I at that moment have changed places with our master. LOPE. Miguel. MIGUEL. Well? LOPE. Thou needst not fear to speak before Juana, who, though a woman, is capable, I assure thee, of keeping a secret. JUANA. That indeed I am. LOPE. For as long as we've been married, now nearly five years 12* 138 DOLORES. JUANA. Nay, 'tis five years past. Five years, two months, and twenty-six days. LOPE. And some odd hours. What a memory thou hast ! Well, as long as we've been man and wife, I have never yet been able to get from her one secret. JUANA. What is that ? LOPE. Her age. JUANA. Bah ! that's a secret no one need trouble himself oven to look into thy mouth to learn, for thy age is written so plainly in thy face that they who run may read. But as thou wast saying to Miguel 1 LOPE. Didst thou remark any thing peculiar in the manner of the bride's father before the ceremony this morning ? Nothing. I was so interested in watching the move- ments of Don Luis, that I had no eyes for any thing else. Was there any thing peculiar in it ? DOLORES. 139 LOPE. So I thought. As he was about to enter the cathe- dral, he seemed at first to shrink back with fear ; but suddenly an expression of mingled rage and hatred passed over his swarthy visage, and then, with a pro.ud step, and an air of triumph, he walked forward, like one who had achieved a great victory. JUANA. You both know, I suppose, what the people say of this man ; that he is not the real Don Rafael d^ Chacon, who actually died in the Indies, I don't know how many years ago, but one of the many Moors still lingering in the country, who, while outwardly professing to be Chris- tians, are rank infidels at heart, and feel nothing but hatred for our most holy religion. MIGUEL. I know such a story has been whispered about, and am afraid there's more truth in it, than is generally to be found in what " the people say." Yet Heaven forbid it should be so ! for I am sure old Don Manuel would not rest in his grave, if it proved true that his son has mar- ried a Moresco woman. LOPE. Well, be she Moor or be she Christian, one thing is certain, our new mistress is an eminently beautiful lady. 140 DOLORES. JUANA. So I've heard thee say before, but, for my part, I can't really see where her great beauty is. Her figure is good, and all that, I grant thee ; but then she is so very fair, which isn't at all the kind of complexion that I ad- mire, though some may. LOPE. Thou'rt so in love with thine own face, my dark- browed beauty, thou hast no admiration to spare for any other. JUANA. Neither didst thou seem to have when I was a maid. LOPE. True, my dear ; but five years have passed since then, and one's opinions have time to change in five years. MIGUEL. We've had a busy day, and not much less busy night, and now 'tis time to rest, so let us to bed. Good night, or rather morning. LOPE and JUANA. Good night. [Exit MIGUEL at one door, and exeunt LOPE and JUANA at anotJter. DOLORES. 141 SCENE II. An oratory. DONNA ANGUSTIA discovered kneeling. She rises ai'd comes forward. DONNA ANGUSTIA. The night is passed. Not that alone which wrapped The earth in gloom, but the far deeper night That lay upon my heart, and with the morn Comes joy indeed the joy of a brave spirit, That's in the conflict been, and has o'ercome. Yet 'twas most terrible ! and now I shudder, In looking back upon it, when I think How great, at first, my weakness, and what fear Beset me in the outset. How I shrank And paltered, when the beautiful Dolores, My innocent, unconscious rival, urged That I would throw aside the weeds of woe But for one day and grace by my attendance Her nuptials. And when I at last consented, 'Twas with a pang that seemed to rend my soul. But stifling in my breast a cry of anguish, And forcing back an upward gush of tears, With show of calmness that I did not feel, I went to meet the man whose broken faith Had orphaned me anew. A moment and, Thank Heaven ! a moment only when I felt His presence for I saw him not all things 142 DOLORES. Before me and around passed from my sight, And in that crowded temple did I stand All desolate alone ! Then at the altar ? Among the bridemaids, nearest to the bride, I took my place ; but, ah ! he knew it not. Knew not that I it was who drew the glove From the fair hand on which he placed the ring That bound him to another ; thought not of The fond and trusting heart on which he then Was trampling ruthlessly. A bitter sense Of wrong aroused the fiend of wrath within me, And fiercely then did the desire of vengeance Like a volcano in my bosom burn ! But passed that feeling ; for the flame was quenched By waters of Heaven's grace ; and, to the fury That raged before, a sudden calm succeeded ; But such a calm as knows the human breast When death's cold hand lies heavy on its pulse ! The power to suffer soon revived ; and then I from the crowd did steal, and from the gaze Of curious eyes, to seek for solace here ; And here have found it ! And, that I no more May lose it, I at once will leave this place, And hide myself where I shall ne'er again Meet him whom I can see not without pain. [Jbfe DOLORES. U3 SCENE III. Another apartment in Dox RAFAKL'S. Enter DOLORES reading. " I love, I love thee ! My heart is a shrine One image enclosing ; that image is thine. And morning, and evening, and all the long day, My soul bends before it due homage to pay. " I love, I love thee ! Thy name is a spell The mutinous rage of my passions to quell: Thy presence my spirit ne'er fails to rejoice, Whose sun is thy smile, and whose music thy voice. " yes, I do love thee ! and for the rich mine Of love that I yield thee, I ask nought of thine, But four simple words softly whispered to me When none else can hear thee ' I, dearest, love thee !' When none can hear me ? O could my weak voice, Like the. archangel's trump, through all the earth Be heard, I would proclaim to all the earth, That I do love thee ! LOVE ] It is a word Too weak, to speak the deep, absorbing passion That fills my soul for thee ! No, adoration Alone can rightly name it ! Enter DON RAFAEL. O my lord Thou art most welcome. I have news for thee I know will give thee pleasure. 1U DOLORES. DON RAFAEL. What to thee Can yield a joy, to me must do no less. DOLORES. Thou know'st the doubts that did distract my heart, Even when Don Luis led me to the altar, That not his love for me, but the obedience He owed the king had prompted to the act ? DON RAFAEL. Yes, and how groundless were they, as I strove To prove ; but thou wert not to be convinced. DOLORES. Alas, I knew too well how little worthy I was of love like his, and therefore doubted. But here's a charm that, worn upon the heart, Will bar the entrance there of doubts and fears, And all conspirators against the peace And safety of Love's throne. Wouldst look upon it? [Gives him the paper. DON RAFAEL. What's this ? what's this ? O 'tis impossible ! He would not dare ! Beneath the very roof! It cannot, cannot be ! DOLORES. What is it moves thee ? DOLORES. U5 DON RAFAEL. There must be some mistake. Whence came this paper ? DOLORES. I found it on the table, where last night I laid the carcanet Don Luis gave me. 'Twas his first gift, and highly did I prize it. Yet 'twas less precious than that simple paper. DON RAFAEL. I pray thee let me tear it. DOLORES, (snatching it.) Art thou mad 1 DON RAFAEL. Not I ; but there is that may make thee so. DOLORES. Thou seek'st to fright me. [Turns over the paper and reads. "To Angustia." Mine eyes deceive me ! or some fiend has writ The characters that glare upon me here, And not Don Luis ! O I should indeed Go mad, could I believe this writing his ! DON RAFAEL. Alas, my girl, I grieve to undeceive thee, 13 1-48 DOLORES. But the same hand that traced those loving lines That superscription wrote. This is my fault j For I remember now a story told But thought it then mere gossip of the court . About Don Luis and a certain lady, Of his qwn neighbourhood, that to her virtue Less flattering was than to his gallantry. DOLORES. And this is she. I see it all. The tale That won our pity was a fiction, framed To gain an entrance to the house where he Was known a frequent guest, and might in time Be more ; that their vile intercourse, beneath The sanction of an honest roof, and hidden From keen eye of the world, might be continued. DON RAFAEL. I hope thou mayst be wrong in thy suspicions, But own they look like truth. DOLORES. Or true or false, I will have proof. [Going. DON RAFAEL. What wouldst thou ? DOLORES. Charge the sorceress DOLORES. l With her black scheme; and if she own it not, With this sharp steel the truth rip from her heart ! [Exhibits a poniard, and exit. DON RAFAEL. I pull the wires, and lo ! these human puppets Dance at my pleasure. The good king loves gold ; And without stint I to the cravings yield Of his insatiate avarice, till he, To show his royal gratitude, obliges The noblest of his nobles, and the truest Of his true subjects, prove his loyalty By peril of his life already proven By sacrifice of- what to God alone Should man submit his will, and by this act Are loving hearts forever torn asunder, And dearest hopes and pure affections crushed. While this poor fool, who fancies all's been done For her advancement, goaded by the passions Of hatred and revenge that rage within her, Completes the evil which I did but plan, And in his work thus each assists the devil. Yet these are of the race that would dethrone Omnipotence, and give Heaven's rightful worship To their new deity the mind of man ! \_Exit. U8 DOLORES. SCENE IV. An anteroom with a door opening in the centre. DONNA ANGUSTU enters hurriedly, and is met by DON Luis. DON LUIS. Great Heaven ! Angustia ? DONNA ANGUSTIA, (aside.) Don Luis here. DON LUIS. O how is this ? Art thou, whom I have sought So fruitlessly throughout the land, now found, When better were it for my peace, at least Thou hadst been lost forever ? Cruel girl ! How couldst thou trifle with a heart that loved So truly as did mine 1 DONNA ANGUSTIA. "Tis useless now To dwell upon the past. But I ne'er sought To shun thee. Yet, when absence and neglect Taught that I was forgotten, if I strove It may have vainly been then to forget, Thou wouldst not call it trifling 1 Fare thee well. DON LUIS. A moment yet. What mean'st thou by neglect I DOLORES. 149 There was no week, till thy strange disappearance, I did not in my letters bare my soul Before thee ; showing all its love its weakness, Believing for the one thou wouldst the other Look kindly on ; not thinking, in my folly, That mine own act was in thy heart destroying Th' affection I had built my trust upon. DONNA ANGUSTIA. Blame not thy letters. None for many months Did reach me. There has been some power malign At work to separate us. It is done. Then from affliction do not let us take Its dignity, by o'er the past lamenting. But rather, bearing firmly, yet with meekness, What bear we must, take from our enemy All chance to triumph in our wretchedness. Angustia, thou couldst not speak thus calmly Iladst thou e'er loved. DONNA ANGUSTIA. It may be that I have not. It may be that the anguish borne for months, That dimmed mine eyes and robbed my cheek of bloom, And bowed my form with premature old age, Was not from love neglected or contemned, 18* 150 DOLORES. But wounded pride, or maiden fantasy. It matters little now for me to say, Or thee to know, if I have loved or not, Since we have met for the last time. O say not For the last time ! While I have strength to hold Thee in my grasp, I will not let thee hence. DONNA ANGUSTIA. Come not more near, my lord ; and timely think Of what now separates us and forever. DON LUIS. I can of nothing think, but thy dear presence, And mine own love, the passion that from boyhood Has been the very life-pulse of my being. DONNA ANGUSTIA. No more, no more. Think of the fair Dolores, To whom thy faith was pledged but yestermorn. Enter DOLORES at the centre door, followed by Dox RAFAEL. DON LUIS. Why dost thou name her whom a cruel fate Has made the barrier to our happiness ? I never loved I cannot love Dolores. She is my wife, 'tis true ; but at the altar DOLORES. 151 My heart was silent when passed from my lips Th' irrevocable vow ; that kept unchanged The faith to thee once plighted. [DOLORES takes a step forward, but is held back by DON RAFAEL. DONNA ANGUSTIA. Hist, my lord. Some one approaches. Suffer me to go. DON LUIS. Since 'tis thy wish ; but we must meet again. [Exeunt severally. DOLORES and DON RAFAEL come forward. DOLORES. Why didst thou hold me back ? DON RAFAEL. What wouldst have done 1 Slaked in the blood of their false hearts my soul's Hot thirst for vengeance ! Slain them where they stood ! DON RAFAEL. Thou wouldst have failed in the attempt. Thy hand Too feeble is ; too pitiful thy nature ; For thee to act the priestess of Revenge. Why, in thy grasp the sacrificial knife Would be as little harmful as thy bodkin. 152 DOLORES. DOLORES. Thou dost not know the strength a will determined Can give a feeble hand. Thou dost not know How sure the cry of wronged affection drowns The voice of pity in the gentlest bosom. DON RAFAEL. Thou hast been wronged. DOLORES. O have I not ? There ne'er Has woman been so wronged ! DON RAFAEL. And for that wrong Thou wouldst have reparation 1 DOLORES. I'm not one If smitten on one check to turn the other. I would have reparation ; and I will ! DON RAFAEL. And so thou shalt. But put away thy dagger ; For we will have no blood. [Takes a rose from her hair. Is there in nature A thing more innocent than this in seeming? And yet may it be made an instrument DOLORES. 15S Of death as certain as the steel thou bear'st, Yet leave upon the hands no marks of guilt. Thou look'st incredulous. If that thy purpose Fail not, thou shalt have proof I do not rate Too high the potency of this frail flower To aid thee in thy need. My purpose fail 1 O, till this heart forget the bitter wrong By him inflicted it has loved so long ! So madly ! or the serpent guile of her Who of its peace hath been the murderer, Though heaven should plead, and hell eternal woe Should threat, my purpose will I not forego, But satiate my soul with vengeance ! See The end secured ; the means I leave to thee. [Exeunt. 154 DOLORES. ACT IV. SCENE I. A street. Enter COUNT FEBDINAND DEL HOTO. COUNT FERDINAND. Is this the welcome that my heart leaped forward To meet, when late I pressed the strand of Spain 1 My noble father dead ! My heritage Possessed by strangers ! and my sister gone ! Lost to herself; perhaps to honour lost ! And no one left, of all I knew in youth, To cheer the wanderer with a kindly greeting ! cheerfully the treasures won by years Of toils, of trials, and privations sore, Would I relinquish now to be again The boy whose heart basked in the light of home. But here comes one in whom, when last we parted, 1 hoped on my return to find a brother. Enter DON Luis. Well met, Don Luis. DON LUIS, (bowing and passing on.) Sir, I greet thee kindly, COUNT FERDINAND. A moment, if 'twill please thee grant so much. DOLORES. 155 DON LUIS. Some other time will I do so with pleasure : At present I am sent for by the king, And may not linger. [ Going. COUNT FERDINAND. Dost thou fear to know me 1 The story then was sooth. Thou hast betrayed A noble lady unto foul dishonour, And in her shame abandoned her to death. Draw, and defend thy life. DON LUIS. What means this folly ? COUNT FERDINAND. I have no time for words ; look to thyself. [They fight, andDox Luis is wounded. Enter MIGUEL. MIGUEL. My master wounded ! DON LUIS. Slightly, my good Miguel. MIGUEL. Who is this ruffian brawler, who will not 156 DOLORES. Let honest people walk the streets in peace ? Count Ferdinand Del Hoyo ! DON LUIS. Can it be ? COUNT FERDINAND. Thou know'st me now ? DON LUIS. And had I sooner known thee, I might have by a word disarmed thine anger, And saved thee from an act thou wilt regret. COUNT FERDINAND. Speak to me of my sister. Does she live? DON LUIS. She does, and not in safety less than honour. Believe not this upon my word ; but come, And let thine eyes convince thee of my truth. Lend me thine arm, good Miguel, I grow faint. COUNT FERDINAND. O my accursed rashness ! Let me, too, Assist thee. DON LUIS. Would thou never hadst left Spain. [Exit, supported by COUNT FEHDINAND and MIGUEL. DOLORES. 157 SCENE II. A richly furnished apartment. Enter DOLOKES. DOLORES. He never loved he cannot love Dolores ! Why did he wed her then 1 She sought not him j Nor yet by word or look solicited The least return for the vast sum of love She had bestowed upon him. Cruel lord ! What could provoke thee to this contumely Of one whose fault was loving thee too well ? If thou couldst not accept the heart thou'dst won, Thou might'st have passed it by, and trod not on't ! Enter DON RAFAEL. DON RAFAEL. Cheer thee, my girl ! thy wishes are fulfilled. I have conveyed thy gift to fair Angustia, And on her bosom doth she wear the flower With whose sweet perfume she inhaleth Death. Hast not one smile to thank me for the zeal I've shown to do thee service 1 DOLORES. I, alas ! Shall never smile again. Smiles are the light Of happy hearts happy in innocence 158 DOLORES. On cheeks that know not shame. When all within Is black with crime, the simulated smile, Like gleam of lamp 'mid heavy charnel damps, Gives a new horror to the face of death. I cannot smile my thanks for the prompt aid Which thou hast rendered in this fearful work : And yet I thank thee. DON RAFAEL. Came that from thy heart ? DOLORES. If such I have, which, only for the pain I feel here gnawing, (laying her hand on her bosom,) I should sometimes doubt, All is so cold, dull, desolate within ! O Heaven ! what have I done, that thou hast laid This heavy curse upon me ? Blasted all The budding joys of life ? Torn rudely thence The life of life within my breast 1 and given My never-dying soul to be the sport Of torturing fiends now and eternally ? DON RAFAEL. If thou already dost repent the part Which thou wouldst play in this stern tragedy, When writhing 'neath most undeserved wrong, By which were outraged love and woman's pride, DOLORES. 159 Say but the word, and, ere it is too late, Will I undo the work I have begun, And from the grasp of death Angustia loosing, Will give her back to life and to Don Luis. DOLORES. What devil prompted thee to couple thus Their names ? What ! give her back to life and him ! No ! though my heart-strings shrivel in the fire Remorse shall ever burning keep within me For this one deed, I will not have her live To triumph o'er me ! DON RAFAEL. Spoken like thyself. Enter DON Luis supported by COUNT FERDINAND and MIGUEL, who place him in a seat. DOLORES, (going eagerly towards him.) My lord ! my husband ! DON LUIS, (coldly.) Do not be alarmed. A slight mishap. A thing of little moment. DOLORES, (drawing back.) I'm glad 'tis nothing worse. (Aside.) He doth refuse From me the sympathy a stranger would With thankfulness accept ! O it is plain 100 DOLORES. He never loved me^iever ! 'Tis as well. [ Retires up inth DON RAFAEL. Go, Miguel, bid some one summon hither Donna Angustia. (Exit MIGUEL.) Thy sister, Count, Is now beneath this roof, the honoured guest Of its fair mistress. She will tell thee all Has happened in thy absence. How mischance First separated those whom early friendship So close had bound it seemed that death alone Could disunite them ; strange misapprehensions Then daily wider made the breach between them, Till it became impassable, and they Grew into strangers who had once been lovers ; And how but she is here. DONNA ANGUSTIA, (entering, followed by MIGUEL.) O where is he ? [COUNT FERDINAND meets her. They embrace. My brother Ferdinand ! my dear, dear brother ! COUNT FERDINAND. Angustia, my sister, is it thou ? Alas, how changed ! If 'twere not for thy smile, I scarce should know thee ! DONNA ANGUSTIA. Ah, my memory DOLORES. 161 Then better is than thine, for I had known Changed though thou art my brother 'mong a thousand. But to the poor man his one piece of gold Has all the value of the miser's treasure, And every mark how slight soe'er to others To him is so familiar, hardly could he E'er fail to know it. Thou wert my one coin. COUNT FERDINAND. But, dearest sister, thou hast suffered greatly ? DONNA ANOCSTIA. None love who suffer not. I have but shared The common lot. And though I may have murmur xl Against a fate I thought too sad, I since Have learned to bow submissively to Heaven, And say and from my heart " Thy will be done !" But we will talk no longer of the past, Its sorrows and its sufferings, but the present The happy present and the hopeful future, Which will for all that's gone make full amends. COUNT FERDINAND. O we shall be so happy ! How is this ? Thy cheek has sudden lost the hue of life ! Thy lips are white and quivering ! and thy frame As with an ague shivers ! Speak, speak, And tell me what is this 1 14* 182 DOLORES. DONNA ANGUSTIA. A moment, brother, Let me be seated. A strange giddiness Has sudden seized me. It will pass. DON LUIS, (starting p.) She faints ! DOLORES, (who has come slowly fonoard.) SHE DIES ! COUNT FERDINAND. No, no ! Heaven could not be so cruel, So soon to rob me of mine only treasure ! DON LUIS. She does but faint. Quick, Miguel, quick ! some water ! O, by the memory of past happy days, Angustia, I adjure thee, leave us not ! DOLORES. Thou call'st right lustily ; but call'st in vain. Her ear is closed, my lord, even to the voice of love ; And all thy vast possessions now would fail One hour to ransom of her forfeit life. The serpent, that around a trusting heart Had coiled to sting it, writhes in the death-struggle ; And I it was that crushed it ! DOLORES. 168 DON LUIS. Gracious Heaven! O what could tempt thee, thou most beauteous devil ! To crime so damnable ? DOLORES. Insult and wrong, The keenest, most enduring that to heart Of woman e'er was offered, and the last To be forgiven. DONNA ANGUSTIA, (feebly raising herself.') I ne'er wronged thee, lady From dying lips thou wilt believe the truth Not even in thought : and for thy wrong against My life, may Heaven forgive thee as I do. [Falls back and die*. [COUNT FERDINAND and DON Luis kneel by the body of DONNA ANGUSTIA. DOLORES stands in an attitude of horror; and DON RAFAEL, who has remained apart, regards all with looks of exultation. 14 DOLORES. SCENE III. An anteroom. Enter JUAXA. JUANA. Heaven help me and guide me! for I really don't know what to do, or which way to turn. I've been sent for somebody, or something, but, am so bewildered, I can't remember for whom or for what. My poor, poor mas- ter ! O that abominable woman ! I was always sure she would bring evil upon us, for all Lope had to say in her favour ; and I was right, as I always am. Where there's so much outward beauty, there is invariably some inward deformity. Nine times out of ten, a fair face is nothing more than the covering of a very black heart. 'Tis not without reason that the Africans make their devil white. Only to think of the gentle Donna Angus- tia, the most amiable, the most pious creature in the world, to be snapped, as one may say, like a flower from the stem, and cast upon the earth, to wither and rot like a common weed ! O what a world is this to live in ; where one isn't sure of one's happiness as long as one can give it a name. I'm sick of it ; and only for poor Lope, who would miss me sadly, and my darling babes, who, I'm sure, would have a step-mother over them in three months ! I wouldn't care if I were to leave it to-morrow. But the worst of it is, one can't very well go from it DOLORES. 165 when one likes, or return again when one has once gone, if one shouldn't happen to be altogether satisfied with one's new place. Heaven bless us, and keep us, say I. Amen. [Exit. SCENE IV. A. hall in the Inquisition. A number of FAMILIARS present, and among them the STRANGER in disguise. Enter GRAM) INQCISITOK and two others. GRAND INQUISITOR. I've, brethren, summoned you to consultation, Upon a subject that will task our wisdom How to dispose of. I have in my hand A letter that relates a story strange, And one that would, to those who have been spared The painful sight familiar to our eyes, Of the bold wickedness of this our day, Too monstrous seem for credibility. The taste of delicate viands and rare wines Still lingers on the palates of the guests, Who revelled at the feast, in honour given Of the espousals of our monarch's favourite, Don Luis de Vivero, and the fair Report says, wondrous fair and high-born daughter Of old Don Rafael de Chacon, who 166 DOLOKES. Accounted is the wealthiest lord in Spain. And yet already 'gainst that noble bride A charge is brought of crimes so horrible, That one grows sick at heart to think it true ; Of compassing the death, by sorcery, Or some unheard of poison, of a lady, Who thought herself beneath the roof of friendship, And safe from every harm. FIRST INQUISITOR. Our duty, father, To me seems plain. We must to our tribunal Bring the accused ; and as she shall prove Or innocent or guilty, deal with her. SECOND INQUISITOR. This may offend the king, whose favourite Her husband is. FIRST INQUISITOR. And if we do it not, We shall offend against our consciences ; For we are sworn to deal impartially With every one, and must not be forsworn. We are the ministers of Justice, brother, And Justice is above the king. GRAND INQUISITOR. Thou dost DOLORES. 167 But give expression to the resolution I had already formed. But, to prevent All scandal, I with strictest privacy, Unknown even to her household, have had hither The lady brought. Without she waits our summons. FIRST INQUISITOR. But her accuser 1 GRAND INQUISITOR. / If he keep the promise Here written, will be present. (They ascend their seats.) (To a FAMILIAR.) Into court Bring thou the prisoner. [Exit FAMILIAR, and returns with DOLOKES. DOLORES. Already known A criminal ! How swift is retribution The guilty to o'ertake ! If I thus shrink Before the justice of my fellow- worms, HQW shall I- meet that of the Infinite 1 O desolate indeed is that poor soul Who dare not in its need ask Heaven for aid ! Whose sin is beyond pardon ! Such am I ! GRAND INQUISITOR. Daughter, advance. Throw from thy brow that veil, Which poorly hides thee from the eye of Heaven, 168 DOLORES. And let us look upon thy face. ( Unveils.) Poor child ! Sorrow and shame, it may be, too, remorse, Are written there, yet are the lines of guilt Not deeply graven. Dost thou know of what Thou art accused ? DOLORES. I know. GRAND INQUISITOR. Guilty, or not 1 But pause ere thou repliest Thou art not forced To be thine own accuser. But thy guilt Once known, by thy confession, or by proof Unquestionable, nought to us is left Who, not thy rank or dignity regarding, Can only see in thee a criminal But hand thee o'er to justice. With the crimes Of murder and of sorcery art thou charged. Art guilty, or not guilty ? Sorcery ? Charged with the hellish crime of sorcery ? O Holy Fathers ! though I cannot say That other sin lies not upon my soul, As I shall answer at the judgment seat Of the ALL JUST, of this I am not guilty. DOLORES. 169 * GRAND INQUISITOR. Command the presence of the witness. STRANGER, (comiiicf forward.) ' Here Am I, most reverend lords and holy fathers, Obedient to your summons. GRAND INQUISITOR. In few words, Relate what thou dost know against this woman. STRANGER. She is a vile impostor. Peasant-born, She has deceived the world into belief Of her illustrious birth ; and, with the aid Of damned arts, inveigled the affections Of one of noble name and princely nature, Don Luis de Vivero, who stood pledged Unto a lovely and most virtuous lady, The daughter of the late Count Juan del Hoyo, Whom this base woman with her sorceries Hath wickedly destroyed. GRAND INQUISITOR. Hast proof of this 1 STRANGER. Most ample. Let appear Sebastian Diaz. 15 170 DOLORES. DOLORES, (aside.) Sebastian here ? O Heaven ! I dare not see him ! (Aloud.) No need to summon other witnesses. That I am peasant>born, as this man saith, t Is simple truth. For that I do not blush. For though the stream from which my life is drawr. Hath coursed for ages through ignoble veins, By crime or shame till now 'twas never sullied. And true it is that I to madness stung By fancied wrong most wickedly conspired Against an innocent life, and for that act Do merit death. But it is false that e'er I stooped to art to win the heart of him Whose love I prized beyond what earth can give, Or Heaven has promised : and as false it is, That I the aid of magic ever sought My ends to compass. Fathers, this I swear ! GRAND INQUISITOR. Withdraw the prisoner. We have need of time To judge aright the nature of her crime, For though, by her own showing, death has she Deserved, we know not what that death should be. DOLORES. Whate'er you will. To your decree I bow. That which I dared I will not shrink from now ; And meanly sue for mercy. DOLORES. 171 GRAND INQUISITOR. Save to Heaven, When, if thou ask, it shall to thee be given. STRANGER, (aside.) Not calmly thus will she her life resign ; And when the struggle comes, I know her mine. [Exit DOLORES in charge of FAMILIAR. 172 DOLORES. ACT V.. J SCEXE I. A cell in the Inquisition. DOLORES alone, in the dress of a con- demned criminal. , DOLORES. WILL the night never end ? Must still my heart Yearn for the day, and not be satisfied ? - Shall I no more behold the blessed sun 1 Warm in his genial beams this shivering frame, And these cold-palsied limbs ? or bathe my brow, Hot with the burning thoughts that scorch my brain, In the delicious coolness of the morn ? once again to stand -svith nought between Heaven's azure cope and me, of the few hours That still are mine one half would I relinquish ! Nay, I would give them all for one brief moment Of light and freedom on my native hills. My native hills ! how lovely do ye rise Before me in the golden light of morn, Or evening's purple splendour ! while my home The safe and happy home my madness spurned Now circled by you with the loving care My infancy that guarded, me reproaches In its dumb sadness for my base desertion. 1 must not look that way ! * DOLORES. 173 Enter a FAMILIAR followed by SKBASTIAN. SEBASTIAN. Is this Dolores ! Alas, how changed from that once glorious being ! Yet glorious amid her desolation ! DOLORES. Who is it speaks ] SEBASTIAN. A neighbour and a friend. DOLORES. O do not mock me in my misery ! The wretched have no friends. What, dost thou weep ? 'Tis very kind to do for me what I Cannot do for myself. I have no tears. My heart has drunk and turned them into gall. SEBASTIAN. O speak not thus ! DOLORES. That voice ! It is Sebastian's. A strain of the old music of my home ! What brings thee here ? Thou hast not come to triumph In the disgrace of one who did thee wrong ? SEBASTIAN. Heaven knows my heart, I have not. Could my life 15* 174 DOLORES. But ransom thine, and to the world's esteem And to thine own restore thee, cheerfully I now would yield it up. To live for thee Has been to me denied ; but I would prove, By dying for thee, what my love has been. DOLORES. Thy love I never doubted. But no more Talk we of this. Now tell me of my parents. Do they yet live ? SEBASTIAN. They live where life's immortal. DOLORES. Dead ? dead ? Then I, O Heaven ! them too have mur- dered ! And cursed they not with dying lips the child Who on their honoured age brought grief and shame ? What could they do but curse her ! SEBASTIAN. Their last charge To me, was that I should seek out their daughter, And to her bear assurance of their love, Their pardon and their blessing. That alone Has brought me here ; and now do I go forth Into a world that is, by loss of thee, Returned to chaos. DOLORES. 175 DOLORES. Gentle heart and true, With as much pity as this iron bosom Can feel for human woe, I pity thee, Who, hadt thou ne'er my baleful influence known, Mightst now be happy as thou dost deserve. But all regrets are useless ! Go, Sebastian, And pray to Heaven thou mayst forget me. SEBASTIAN. No. Memory of thee, with all its bitter griefs, Than joy is sweeter with forgetfulness. Farewell ! DOLORES. Farewell ! Our parting is forever ! [Exit SEBASTIAN, followed by the FAMILIAR. Thou generous soul, not least among my crimes Shall reckoned be my pitiless return To thy enduring love. [Turns, and discovers the STR ANGER as DON RAFAEL. Thou here, lord duke 1 DON RAFAEL. Fit greeting dost thou call this for a friend Thou hast not seen for days ? DOLORES. A friend, sayst thou ? 176 DOLORES. DON RAFAEL. What means this coldness ? Am I not thy friend ? DOLORES. My friend ? O doubtless ! in the common meaning Of that abused word. A true world friend, * Who has a blessing for the prosperous, But leaves the needy to his wretchedness. DON RAFAEL. I did not leave thee friendless. Though unseen, I still was near thee if not to avert To mitigate thy doom. DOLORES. And failed. DON RAFAEL. Not so. For I am here to save thoe ; give thee back To life, to liberty, and happiness ! DOLORES. To life 1 Can'st thou bring back the dead ? Restore The world's esteem 1 my own heart's consciousness Of rectitude ? Till thou canst do all this, Thou canst not give me life ; for they are dead In whom I lived ; my fame, a sightless corse, Unburied lies upon, the earth, for birds DOLORES. 177 Obscene to gorge on; and my conscience is So sepulchred in sin, that Heaven alone Can quicken it. What then is liberty, Or what is happiness for such as I? DON RAFAEL. There is a world beyond this speck of earth, Which men call Spain, where mind is yet untrammelled, And the distinction recognized between Crime and misfortune ; where true happiness Is not, as here, a thing intangible, Or loan wrung from a miser, but the gift Of nature, large as the desires of man; And where to love all that is loveable Is held a sacred duty. Thou shalt be, If such thou wilt, of this fair realm the queen. DOLORES. Is there a power in the fair world thou paintest To stifle memory's voice ? First find me that, Ere more thou sayst of happiness and love. DON RAFAEL. Tut ! Memory is man's servant ; not his master ; And speaks but when 'tis bidden. When success Has laurel-crowned the hero, 'mid the songs And shouts that greet him from adoring crowds, Would memory dare remind him of the groans 178 DOLORES. And curses of the thousands crushed beneath The car of victory 1 DOLORES. I feel how false Thy reasoning is, but cannot answer it. Go. With my misery would I be alone. DON RAFAEL. I cannot, will not leave thee to the fate The cruelty of man which he calls justice Is now for thee preparing. Couldst thou bear Whose pride Omnipotence alone could bow When dragged a malefactor through the streets, To meet in every face to which thou turnest Or hate or loathing ? hear from every tongue The cruel gibe, the bitter taunt, or deep, Hoarse imprecation on the murderess Of friend and husband ? Husband ? No, oh no ! Of all the world whom T have loved the best ! They will not say that I have murdered Mm, DON RAFAEL. They do so say already. He is dead. And to thy sorceries, and not the wound From young Del Hoyo, is his death ascribed. DOLORES. 179 DOLORES. This is the drop too much! My cup,. already Filled to the brim, with bitterness runs o'er! O Heaven, that I were dead ! DON RAFAEL. Why die thou shalt. But not like thine old parents, honest souls ! At peace with man, and filled with dreams of Heaven. Not like thy gentle rival, fair Angustia, 'Mid loving, weeping, and admiring friends ; Nor yet thy noble husband, at whose couch When dying stood a king absorbed in grief. But in the glare of day, before a crowd A brutal crowd of gaping, gloating wretches Whose hoots and jeers shall drown the shaveling's voice, Who drawls his prayers at thy unheeding ear. Yet not by headsman's axe, or hangman's cord, Whose pang is hardly felt till it is o'er. But in the midst of torments, that in vain Would words essay description. Think, oh think ! Of the intense, the terrible agony Of that most beautiful and delicate form, When swathed in fire, that close and closer wraps it, As sinews crack and shrivel, till thy life-strings Snap in the flame, and crumble into ashes ! 180 DOLORES. DOLORES. O horror ! horror ! horror ! Silence, Heaven ! This devil's voice, or close mine ears against it, If only by the death he makes so dreadful ! DON RAFAEL. Now I and I alone- from this can save thee ; Can give thee length of days, -with wealth and honour; And more, forgetfulness of all the past. Forgetfulness ! O wilt thou give me that 1 Propound thy terms ; from nothing would I shrink To win that blessed boon, when I no more Shall reel beneath the memory of my crimes. VOICE FROM ABOVE. Sinful soul, on life's rough road Sinking 'neath a weary load, On the Lord lay all thy care ; He'll for thee thy burthen bear. DOLORES. Who was it spake ? I thought we were alone. DON RAFAEL. Some monk his office in the passage saying. We are alone. DOLORES.* 181 DOLORES. Alas, how vain thy boast ! Till from my soul are washed the stains of guilt, No power of man can bring forgetfulness. VOICE FROM ABOVE. Though thy sins are scarlet red, Be not thou disheartened ; From Heaven's mercy fountains flow That shall wash thee white as snow. DON RAFAEL. That babbling monk again ! I promise nought I will not do. But thou dost hear me not. DOLORES. I hear. (Aside.) O can there yet be hope for me ? VOICE FROM ABOVE. Hope of pardon is for all, Who .will timely heed the call From the Mercy Seat on high, " Turn to me : why will ye die ?" DOLORES, (aside.) O blessed words ! DON RAFAEL. Then yield to me thy will, And iron doors and walls of massive stone Shall crumble at a breath, and thou walk forth 16 182 "DOLORES. In perfect freedom, with no shadow resting Upon thy mind of the distressful past. DOLORES. Yield thee my will ! What follows then ? Wouldst not Seek after that the mastery of my soul 1 DOX RAFAEL. What care I for thy soul ! the feeble breath That animates the clay, by plastic hand Of Nature fashioned to that goodly form, Which, passing from thee, is, perchance, inhaled By some poor insect, or unsightly beast, Whose life is lengthened by the loss of thine. Yield but thy will, and for that thing which thou Dost call thy soul do with it as thou wilt. DOLORES. Not even to the guilty is the fear Of Heaven's infinite wrath more terrible Than the all desolating thought of that Is hidden in thy words Annihilation ! baffled fiend ! thou hast o'ershot the mark. The soul thou wouldst degrade by sophistries, Now roused, asserts her immortality, And spurns alike the tempter and his lure. 1 know my crimes, and know the punishment DOLORES. 183 They must receive from man. Yet know I too The mercy of the Ju_dge at whose tribunal I, with a sinful world, shall one day stand. And in that mercy do I trust. Away ! I set my foot upon the Rock of Ages ; And though the waves of hell may surge around me, They shall not sweep me thence. [Holds up tJie CROSS she fias taken from her bosom. Thus armed, do I To Satan and his cohorts bid defiance, And in the name of Him who died hereon,. I now command thee leave me ! and forever ! [ With looks of baffled hatred, he recedes, and finally disap- pears. DOLORES, (falling on her knees.) Thine, thine the triumph, Heaven. Thine the praise. SCEXE II. A street. The doors, windows, and tops of houses crowded w.th spectators. Many persons hurrying forward. Enter a Yocxo MAX and a YOUNG WOMAN. YOUNG MAN. Here we shall have a good sight of the procession. Let us stop. 184 DOLORES. YOUNG WOMAN. No, no ; let us get further on. Thou didst promise me a good place, and if thou dost not, thou mayst dance by thyself to-night for me. YOUNG- MAN. Let us on, then. [TJtey pass off. Enter Two THIEVES. FIRST THIEF. Get as far forward as thou canst. "Pis the same as at any other show ; the richer people are the better places they get ; the poor only are not allowed to press too closely on the officials. When thou seest them begin to fire the pile, then commence operations. SECOND THIEF. Poh ! I'm no novice. 'Tisn't the first execution I've attended. [T7iey pass off. Enter a feeble OLD MAN, and an OLD WOMAN carrying a sickly INFANT. OLD WOMAN. I'm glad, neighbour, to see thee out again. Thou hast been long ill. OLD MAN. For two months I've not been as far as the church ; DOLORES. 185 and nothing less than an occasion like this could ha' brought nie out o' doors. OLD WOMAN. And nothing but to gratify this poor child, that has so little to amuse it at home, would have brought me abroad to-day. [They pass of, Enter MIGUEL, LOPE and JUANA. JUANA. Here, let us ensconce ourselves in this corner, where we shall be out of the way of the crowd. MIGUEL. Poor soul ! though she has brought death and ruin to all I loved best on earth, I cannot but feel sorry to see one so young and beautiful condemned to a death so horrible ! JUANA. Sorry, indeed ! For my part, I think burning a great deal too good for her. And as for her youth and beauty, she has very little, at present, left of either, I warrant you ; for 'tis well known, since they drove the devil out of her in the Inquisition, that she has sunk down into an ugly old woman. LOPE. Was there ever a story told against one woman that would be found too monstrous for another to believe 1 16* 188 DOLORES. Yet I did not think that even thy capacious throat could swallow such a bouncer as that. JUANA. The throat that has been able to swallow all the mar vels thou hast been stuffing down it for years, might now gulp any thing, I should think. But hush ! The procession is coming. LOPE. Hush, indeed ! Why, there's been no one talking this half hour, but thyself. Enter SEBASTIAN. SEBASTIAN. A fascination I cannot resist Has drawn me to this spot ; and while I shrink With horror at the thought of what attracts This rabble rout, I own its influence, And yield me to it like the rest. O Heaven ! How full of contradictions is man's nature, That even finds pleasure in the thing it loathes. Enter PROCESSION. CHORUS OF PRIESTS. Terribly the wrath of Heaven Burns against the unforgiven ! Nations see it, and -with fear Withering are away. DOLORES. 187 But before the throne unheeding Frown of Justice Mercy pleading, "Wins at last the King to hear, And doth his vengeance stay. Cry we, then, as crieth she, " Miserere Dcnnine /" [ Th-e priests pass off Enter DOLORES, guarded. JUANA. Well, though she is certainly changed for the worse, I don't see that she looks so much like a witch, after all. If thou wouldst only keep thy tongue still, the world would not so soon find out what a fool thou art. JUANA. And whether thou speakest or not, the world can't help knowing thou art a brute. Cease this unseemly wrangling. If we cannot sympa- thize with human suffering, let us at least regard it with respectful silence. SEBASTIAN. Alas, how is she changed ! The haughty step, The air of pride are gone ; and the brave spirit, Revealed in flashes from those glorious orbs, 183 DOLORES. Now veiled by their lids, is crushed beneath The iron weight of crime. A mortal paleness Is on the cheek where late in beauty glowed Th' imperial rose. She falters ; reels ; she will Fall to the earth ! O no, while I have strength, She shall not want for aid. [Hurries to her assistance. Thanks, dear Sebastian. this is brave ! A less courageous spirit Had never dared, before this multitude, Own sympathy for one of my condition Of fallen wretches most abhorred by man A murderess ! Support me for a moment. The executioner will soon relieve thee Of thy most painful service. Death has lost Much of its bitterness, since thou hast proved 1 am not all forsaken. Heaven is good ! [Lays her head on his bosom. OFFICER FROM THE FRONT. Urge on the prisoner. SEBASTIAN. For charity! "A moment give her. See ye not she faints ? O would that Heaven, in pity for her woes, DOLORES. 139 Ne'er more these eyes would suffer to unclose, But, from the breast that pillows this dear head, Call home her spirit. It is done ! SHE'S DEAD. [He lays the body reverently down, and kneels by the side of it, A. strain of delicious music is heard, when the scene changes, and, instead of the Spectators, a group of glorified spirits appears above them in the air, among whom are DIEGO, LEANDRA, DON Luis and DONNA ANGUSTIA. CURTAIN FALLS. fate t&an fclrcr. Attempt at CHARACTERS. ALLSIDES, a Merchant. SCRAPE, a Money-Lender. SIR BRYAN O'FALLON, an Irish Baronet. WINDFALL, an Actor. TAG, i RAO, V Political Leaders. BOBTAIL, ) SERVANT. MRS. ALLSIDES. HESTER ALLSIDES. A DELE ST. MAUR. SCENE. New York. TIME. Middle of the Nineteenth Ccntwy BETTER LATE THAN NEYER. ACT I. SCENE L A. room in the Astor. WINDFALL alone. He walks up and- down, and appears to read, but suddenly stopping, closes the book. WINDFALL. ALL, all in vain do I invoke the aid Of others' thoughts to rid me of mine own ; They will not hence ! I feel my isolation More in the city of my birth than e'er When late a wanderer ; and memory, Reminding me of my neglected childhood, And the injustice that my boyhood suffered, Peoples my brain with thoughts so saddening, That, but for the wild longing of my heart For vengeance on the cowardly oppressor, I could forget the part I'm now to play Of man and, like a child, sit down and weep. 17 194 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. Since the dark night that from the house I stole Which ne'er had been a home to the dependent, I have not been so utterly cast down As on this morn, that with such cheering smile Looks in upon me. I will try the air. [As he is going, enter SIR BRYA SIR BRYAN. Well, as I see you're in, you are not out, Though out you should be on a morn like this, When all the world is keeping holiday. The voice of summer is upon the breeze, And every flower that showed its face in June Which is the May that poets rhyme about Is at this blessed moment in Broadway, Which seems one grand parterre. WINDFALL. A moving one. SIR BRYAN. Of course. Why not ? And we should move to meet it, And revel in its sweets, like humming-birds, Or bumble-bees, or some such happy creatures. But how is this ? The spirit, that last night Was light and brilliant as the bubbles floating Upon the bosom of the sparkling cup, Which filled our hearts and brains with ecstacy, BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. Is now as flat as table-beer long drawn. Why, what's the matter ] WINDFALL. Faith, I cannot tell. I should be well, not having any ailment ; And, being without sorrow, should be merry. And yet I scarce am well, and am most sad. Some memory of the past hangs round my heart, Like stone upon the neck of drowning wretch, And, struggle as I will, drags down my spirit Into the depths of cold despondency ! SIR BRYAN. Why, man, what humour's this ? Are you in love ? WINDFALL. SIR BRYAN. Not in love 7 Perhaps you are in debt 1 WINDFALL. Nor yet in debt ; for I have still contrived, Whate'cr my means, never to step beyond them. SIR BRYAN. Well, why a man who's not in love or debt, With youth, and health, and hope upon his side, And blessed with appetite and good digestion, 196 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER Should suffer sadness on a morn like this Is more than my philosophy can fathom. I do not ask your confidence ; for though We've eaten, drunk, and smoked a month together, I do not feel that justly I can claim it, But if you would that I prescribe for you, "Tis only right to let me know your case, And, that you may know something of the person Who is to be your doctor, I will give you The outlines of a story, that has had But few events to make it interesting. I need not tell you of my ancestors, Who, from the days of Noah, or, perhaps, Of father Adam, till th' accurs'd invasion, Were kings in Erin. But, alas ! alas ! From the black day the Saxon set his foot Upon the soil our holy saint had blessed, They sank by slow degrees from princely sway, And princely rank, until my honoured father Beheld himself as poor a gentleman As ever claimed descent from royalty. About two years ago, 'twas my mishap To find myself successor to a title, That scarce had as much land for its support As would be thought a decent farm in Jersey. What could I do ? To live in idleness, Upon the pittance wrung from my poor tenants, BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 197 I felt to be unworthy of my youth ; And, if I'd had the wish, had not the means To push my fortunes in my native land. So, gathering up what ready cash I could, The sun's bright course 1 followed o'er the sea, And here I am, with purpose firm to win, In some pursuit I shall not blush to name Though what I know not honest independence. But come ; the golden hours are flying from us While I stand prosing here. At our next leisure, You shall relate to me whate'er you please Of your own history. I have now to pay A debt long due, for which I need your aid. Don't be alarmed ; 'tis but a morning call On some old friends whom I have known these six weeks. SCENE H. A room in the house of ALLSIDES. ALLSIDES seated at a table cov- ered with newspapers. ALLSIDES, (laying down the paper he has been reading.) I will to Congress. In the narrow sphere, To which 'till now I have condemned myself, My powers have sadly wanted room for action. But in the great arena, where men meet 17* 193 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. To signalize themselves, if not in deeds, In words of high emprize, my energies Will have full scope ; and all the honours gained, By our time-honoured house, shall be as nothing To the new glories of the name of Allsides, Won by my eloquence. I will to Congress. Enter SERVANT. SERVANT. A person wants to see you, sir. ALLSIDES. What kind of person ? Is't a gentleman ? SERVANT. * Can't say, sir. Don't look much like one, though. Not very well dressed, sir, and a pertikler red nose. ALLSIDES. A red nose, say you ? Well, that is no sign He's not a gentleman. But show him in. [Exit SERVANT. Enter TAG. ALLSIDES. My dear friend Tag, I am rejoiced to see you ! TAG. Knowed you would be. But you'll be more so, I'm a thinkin', when you know my arrant. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 199 Whate'er your errand, I receive your visit With unfeigned pleasure. Pray be seated, sir. TAG. Thank you, no. Some friends of ourn the "Anti- Crotonians," you know, held a sort o' perlimerary meetin' last night, at the " Friend and Pitcher," and it were anonymously resolved, to have your name sent into the nomernating committee as our candidate for Congress. ALLSIDES. O my dear friend ! to you I am indebted For this kind service. But you must be thirsty. Will you not taste a drop of my Otard ? You will not find it bad. [Brings brandy and helps TAG. Well, as my coppers is a little hot this mornin', I don't care if I do (drinks). Now, that's what I call good ! As I said, you am to have the nomernation; but only on sartin conditions. Whate'er they are, I pledge myself at once To yield to them a prompt and strict compliance. 200 BETTER LATE THAN NEYEB. TAG. Well, these they be. [Takes a paper from, his pocket, and reads. First. You must go agin all monoperlies. ALLSIDES. Most cheerfully. TAG. Secondly. You shall insist that every thing is to be in common. ALLSIDES. Which is but right. TAG. Thirdly. You a'n't to allow no man to set up a car- riage. ALtSIDES. No, indeed. Why should he ? TAG. Fourthly. All omnibuses, rail-cars, and steamboats must be run at public expense, and nothin' be axed for passage no where, and liquor and segars be given free gratis for nothin' to everybody besides. ALLSIDES. Most assuredly. TAG. Fifthly. You a'n't to let no man have two coats and BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 201 an extry pair o' pants or boots, when another man ha'n't got nyther. ALLSIDES. Certainly not. TAG. Sixthly. You must see that the theatres am open every hour of the day and night, for the 'commerdation of us, the people, and no manager sha'n't have the right to charge nothin' for admission. ALLSIDES. That they shall not, the vagabonds ! TAG. * Seventhly. You must have the right of universal suffer- ing granted to every man, woman, and child that has breathed the free air of our blessed country for the space of four-and-twenty hours. ALLSIDES. Why should they not 1 TAG. And Eighthly and lastly. You must go for a grand eduction of all salaries. If I kin live on a dollar a day, when I get it, why shouldn't the President of these United States? And if a custom-house night-watch a'n't worth more than five hundred a year, why should the Collector of the Port, who very often a'n't so smart 202 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. a feller, be allowed to make his fifteen thousand? Nyther of these chaps, I take it, wants any thing more to eat or drink than I do. Speaking of that, as my whistle is rayther dry this mornin', I don't mind if I try a little more of your brandy. [Helps himself, and drinks. ALLSIDES. The liberal measures that you have proposed For my support and ardent advocacy, Are just the ones I should myself have named, Had I been called on by the people's voice To give expression to my sentiments. TAG (shaking him, by the hand). You'm the man for our money. ALLSIDES. You ne'er shall find me wanting in my duty. TAG. We all know that. Adoo. ALLSIDES. Good morning, sir. [As TAG turns to go out, RAG enters. They pass one another with looks of hatred and defiance. Exit TAG. ALLSIDES. Most worthy friend, you're welcome heartily. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 203 RAG. I don't know that, till I learn what that fellow has been doing here. ALLSIDES. What, Tag ? Poor fellow ! Why there is between us A small account, that's been for some time standing, And he was here to beg a few days' grace. BAG. The graceless scamp ! what right has he to grace ? I wouldn't give him a moment. Ah, Mr. Allsides, times are sadly changed. ALLSIDES. They are indeed ! RAG. A few years ago, if a chap like that owed any thing to an honest man, like us, he'd have been thrown into gaol, and left there to rot, if the money wasn't forth- coming. But now, sir, your debtor passes you in the street with the swagger of a new made M. P. Ah, sir, I fear those good old times are gone forever ! ALLSIDES. Truly, I fear they are. RAG. Well, well! But that is neither here nor there; so I'll at once to the business that I came upon. 204 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. ALLSIDES. But will you not take some refreshment first ? RAG. Pardon me, I cannot think of drinking before dinner. No gentleman no matter how much he may indulge afterwards ever does that. 'Tis contrary to estab- lished order. Speaking of order, I have come to in- form you, that the " Friends of Order," all good men upon 'Change, who meet six times a week at the " Day Book and Ledger," to discuss the evils of the times, and the means of their speedy remedy, decided at our meeting last night, to send your name in to the Com- mittee, as our candidate for the new Congressional Dis- trict. ALLSIDES. My dear, dear sir. KAG. But first I am to propound a few questions, to which you are to return unequivocal and categorical answers. ALLSIDES. Most certainly I will. RAG. Are you a friend to Order? ALLSIDES. Can you doubt it ? BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 205 BAG. Opposed to all the levelling tendencies of the day? particularly the elevation of the masses in the social scale? ALLSIDES. Beyond all question. RAG. Are you for making the rich richer, and the poor poorer by wise and judicious legislation ? ALLSIDES. Who among us is not ? BAG. Are you in favour of granting perpetual charters to all banks, so as to make this nation, in a monetary sense, one entire PLAINFIELD ? ALLSIDES. It is the measure I would first propose. BAG. But, above all, will you support the gallows ? ALLSIDES. Yes, as the greatest blessing of our laws. BAG. You are the man we want; and so will I report you to our friends. 18 206 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. ALLSIDES. Sir, I am honoured by your approbation. [They shake hands. Exit RAG. Enter BOBTAIL. BOBTAIL (loftily). Mr. Allsides, I presume ? ALLSIDES. That is my name, sir. BOBTAIL. And mine is Bobtail. You may have heard of me. ALLSIDES. I have, indeed ; and proud am I to know you. [Giving hits hand. But pray be seated. BOBTAIL. I thank you, sir. I've come upon a business that can as well be done standing. I am a committee of one, sir, from " The Improved Order of Aboriginal Broth- ers," who are determined to make themselves heard in the legislative halls of the country, and am come to con- fer upon you, sir, the high honour of becoming our mouth-piece in Congress. ALLSIDES. You overwhelm me with the obligation. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 207 BOBTAIL. But before we entrust our interests to you, sir, it is necessary that you accede to certain proposals which I have to make. ALLSIDES. Whate'er you please. BOBTAIL. You shall bring in bills to prohibit all importations from abroad. ALLSIDES. I'll make it treason, sir, to wear a coat That's not of home production. BOBTAIL. To prevent the running of the mails upon the sabbath. ALLSIDES. Yes, and females too. BOBTAIL. To discountenance all religions ALLSIDES. O, I'm down on all religions. BOBTAIL. Except one. ALLSIDES. Of course, except one. 208 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. BOBTAIL. And that shall be supported by the state. ALLSIDES. Certainly, by the state. BOBTAIL. To shut up all the playhouses, and send the actors, with all other vagrants, to work at the tunnel which is to form a communication between New York and Can- ton. ALLSIDES. It shall be done. BOBTAIL. To make it penal to drink any champagne that is not made in Jersey. ALLSIDES. I'll make it capital. The punishment Shall not be less than death. Will that suffice 1 BOBTAIL. One thing more, and I am done. You shall have an act passed, authorizing the President to raise a dyke the whole extent of our seaboard, which shall forever pre- vent the inundation of our beloved country by foreigners. ALLSIDES. I will have one thrown up that shall o'ertop The Rocky Mountains. Can I do aught else 1 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 209 BOBTAIL. Nothing, I believe, sir, and so I bid you a very good morning. ALLSIDES. Good morning, my dear friend. [Exit BOBTAIL. ALLSIDES (alone). O this is rapturous ! my fondest dream Shall now be realized ! By means of these Shall I at once ascend the glittering height Which thousands have in vain essayed to reach Where sits enthroned the goddess of my worship- Immortal Fame ! Who'd not be prodigal Of promises, which are but breath no more When they can purchase all that heart requires To make it blest? Enter MRS. ALLSIDES. Ah, now for the old story. A dress is wanted, or a shawl, or bonnet, Of the last style, and I, of course, must pay for't. You here, my dear 1 MRS. ALLSIDES. I hope you see I am. ALLSIDES. And if I did not, 1 should doubtless hear it. 18* 210 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. MRS. ALLSIDES. Did you mean that for wit ? Of course you did. It is the name that men are wont to give To all ill-natured sayings. But, my dear, Things of that kind are thrown away on me. I am wit-proof. But to my errand. I, To please the girls, have sent out half a thousand, Or so, of invitations, for a party I give to-night ; and on your way to 'Change, I wish you would a moment stop at Downing's, And say, besides the things already ordered, He must send up what I have here set down. [ Given a paper. 'Tis the first Soiree of the season, and, If cost can make it such, shall be the finest. ALLSIDES. Cost, madam ? cost ? Who is to meet this cost ? MRS. ALLSIDES. You, to be sure. ALLSIDES. But how? I ask you, how? MRS. ALLSIDES. By money, certainly. ALLSIDES. O yes, by money. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 211 But have' you thought where that is to be got 1 MRS. ALLSIDES. In Wall street, is it not 1 At least I've heard so. ALLSIDES. I'm not disposed to say unpleasant things, But hang me, madam, if I ever knew One of your sense speak quite so like a fool. MRS. ALLSIDES. Now don't be rude, my dear good man. 'Tis vulgar ; And quite unsuited to your style of features ; And, more than that, with me it counts for nothing. But do as I desire, and you to-night Shall hear your taste commended in the choice You made of wife. [ALLSIDES passes into another room. Why, what's the matter here ? Enter WINDFALL, bearing HESTER and followed by SIR BRYAN and ADELE. MRS. ALLSIDES. Good heaven ! what has happened ? WINDFALL (laying HESTER on a sofa). Nothing serious. The lady has been frightened ; nothing more. 212 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. SIR BRYAN. Almost run over, and as nearly killed ; But not being quite run over, was not hurt ; And fainted when she found herself uninjured. A thing that often happens. ADELE. She revives. Dear Hetty, are you better ? HESTER (rising). No but well. I've not been ill, my dear. 'Twas but a ruse To draw attention. Nothing but a sham. [Seeing WINDFALL. I beg your pardon, sir. I did not see That we had company. O yes, I remember, You saved me from the unromantic death, Of being crushed between two omnibuses, And at no trifling risk, for which I thank you. How shocking 'twould be t' have twelve citizens, Called from the street, to sit upon the body Of Hester Allsides, the incomparable ! MRS. ALLSIDES. You giddy creature, cannot this mishap Tame your wild spirit ? [To WINDFALL. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. Sir, accept the thanks Of one who, but for you, might now be childless. WINDFALL. Dear madam, I (starts) Good heaven ! SIR BRYAN. What's the matter? Have you been hurt ? HESTER (earnestly). Indeed, indeed, I hope not. WINDFALL. Be not alarmed a momentary twinge. BIB BRYAN (aside to WINDFALL). About the region of the heart ? WINDFALL. Tis over. I have done nothing to deserve your thanks, But am most happy to have been the means Of saving, from, perhaps, a fatal injury, One, whose untimely loss must fill with gloom The hearts of thousands. HESTER (laughing'). Why not say at once, Of all the nations 1 clothe the world in black, And quite extinguish sun, and moon, and stars ? 214 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. SIR BRYAN. And so it would. HESTER. O, sir, I cry you mercy ! I quite o'erlooked your presence. SIR BRYAN. Flattering, faith ! But then the fault was none of yours, fair lady, But my own modesty. Which, like the veil Of Broadway belle, most gracefully conceals What else would mar the beauties it exposes. [Aside to him. We may suppose your friend has got a name By which he's sometimes known. Is it a secret 1 SIR BRYAN. I beg your pardon, ladies. I'd forgotten My friend was not already known to you. Allow me to present you Mr. Windfall. MRS. ALLSIDES. Sir, though the circumstance cannot be called A pleasant one that made us first acquainted, Yet must it ever be by me remembered With that delight which springs from gratitude. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 215 We are to have a few friends here to-night Sir Bryan's of the number may I hope You will make one among them ? WINDFALL (with hesitation). Madam I SIR BRYAN. Of course he will. He can have no engagement At least he can have none may not be broken At your desire. HESTER. It will oblige us much, If you'll drop in a moment, to inquire How fares your patient. WINDFALL. I'll not fail to do so. Sir Bryan, come. We have already trespassed Too long upon these ladies. SIR BRYAN. Faith, that's true. Yet could I find it in my heart to trespass A little longer, but you see, I'm forced To tear myself away. [Exeunt SIR BRYAN and WINDFALL. MRS. ALLSIDES (slowly crossing the room). I'm sadly puzzled. 216 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. I know the face of that young gentleman, But where I've seen it, if' not in my dreams, Am at a loss to tell : and yet it seems Almost familiar to me as my own. [JWL ADELE (musingly). And so it seems to me ; although I'm sure I never could have seen it 'till to-day. I had a brother once or think I had, For I am oft in doubt if memory Or fancy have the better claim to him ; And sometimes, when I shut my eyes, I see A face that should be his, but, till this hour, Have never seen in mortal man its like. [After a pause, to HESTER, who has taken a book, and appears to read. What think you, Hetty, of this stranger ? HESTER. n I did not note him. ADELE. Did you not? (Aside.) I'll see. You did as well, my dear. There is not much In him to note. With rather a mean figure Nay, my dear Dell, I did observe his figure, And thought it a right good one. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 217 ADELE. Then his features Are very plain, HESTER. To me they did not seem so. ADELE. And in his eyes I fancied some defect. HESTER. Why how you talk ! Whatever the defect In eyes, 'twas in your own. Than his, I'm sure I ne'er saw finer. ADELE (laughing'). Truly, dear, for one Who " did not note him," you are wondrous well Informed of his perfections. Silly ostrich ! Didst think, because thy head was in the sand, That all of thee was hidden 1 or couldst think, After a school-companionship of years, It would be easy to impose on me 1 I saw you " note him," and, what's more, I saw That every note was one of admiration. HESTER (with affected anger). You saucy puss ! I'm very much inclined To box your ears. 19 213 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. ADELE. Well, I'll not baulk your humour. And though my ears may tingle, that will not Take from my eyes the power that most you fear, And do not doubt that they will " note" you well. HESTER (running out). I'll not stay with you. ADELE. Nay, you can't avoid me. [Follmwy, is met by SCRAPE. SCRAPE. I beg your pardon, miss, I thought to find Your father here. ADELE. If you mean Mr. Allsides SCRAPE. He's not your father ; no, you're Miss St. Maur. ADELE. You seem to know me, sir, SCRAPE. Know you, my child ? I do ; and better than you know yourself. ADELE. You knew my parents, then ? O, tell me of them ! In my long orphanage, I've never met BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 219 One who could satisfy my heart's deep yearning For knowledge of those dear ones. Did you know them 1 SCRAPE. I knew them. ADELE. Be not chary of your words, But tell me every thing you knew of them. SCRAPE. That could I hardly, in a morning call. But know, your mother was an angel, and Your father, though he might have ill-deserved, Was one whom all the world conspired to treat Even worse than his deservings, 'till his life, When she was gone, whose presence was his peace, Became a daily -warfare. ADELE. And he died At enmity with all ! O piteous end ! SCEAPE. Who told you that he died ? ADELE. I cannot tell. No one, I think. But surely, if not dead, 220 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. He'd not so long have left his child in doubt Of his existence. SCRAPE. Have you known neglect, More than if reared beside that father's hearth ? ADELE. Except the want of kindred, I have known No other want ; for the dear nuns, with whom My childhood and my girlhood have been passed, Ne'er failed in kindness to me. But their kindness Could never fill the void left in my heart By absence of the love that should have dwelt there. tell me, do you know my father lives ? SCRAPE. 1 do. ADELE. O blessings on you for that answer ! For though we ne'er should meet on this side heaven, The feeling that there still is on the earth A being to whose love I have a right, Will be a drop of honey in the cup, That else had been too bitter. Bless, bless you ! SCRAPE. Well, then, since grateful for so small a boon. I will unto the favour add, by saying, BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. Not only does your father live, but soon Will come to claim a daughter's love and duty. ADELE. And joyfully the claim shall be admitted. SCRAPE. But tell me, how like you this family ? The daughter is your friend ? ADELE. My earliest friend. In childhood placed together at one school, And sharing thence each other's tasks and pleasures, Like children of one home did we grow up ; And since have been as sisters. By her wish Have I become an inmate of this house. SCRAPE. With welcome from her parents ? ADELE. Without that, Not even my love for her could keep me here. The morsel that was grudged I could not swallow. SCRAPE. That's right ; for there is nothing half so bitter, As bread received from an unwilling hand. So you are here a guest, not a dependent ? iq* BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. Dependent, sir ! while youth and health are mine ? no ! there's too much of my country in me To live a pensioner on others' bounty. And though to toil a stranger, it is something 1 do not fear, but must forever shrink From that base thing dependence. SCRAPE. Bravely spoken. I see you have inherited the spirit Of her whose face your own so much resembles. may the earthly blessings that by her Were merited fall to her daughter's share. ADELE. You are most kind, sir, but I keep you standing. Would you see Mr. Allsides ? SCRAPE. If you please. Yet, stay a moment. As I entered now, 1 met two dashing youths. Whom do they visit ? ADELE. Whom should they visit ? I'm a stranger here. SCRAPE. That's very true ; and it may be as well Such to remain. The young men of this city BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 223 Arc not the best acquaintances for one Like you, unfriended. Guard yourself, my girl. ADKLE. Who visit here are gentlemen. SCEAPE. Ay, ay. The world so calls them, and, in courtesy, So must we too. And yet I doubt me much, If any of this family know aught Of either of these gentlemen. No matter. Pray send me Mr. Allsides. ADELE. Instantly. [Exit. SCRAPE. I now have all I wished. His scattered notes Have all been gathered, and are in my hand, And, light as they may seem, they will be found Of weight to crush him into nothingness. And he shall feel it. But he comes. Enter ALLSIDES Ah, Scrape, It is an unexpected pleasure, truly. To see you here. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. I hope you'll think't a pleasure^ When you have heard my errand. ALLSIDES. Doubt it not. And yet I hope nought serious has happened. But no. 'Perhaps you have not yet been able To raise the little sum I asked last night ? If so, I shall indeed feel disappointed ; But even then, right glad to see you here. SCRAPE. That little sum if such you call three thousand Can not be raised. Nay, more, some other sums All little sums of some few thousands each, Yet making, in the whole, a trifle more Than twenty thousand must be paid to-day, Or with to-morrow's sun you rise disgraced. ALLSIDES. Good Heaven ! what can you mean 1 SCRAPE. Why simply this : Within the last few months you've signed your name To some half-score of papers, which, like kites, You cast upon the wind, and let them fly, Without a thought of what might be their fate. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 225 But I, as you shall see, have had more care For these poor scatterlings, and took them home, Where they lie snug. In short, you are my debtor In the amount that you find here set down. [Giving a paper. Of which I now demand immediate payment. ' ALLSIDES. To-morrow, Scrape, to-morrow. SCRAPE. No, to-day. ALLSIDES. But, my dear Scrape ! SCRAPE. You plead to little purpose. If by to-night this money is not paid, To-morrow you are bankrupt. [Exit. ALLSIDES. Then I'm lost. [Throws himself on a sofa. 226 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. ACT II. SCENE I. A room in Hie Astor. WINDFALL and SIR BRYAN O'FALLON. WINDFALL. WHY did you take me to that house ? SIR BRYAN. What house? For sure I took you to a dozen houses. WINDFALL. To Allsides'. SIR BRYAN. That ? It is the pleasantest In all the city. And such charming girls I have not met since I and Erin parted. She is an angel ! and my sole regret Is that I am not rich, for her dear sake ! WINDFALL. Whom do you speak of? SIR BRYAN. Of whom should I speak, But Miss St. Maur the beautiful Adele? BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 227 WINDFALL. Though pretty, certainly, with pleasing manners, And a most charming voice, I do not think her At all to be compared to her fair friend. SIR BYRAN. Bah ! you've no taste in beauty, that is plain. WINDFALL. Not much, perhaps ; but, little as I have, I would 'twere less, although the power of beauty I hardly knew 'till now ; 'till now ne'er gave My heart up wholly to its influence. I wish I had not seen Miss Allsides, who, Of all the women I have e'er "beheld, In form, in face, complexion, voice, and spirit, Is sole possessor of th' ideal beauty To which my soul has secret homage paid From boyhood ; yet is she the only one I must not love. SIR BRYAN. And why ? WINDFALL. She is my foe. SIR BRYAN. O, to your peace, of course. I know your meaning. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. Not quite. But when you have my story heard, You'll know it better. Many years ago, My father was a merchant of this place, And at one time thought wealthy. But reverses, Unsparing as the tempest in its fury, Did on a sudden, scatter all his gains, And leave him penniless ; when, with the hope Of bettering his fortunes, with my mother And little sister, he went to the south, And never more was heard of. Me he left Behind him, to the care of one whose friendship He prized beyond, the wealth which he had lost; Who pledged the sacred honour of a man, To rear me as his own. I have not patience To tell you how his word was kept ! Suffice it, The meanest servant in his princely mansion Than I fared better. There was no neglect, And no indignity a child could suffer, To which I was not by that man exposed, Until I felt that any change must be For me a blessing, and I fled the home My father had provided, one to seek With strangers. SIR BRYAN. And that man was Allsides ? BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 229 WINDFALL. Yes. SIR BRYAN. A heartless wretch ! But surely 'tis no fault Of the poor girl's that she has such a father. And, though you may be right in hating him, I cannot see why she should be your foe. I interrupt your story. Did you find The world to be more kind than him you left ? WINDFALL. Not much. But I had on the world no claim For special kindness. My poor father had not Committed me unto its care ; had not Received its promise that I should be favoured More than another ; and I had no right To quarrel with it when it used me ill. And yet the world is not so bad, Sir Bryan, As many do report. I have found friends Where one would hardly think to look for them. Once, when a starveling in the streets, and shunned By Priest .and Levite, a Samaritan Despised of both took home the outcast boy, And healed the wounds that rankled in his heart. That man was a poor player. SIR BRYAN. Do you know, 20 230 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. I've sometimes thought to try the stage myself, If all things else should fail me 1 On the bills, In staring capitals, to put my name And title at full length would draw the million, To look upon a living Baronet, Who would, for their amusement and their money- Perform strange antics, dance perhaps, or sing A merry stave like this. SONG. SIB BKYAN. The ills of this life, bad enough heaven knows ! Are always made worse by one's fancy ; And he that's been jilted by Bess or by Nell, Will swear there is no truth in Nancy. For me, I'm resolved to take things as they come, The only true wisdom in nature, And strengthen my heart when philosophy fails, By taking a drop of the crature. I know it is hard when in love or in debt, To look upon life as a frolic ; And know it is hard for a mortal to sing, When racked with the gout or the colic. But what will you gain by a whimper or groan, Or ugly distortion of fature ? Believe me, not half of the comfort you'll find In taking a drop of the crature. Would not that tell, sir ? But I beg your pardon. You spake of a poor player. WINDFALL. Poor, indeed, BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 231 In this world's goods, but rich in generous feeling. lie fed and clothed, and educated me, As far as he had means ; and when I rose To man's estate, and chose for my profession The same which he had by his life ennobled ; To his advice, far more than my deservings, Was I indebted for the great success That crowned my efforts. I have since won wealth, And fame which is to me above all wealth From my own generous fellow-citizens, But the approval of that one kind heart Outweighed all else. But this is not the theme I meant to speak on. Hester Allsides is The sweet ideal of my dreaming youth ; And yet I dare not love her. SIR BRYAN. Tut! what folly! To love a maid most worthy of your love ; Who might be had for asking, we'll suppose ; And yet, because her father wronged you once, To do a violence to your own heart, And her deservings, out of hate to him, Is little else than madness. List to me. The father of this girl, I dare say, now Would scarce remember him, who at his board Sat in the place a son of his might fill, 232 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. Yet did not find the kindness of a son. But then, your name? WINDFALL. That would renew no thought Of what is past. The one I bear is not That of my childhood. SIR BRYAN. Excellent, in faith ! Then go with me. Make love to the fair Hester ; And marry her. And when she is your wife, Revenge yourself upon the old curmudgeon, By telling him, the boy he foully wronged, When in his power, is now his son-in-law. WINDFALL. But Hester's happiness ? SIR BRYAN. Is not endangered. The secret will be known but to her father, And he, for his own sake, will not reveal it. WINDFALL. I'll think of this advice, which Love and Hate Both counsel me to follow. Whether Honour Would join his voice to theirs, I've yet to learn. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 233 SIR BRYAN. You do not think that I would do an act Would bear a question in the Court of Honour ? WINDFALL. Indeed I do not. SIR BRYAN. Then what I would not, Another should not do by my advice. AHons. We'll let the matter rest at present, And go prepare ourselves for this night's pleasure. [Exeunt. SCENE IL HESTER'S room. HESTER and ADELE. Now truly, Dell, didst ever think of marriage ? ADELE. Why, what a question ! HESTER. Is it not a fair one ? I would not ask what you might think it wrong To answer. But you've thought of it sometimes 1 Perhaps I have. 20* 234 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. HESTER. O then I know you have. There's no " perhaps" about it. Be advised By one who's had experience of the world Full six months more than you. Give it no place Henceforth forever in your mind, my girl. It is a dangerous thing for a young maid To dwell upon. There is no marriage, dear, Without a husband : husbands must be men ; And men are horrid creatures. Their least faults Are monstrous. Every way they wrong their wives. Thwart and torment them through their waking hours, And break their sleep with snoring. When again The thought obtrudes itself, remember this : That bad as't may be to lead apes below, Tis better than be led by apes on earth, And bid it leave you. But you do not heed me. ADELE. Indeed I do, and wonder at your humour. Why, what's amiss 1 Have you against the man Who saved your life this morning heard aught ill ? HESTER. I have heard nothing of him, and I care not If more I never hear. And yet I think, It would have been but courteous, had ho sent To know if from my fright I was recovered, BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 235 Or whether from the accident I had deceived an injury. ADELE. Though you assured him You were not hurt. You are unreasonable. I'm sure Sir Bryan HESTER (sharply). Dell, I do believe You think but of Sir Bryan ; and I fear You are ambitious, and would be a lady. ADELE (gravely'). Ambition stimulates to something higher Than that we are. I am a lady now. HESTER. Plague on your petulance ! I know you are. Nay, more a queen an empress. Greater still, My own spoiled darling Dell. But what I mean, Is not that you would be a lady, but M'j Lady or the Lady of Sir Bryan. ADELE. I would be angry, Hetty, but I know There's no offence intended. I've no hope No thought, I mean that I shall ever be Sir Bryan's wife. But if I had such thought Or hope, as by your smile you think I mean It would not be his title that inspired it, -' ' ~ : \i'' ': '' """. '? .' 236 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. But simply, that I think him worthy all Which can be given him by a trusting heart, Though he had not that title, which to me, And every woman born on this free soil, Where worth alone confers nobility, Is nothing more than tie of his cravat, That, though it may become, is no part of him. Were he plain Mister HESTER. You would be content To be plain Mistress as his wife, nor sigh For the poor title of " My Lady." Well, You think not like my worthy father, who, With all his talk about equality, A holy reverence has for foreign titles, And, even beyond a seat in Congress, covets The honour that Sir Bryan might confer Upon his name, by making me his wife. Why does your colour come and go so fast ? Dost fear in me a rival ? Be at rest. I told you of my father's wish, not mine. Were he a king, I would not wed Sir Bryan. Why 1 you would ask. Because I do not love him. And yet BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. HESTER. And yet, you think, I might do worse. And so I might ; for I believe him all A gentleman should be. But I, Adele, Shall never marry ! ADELE. You shall never marry 1 HESTER. You need not laugh ; I never was more serious. ADELE. You mean, you shall not marry 'till you're asked. HESTER. Why, don't you think I've ever had an offer ? ADELE. Indeed I know you have had more than one, And may have many more. But yet HESTER. But what? ADELE. The one has not been made you would accept, But soon will be ; and then I do not fear That yours will be the fate of Whip-poor-will. HESTER. And what was that ? 238 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. ADELE. Give heed, and you shall hear. SONG. ADELE. A maiden that dwelt in a bosky dell, Where all day long came the birds to tell Their tales of joy and their tales of woe, "Was followed by many a love-lorn swaiu, But sighs and entreaties were all in vain, No " Yes" could they get, for she still said " No 1" Among the rest came one whose pride Would suffer him not to be twice denied. And though she his suit might at length have heard With favour, if he had that suit renewed, But taking her answer in angry mood, He left, and" 'twas never again preferred. In time she was changed to a Whip-poor-will, And he to a Frog ; and such are they still. And nightly she utters this dolorous cry, " I-wish-I-had !" While mockingly he, To give to her sorrow more poignancy, " You-might-if-you would !" does still reply. Enter SERVANT. SERVANT. The company is beginning to assemble, young ladies, and Mrs. Allsides requests you will come down stairs. HESTER. Immediately. [Exit SERVANT, followed by HESTER and ADELE. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 239 SCENE III. Jlroadway, in front of the Astor. TAG, RAG, BOBTAIL, and SCRAPE. TAG. Now I'm for liberty. The largest liberty. The liberty for every man to do jist what he likes ; and nothing else. And so, if a man don't like to work and I don't that he needn't, that's all, and that government should take care on him. * KAG. My views are entirely different. I am for order. No man should be allowed to step beyond the circle in which he was born. For instance, the son of a black- smith, cr a baker, should never rise above the condition of his father ; and if that were the case, we should have no blacksmith's or baker's progeny giving themselves the airs of men born merchants. SCRAPE. Would you not then to industry, or talent, Or genius, give a chance to triumph o'er The difficulties of untoward fortune ? RAG. Industry is all very well. It is, indeed, necessary to the preservation of order. The masses should, as a matter of course, be industrious. And if the son of a journey- 240 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. man baker should, by his industry, save enough to pur- chase an oven, I would have no objections to his setting up for a floss, provided he kept his hands out of the dough of public affairs. But as to talent and genius, and such things, what have they to do with order? Why, there's nothing in the world more opposed to order than talent and gonius. BOBTAIL. There I agree with you. It is the boast of every dema- gogue among us, that in this country there is ample room for the development of talent and genius, and all that sort of nonsense ; and that is the reason that every foreigner, who happens to possess anything of the kind, makes a point of coming to our shores, 'till it is almost impossible to walk the streets now-a-days without run- ning against somebody distinguished for talent or genius, or some such kind of thing. Now I go for keeping away from us every one not actually born upon our own soil, and I have no doubt that, if this policy were to be maintained for a few thousand years, we should have little reason to complain of either talent or genius, and that our beloved country would rise in the scale of nations to a rank but little inferior to that of the great empire of China itself. SCRAPE. Wrong, wrong, all wrong. And if your plans were not BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 241 So full of mischief, they would make one laugh. The tree of liberty, within whose shade We now repose, would one of you uproot, And plant instead that sapless thing called Order. Another, over-anxious to preserve it, So close would guard it from the air of heaven, That it would die of kindness ; while the third Would plant an Upas in the place where now It stands so proudly, that whoe'er should come Within its influence, must instant die. But surely here, where reason has full sway, There cannot be a party so insane To ask for such reforms ; or if there be, There is no ass that could be found in Congress, Who would stand up, such nonsense to bray forth. TAG. A'n't there though ? I think I know one, and he a'n't so much of ass as you might fancy, that'll go for every measure of the " Anti-Crotonians." And I one who stands prepared to carry out the views of the " Friends of Order." BOBTAIL. And I have the assurance of a man, well known in the commercial world, that he will go heart and soul for 21 242 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. every thing demanded by the "Keformed Order of Aboriginal Brothers." SCRAPE. Now, in the names of the great Abby Kelly, The Mormon Prophet, and sweet Lucy Stone, Who are these men that seek to make themselves Eternal butts for ridicule to shoot at 1 TAG. My man but remember, 'tis a secret as yet is Mr. Allsides. RAG. Allsides ? He's mine. BOBTAIL. I say he's neither's ; he's mine. SCRAPE. O this is admirable ? (^ideon Allsides, Whose study, through a life of threescore years, Has ever been how best to serve himself, Stands pledged to each and all of you it seems ? TAG, RAG, and BOBTAIL. He does. SCRAPE. And two of you, of course, must mean to cheat. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. BAG. It squints that way. No doubt, no doubt. Of course he does. SCRAPE. Do you not see his drift ? His great ambition, From boyhood up, has been to go to Congress ; And, to obtain the end he's had in view, Would promise one I needn't mention now To make him our next President. I know You will no longer trust a man like this. Together. Not by a jugful. RAG. I should guess not. BOBTAIL. Trust him 1 the scoundrel ! SCRAPE. And, for the cheat that he would put upon you, Would not be sorry to have satisfaction ? Together. 244 BETTER J,ATE THAN NEVER. I'd not, for one. RAG. Nor I. BOBTAIL. I mean to have it. SCRAPE. Then list to me. To-night he has a party, And when he's in the height of his enjoyment, Do you come suddenly among his guests, And then expose his gross duplicity. TAG. I'll be there. RAG. And I. BOBTAIL. And so will I. Together. SCRAPE. Come at eleven. I'll be there to meet you. [Exeunt severally. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. SCENE IV. A room in ALLSIDES'. Enter ALLSIDES, followed by MRS. ALLSIDES. MRS. ALLSIDES. Well, what's the matter now 1 Why did you bid me Follow you here ? ALLSIDES. Because I wished to tell you, Without the risk of being overheard, How much I disapprove your present conduct. MRS. ALLSIDES. My present conduct ? Pray what have I done ? ALLSIDES. Are you not trying all you can to ruin My plans for the advancement of our daughter ? MRS. ALLSIDES. What plans ] 'and how can I have ruined them? ALLSIDES. You knew it was my wish to make Sir Bryan My son-in-law, and therefore did oppose The foolish whim of Hetty, here to bring Her friend and schoolfellow, Adcle St. Maur, 21* 246 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. Lest she should interfere with my designs, As my prophetic fears told me she would. But you joined forces with her, and I yielded. She came, and what is the result ? Sir Bryan Is taken with her pretty face, and manner Of simple dignity, and you have sought To mar my plans, by making daily for him Some opportunity of meeting her, Until, if I'm a judge in these affairs, She'll have the chance, before this night is passed, T' accept or to refuse him. MRS. ALLSIDES. Very well. There's many a one I would prefer to him For son-in-law. I think this stranger Windfall Would not be hard to catch. ALLSIDES. A man unknown ; And one who may not have to bless himself A red cent in his pocket. MRS. ALLSIDES. Don't you fear That I'll alloW'him to propose for Hetty 'Till I know what he's worth. But you have said Sir Bryan is not rich. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 247 ALLSIDES. But then his title MRS. AXLSIDES. Could not be sold in Wall street for a dime. I thought you were too good a merchant e'er To buy a thing you knew not how to turn To some account, because it pleased your fancy. I do not mean that Hetty shall lose caste, By marrying a man who has not fashion To lift her up above the common herd. And though Sir Bryan's title might awhile Do that, it could not long, without the aid Of wealth, and therefore must she mate with wealth, Which can sustain itself without a title, Or wit, or talent, or even common sense. But come, we shall be missed. Let us return. [Takes his arm and exeunt. Enter HESTER and ADELE at opposite doors. ADELE. Hester, Adele, ADELE. I have a word to say. 48 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. HESTER. wish to mention that ADELE. Sir Bryan Windfall ADELE. You'll think it very foolish wrong perhaps HESTER. I scarce know what to say so very sudden ADELE. Quite unexpected HESTER. I was not prepared ADELE. I did not dream of such a thing Sir Bryan HESTER. Upon such short acquaintance Windfall BOTH. Has Proposed ! HESTER. Adele! BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 249 ADELE. What, Hetty ? HESTER. Are you serious 1 ADELE. don't be angry with me, HESTER. Silly puss ! 1 am not angry, but delighted. Well, You have accepted him 1 ADELE No not in words. But in your pleased confusion. Don't say No. But why didst not, like me, frankly accept What we were thankful had been frankly offered ? But hush ! some one is coming. Let's be gone. [Exeunt at one door, and at the opposite. Enter SIR BRYAN and WINDFALL. SIR BRYAN. " I've done the deed ! Didst thou not hear a noise ?" Of course you didn't, for there was not any. But all the earth in silent wonder listened ! 250 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. WINDFALL. Listened to what ? Pray speak intelligibly. SIR BRYAN. " I've passed the Rubicon !" WINDFALL. What do you mean? SIR BRYAN. I have proposed ; and more, have been accepted ; Or, what's the same, I have not been refused. Quick work, you think it, and it is not slow, Although I've known the lady full a month. WINDFALL. A goodly flourish here of trumpets truly ! Why, man, I've beaten you outdone you there Where your brave countrymen have found no equals. That which a month it took you to achieve, Have I accomplished by a coup de main. 'Tis not twelve hours since first I saw Miss Allsides, And yet does she stand pledged to be my wife. SIR BRYAN. Long live America ! The myrtle wreath That has so long adorned the brows of Erin, Won by the gallant prowess of her gallant sons In love encounters, I transfer to her BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 251 Who has the victor vanquished. Allsides here ! Then I will slope. Am not I an apt scholar ? You see I speak your language like a native. WINDFALL. Though I must see him, 'twill be time enough To-morrow : I've not nerve for it to-night. {Exeunt. Enter ALLSIDES. ALLSIDES. The night is wearing on, and Scrape has not Returned with a renewed demand for payment ; And I have almost ceased to fear his coming. His object was to fright me : and he did it ! And seeing that, I think he'll let things rest A few days longer. In the meantime, I Receive the nomination of three parties, By one of which I'm sure to be elected ; And then, though I'm dishonoured as a merchant, I may hold up my head among the proudest, For shall not I be always Honourable ? [Enter RAG, TAG and BOBTAIL, arm-in-arm. What these all here 1 This is malapropos. I must not seem annoyed though. Welcome, friends. TAG. No you don't, old feljer. You can't come it over us any more with your soft sawder. 252 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. ALLSIDES. What does this mean ? RAO. That you're found out, sir. TAG. Completely blowed. Ruined past pre-emption. BOBTAIL. Disgraced forever before the "Reformed Order of Aboriginal Brothers." RAG. And utterly despised by every " Friend of Order." ALLSIDES. I do not understand this, gentlemen. TAG. Don't you, though 1 ? Then maybe I can make you. You wanted to go to Congress. You didn't care who sent you, not you ; but go you would, an' was willin' to take the nomernation of " Anti-Crotonians," " Friends of Order," or " Deformed Order of Abominable Broth- ers," though I reckon 'twould be blamed hard to find three parties more differenter than them 'ere three : an' you promised to go for the .measures on 'em all. But this was a givin' a leetle too much pork for a shil- BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 253 lin', an' so we've come to tell you, that your sarvices a'n't a wanted by none of us : that's all. ALLSIDES. This is too much ! SCKAPE (entering). Then what you have to spare May help you to redeem the notes I hold. ALLSIDES. do not jest with me ! I shall go mad ! SCRAPE. 1 pray you do not so 'till these are honoured. ALLSIDES. I have no money, Scrape. I tell you none ! And if you mean to keep your barbarous threat, You ruin me, my wife, and my poor child ! SCRAPE. Your child! What then 1 ? I never gave my word To shield your child from danger. Never vowed To share my home with her ; and at my board, And in my heart, to give her a child's place. And if I drive her forth to beggary, I shall be no faith-breaker ; shall offend Against no law but of humanity ! And who regards that law ! Not surely he 22 254 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. Who cast the stripling Orwell on the world, To be the sport or victim of its waves. ALLSIDES. It was not I who cast him. He deserted The house that should have been his home SCRAPE. But was not. And as you dealt with mine ALLSIDES. With yours ? SCRAPE. Yes, mine. I am that Orwell whom you once called friend ; Who would have trusted you with untold gold ; Who did entrust you with a greater treasure The happiness of his poor boy. And now I come to deal with yours as you with mine ALLSIDES. O mercy ! mercy ! I have none to give. The spirit of revenge alone has held Possession of my heart for eighteen years, And all that time have I, by day and night, Plodded and plotted to attain the end UETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 255 To which I now have reached. And do you think To turn me from my purpose by your winnings ? ALLSIDES. Then I am ruined ! ruined ! [Staggers to a seat. MRS. ALLSIDES (entering). What's the matter 1 SCRAPE. O, nothing lut a trifling settlement Between your husband and a creditor. MRS. ALLSIDES. You've chosen a strange time for such a purpose. Day and the counting-house I think were fitter For matters of this kind. SCRAPE. All times and places Alike are fit for what we have to settle. MRS. ALLSIDES. In Heaven's name, sir ! ALLSIDES (coming forward and speaking to her aside). Now, Martha, don't provoke him. 'Tis Orwell. 256 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. Enter WINDFALL, unperceived. MRS. ALLSIDES. Orwell ? I am truly glad ! [To SCRAPE. My strongest wish for years has been to see you, To make amends, as far as words can do so, For the great wrong you suffered at my hands. Your son was given to my care. I meant To be a mother to him. But my time Was so consumed by fashionable follies, I could not find an hour to spare to him Who should have had the most of my attention. The boy was proud and sensitive, and thought I studied to neglect him, which, Heaven knows, I never did, and from our house withdrew, Much to my shame, and not less to my sorrow, For many a night have I shed bitter tears, In thinking what mischances might befall him. WINDFALL (advancing). Whatever wrongs that boy believed himself From you t' have suffered, are atoned for now By that confession. I am Harry Orwell. SCRAPE (embracing him). My son! WINDFALL. My father ? Is it possible ] [Enter ADELE, HESTER and SIB BRYAN. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 257 Then I am not the lonely thing I thought me. SCRAPE. That are you not, but have relations here More than you dream of. [Pointing to ADELE. Boy, embrace your sister. [\VIXDFALL and ADELE embrace. ADELE. joy ! I have a brother ! But, sir, tell me, Who are you that did first inform me of My parents, and a brother gives me now 1 WINDFALL. The one who best should know. He is our father. ADELE (throwing herself into the arms of SCRAPE). The craving of my heart is satisfied. 1 ask for nothing more. SIR BRYAN. But I do, faith ! HESTER. "What can you ask for 1 SIR BRYAN. That you will allow me To be your brother by the way of marriage. HESTER. But I've no sister you can take to wife. 258 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. SIR BRYAN. But Windfall has, and isn't that the same ? MRS. ALLSIDES. What does this mean ? SIR BRYAN. Why, simply, that Miss Allsides, With your consent, of course, and her good father's, Has promised to become the wife of Windfall. And what I ask, is just to be her brother, By marriage with the sister of her husband. WINDFALL. Adele consents, I know. What says my father ] SCRAPE. Sir Bryan is a sort of nobleman SIR BRYAN. A nobleman 1 What Irishman is not 1 Why, sir, the boccah, by the wayside sitting, In my poor country boasts the blood of princes. For me, I'm but a landless Baronet, To which the title add of Gentleman. SCRAPE. Noble or gentle, you may deem th' alliance Of one like me no honour. Years and years, I've sought, by means of which I cannot boast, " Though none dishonest to amass a sum BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. 259 Should give me power o'er him I thought had wronged me. And I have got it ! WINDFALL. But you will not use it ? I will not use it. ADELE. Bless you for that word ! SCRAPE (handing papers to HESTER). To my son's wife I yield the power I held Assured she'll not abuse it. MRS. ALLSIDES. This is noble ! SIR BRYAN. But what's to be my fate 1 As you decide. If you consent to lay your title down, And, with a moderate fortune, turn your mind To something that, by honest industry, Shall make you independent, with my child Though loth am I so soon to part with her That fortune will I give you, and my blessing. SIR BRYAN. I take you at your word. Let this dear girl 260 BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. But call me husband, and I'll never more Lay claim to other title. ALLSIDES. I scarce know How to excuse my faults. SIR BRYAN. Then don't attempt it. Though you perhaps have lost a seat in Congress, You should be satisfied with what you have The kindness of the friends now smiling on you. TAG. And I think he ought to be very well contented, that things have turned out as they are. SCRAPE. So do we all. And may no false ambition Tempt him again to play the politician. ALLSIDES. No, of that folly I am cured forever, Though something late. SIR BRYAN. Well, BETTER LATE THAN NEVER. atfr of Mire: CHARACTERS. JAMES LYNCH FITZSTEPIIEN, Mayor of Galway. WALTER LYNCH, his son, BLAKE OF THE HILLS, brother-in-law of Lynch. ARTHUR, ton of Blake. TIRLOGH, foster-brother of Walter. GOMEZ, a young Spaniard, PRIEST. Citizen*. GAOLER. FIRST OFFICER. SECOND OFFICER. GENTLEMEN, SAILORS, CITIZENS, ETC. DAME MARGARET, wife of Lynch. AGNES, the betrothed of Walter. LADIES, CITIZENS' WIVES, Jtra SCENE. Galway in Ireland. Tms.Near the close of the Fif- teenth century. TO FRANKLIN PIERCE. CALLED from thy granite hills, and by a voice As Heaven-inspired as his the Prophet old- The shepherd youth -who summoned from the fold To reign a monarch of th' Almighty's choice The voice of a Free People 1 to the seat A Jackson honoured, and a "Washington Made holy, let not then, as oft is done, Ambition with thy conscience play the cheat, Thy soul to juggle of its richest gem Faith to thy country. Registered in Heaven Now stands thy " Oath of Office," and shall stand Forever, to approve thee or condemn, As thou the power but lent to thee not given- Shalt use to bless or curse thy native land. THE OATH OF OFFICE. A T I. SCENE I. A. hall in tJie house of the Mayor. A number of persons present; some seated at tables and others standing in groups, or walking about conversing. Among the latter are AGNES and GOMEZ. TIKLOGH comes from one of the tables. TIRLOGH. BRAVE doings here ! In kitchen and in hall Is nothing heard but sounds of merriment, Where blend the laugh and song harmoniously With music of the viol and the harp. , In every face one sees, as in a mirror, The joy reflected that makes bright his own ; And in the friendly grasp, of hands that ne'er Have met before, is felt the heartiness With which each guest, in all this vast assembly, Doth enter into these festivities. And, sooth to say, Lynch the Munificent 23 266 THE OATH OF OFFICE. Gives all a noble welcome. There is not A Baron of the Pale so sumptuously Could entertain his friends as doth this merchant, Upon whose tables luxuries are crowded To sate an epicure. And this profusion Is all in honour of the proud alliance This day contracted by young Walter Lynch, This rich man's heir, and my dear foster-brother, And O ! may it be happy as 'tis proud ! For he deserves it should be. [WALTER comes dejectedly down the hall; then stops, and leaning against one of the pillars, appears to be regarding AG.TBS and GOMEZ.] How is this ? He hath not much the seeming of a bridegroom. Pray Heaven he be not ill ! Ah, I remember. This is the last night of the sojourn here Of the young Spaniard, Gomez, and his heart Is now divided between joy and grief The lover and the friend. Shall I accost him ? No ; he were better pleased to be alone ; And so I'll leave him. [Retires among the guests WALTER, (coming farther down.) It was but the fancy Of a distempered brain. I know them both. The stain of falsehood could not rest upon THE OATH OF OFFICE. 26T The soul of cither. Gomez is my friend ; My brother ; bound to me by strongest ties ; Beyond suspicion true. And Agnes O The angels, that in Heaven's court do wait, Are not more pure than she ! Then to the winds I give my doubts to scatter as they will ! [After a pause And yet I like not they should seem so well To understand each other. Eyes are on them Which may not read their actions as mine do. -The smile and blush, that follow every word He breathes into the ear she bends towards him, The evil heart might sadly misinterpret, And evil tongues What will not evil tongues ? Convert to proofs of crime they have not dreamed of. Well, let them do so. Shall my peace depend On others' fancies, or my own convictions ? And, while I know my friend and love are true, What need I care if false the world should deem them 1 ARTHUR, (coming from the nearest table.) Upon my troth, good coz, thou play'st the host Right hospitably. All thy guests must feel Much flattered, by thy efforts to make pleasant The time they mean to pass beneath this roof, In honour of thy most august betrothal. Why, man, thy length of face, and moody silence Are as ill suited to an hour like this 268 THE OATH OF OFFICE. As was the Death's head at Egyptian feasts Filling with gloom the hearts that should be brimmed Even like our goblets with the wine of gladness. Come, rouse thee. Talk, and laugh, and drink, as I do. Or, if thou wilt not, imitate, at least, The gentle 'haviour of thy bride, sweet Agnes, Who, though she says but little with her lips, Discourses eloquently with her eyes And how those eyes can speak thou shouldst know well ! . To the swart Spaniard, who, if not thy friend, I trow might very well be thought thy rival, And one who urges no unthriving suit. Tush, Arthur, this is folly ! Thou to-night All things behold'st through an uncertain medium," And dost see nothing as in truth it is. The wine cup hath such wondrous power, 'twill oft To friendship give the form of rivalry. Go, join thy fellows; and, ere thou shalt drain Another goblet to thy mistress' beauty, I will make one among you. ARTHUR. See thou dost; And we will make thee soon forget that earth E'er knew the stolid mar-sport, Gravity. [Returns to the table. THE OATH OF OFFICE. 2C9 WALTER. He might be thought my rival ! Though 'twas flung At random, to my heart that shaft was sped, And there it rankles. [Goes to the table, and fills a goblet. Friends, ye do not drink. Come, fill. \Tliey fill.] And let me now propose a toast. Our house's honoured guest ; the noble Gomez ! The noble Gomez ! [They drink. WALTER. In his name I thank you. ARTHUR. In faith, 'tis well thou dost ; for he nor ears, Nor tongue, nor aught has now for more than one. WALTER, (aside, and leaving the table.*) Another shaft ! But what a fool am I To let the chatter of this brainless jay So chafe me ! Now they seek a place apart, As if they felt the gaze of curious eyes, And sought to shun it. I will mark them closely. But how is this ? I am not jealous ? No ! I do not fear there can be aught between them That could to nicest honour give offence. 23* 270 THE OATH OF OFFICE. Yet, for a moment's pastime, will I mark them. [He returns to the pillar, against which he leans, while AGNES and GOMEZ, separating from the crowd, come down the hall, and stop opposite to him.} AGNES. Thou goest then to-morrow 1 GOMEZ. With the dawn. Even now, her white wings spread to catch the breeze, The bark impatient in the harbour waits That is to bear me to my native Spain, And the dear parents my heart leaps to name. Yet, credit me, sweet lady, sad am I To leave for ever this fair land of thine, Whose hospitable homes have ever been As open to me as my father's halls. AGNES. But sure this going cannot be for ever 1 Thou wilt, I know, leave many a friend behind Who would rejoice to see thee here again. Walter will miss thee sadly. GOMEZ. At the risk Of seeming selfish, I will say I hope so. For I would grieve to think that one with whom Fve passed long months and yet not long enough THE OATH OF OFFICE. For the enjoyment we together shared Should let mine image from his memory fall As something all unworthy of his care. And yet 'twere wise to count that so it will be, Since with him leave I one who well might make The truest heart prove recreant to friendship. Thou soon, I fear, wilt teach him to forget me. AGNES. Nay, that I would not were it in my power, But rather strive to keep within his breast Thy memory alive, by speaking oft Of him he loves, when thou art far away. Yet scarce shall need do that. What Walter once Has loved, he loves unchangeably ; besides, Thou art his other self, and with his life Thy memory must live. GOMEZ. An easy task It is to win us to the faith that we Do hope is true. O may'st thou prove in this A prophetess ! AGNES. But thou wilt see my father? GOMEZ. I fear me much 'twill be impossible. 272 THE OATH OF OFFICE. The noble Lynch will hold his revels late, In honour of his son's most happy choice, And, being my last night beneath his roof, I cannot leave without a farewell blessing From him who well has filled my father's place. AGNES. Ye.t, though it should be late, thou canst one moment Snatch from the hour of thy departure, just To bid adieu to one who loves thee well, But who, alas ! is all too ill to leave His couch, even for the sake of a last word To his old friend, thine honoured father. Then, I pray thee, let me say that thou wilt come, And take his farewell message 1 GOMEZ. As thou wilt. It is not easy to deny thee, lady. AGNES. Thanks ! Now I'll home, and cheer his kind old heart With this good news. Twill bring him back his youth. GOMEZ. Pray Heaven it bring him that without which youth, Much as 'tis prized, would be no blessing health. But go not yet. Thy absence cannot fail To dim the light of joy that should illume The festive hall. Indeed we cannot part thee. THE OATH OF OFFICE. 273 AGNES. I am my father's nurse : and, though not -well Could I absent myself from this gay scene, Prepared to honour one whom Lynch Fitzstephen Deems not unworthy of a name like his, Must not my patient longer leave alone, To count in solitude the hours his daughter Devotes to pleasure. But no farewell yet. I'll see thee at the bedside of my father. SERVANT, (who has come from the upper end of the hall.) Sir, 'tis my master's wish to speak to you. GOMEZ. I come to him. Lady, I kiss thy hand. [Follows the servant up, and exit AGNES, (who in crossing the hall encounters WALTER.) Where didst thou hide thyself? I have not seen thee For the last hour, I'm sure. WALTER, (ironically.) And missed me, doubtless. AGNES, (gaily.) Thou thinkest now I'll flatter, and say, Yes. But that I will not. No, I did not miss thee. WALTER, (bitterly.') I did not think thou could'st. My good friend Gomea Took care of that. My place was well supplied. 274 THE OATH OF OFFICE. AGNES. It was. WALTER. No doubt ; and might have been even longer 1 AGNES. It might. The conversation of thy friend So full of lofty, yet most grateful, thought, And rich in that quaint lore which renders Spain So dear to every lover of romance Would from the dull and careless win attention, And I or thou hast flattered am not either. He told me of a youth, in bondage held By a Grenadian noble ; one who hated, With Moslem hate, our pure and holy faith ; And of a lovely maid the bride betrothed Of his most cruel master who beheld, With pity first, but very soon with love, The Christian slave, and tasked her woman's wit Thenceforth, how she the captive could assist In sundering the chains, that galled his heart More than his limbs. WALTER. And she succeeded ? AGNES. Yes. And, with the freedom he had languished for, THE OATH OF OFFICE. She gave him what a loving, manly heart Would higher prize her fond and beauteous self! WALTER. 'Twas liberal of her ! very liberal ! Thou thinkest so, dost not 1 And gladly would'st Have played the part of the fair Moorish maiden, And given life and liberty to him Had won thy love ? AGNES. Ay, would I. Who would not ? Nay, I would think me blessed if other means I had not to evince my heart's devotion If e'er the glorious privilege were mine, To lay my life down for the friends I love. WALTER. A most heroic sentiment ! and spoken Right loftily ! but thrown away on one Who would far rather that his friends should live Than die for him. O from my soul I loathe The mawkish cant of those upon whose lips Are ever words of fealty and devotion ! A woman's love should hi her life be seen ; Not spoken in her words, but by her acts, And those not such as vain romancers weave Into loose tales, to which no modest ear Should listen. He thou call'st my friend 276 THE OATH OF OFFICE. AGNES. I call ! Is he not so ? I thought you were sworn brothers. WALTER. And who says we are not 1 Yet, to my thought. The friend who entertains a maiden's ear That maid already an affianced wife With tales of silly passion, which inflame The heart, and render giddy the weak brain, Has little of the care a friend should have For a friend's peace. AGNES. I listen to thee, Walter, But though mine ear takes in thy words, their sense Escapes me quite. Possess me of thy meaning. WALTER. Then, to speak plainly, was it like a friend So long for Gomez to keep thee engaged, With the invention of some idle rhymer, 'Till he had drawn upon you every eye In wonderment, and raised, in coarser minds, Thoughts little flattering or to thee or ma AGNES. What mind so evil as to let a thought Intrude would sully a true maiden's honour, From circumstance like this ? THE OATH OF OFFICE. 277 WALTER. Such minds are many. AGNES. I'm sorry for it ; for I would that all Were barred against the entrance of such thoughts, Which cannot fail to leave a trail behind Worse than the serpent's. WALTER. We should then be careful Not to give life to thoughts that purest minds Could not bid freely welcome. Shall we from The shadow shrink, and yet not fear the substance ? AGNES. There's something in thy tone, more than thy words, That tells me I have done amiss. But how 1 Thou'lt not refuse to let me know my fault 1 WALTER. Thy deep attention to the tale of Gomez If tale he told AGNES. Walter! If tale he told 1 And think'st thou what I said a fabrication, 'Neath which I meanly something sought to hide I would not dare to own ? If, sir, so lightly Thou dost esteem mine honour now, what surety 24 278 THE OATH OF OFFICE. Have 1, that more respect it shall receive When in thy hands is placed a husband's power ? Heaven keep thee hi thy senses ! and farewell. [Going WALTER, (detaining her.) But Agnes! AGNES, (breaking from him.) Loose me ! I will hear no more ! {Exit at one side of the hall as DAME MARGARET enters at the other.} WALTER, (looking after her.) Can she be false ? O ne'er detected guilt Could look so like insulted innocence. Her tone, where anger was with sorrow mingled, Her eye, whose fire was almost quenched in tears, Her bearing proud, and yet so womanly, Bear testimony all that she is true. DAME MARGARET. Is Agnes gone, and hast thou not gone with her ? Fie on thee, sir ! is this thy gallantry 1 'Tis rather soon, methinks, to play the churl, The night of thy betrothal. Haste, and join her. WALTER, (with affected carelessness.) She does not need my escort : she has servants. DAME MARGARET. She has, and thou the chief. So after her. [Retires itp the hall. THE OATH OF OFFICE. 279 WALTER. So far, at least, will I as to the air ; And try if that will cool my fevered blood, And still to healthful calm my throbbing brain. \_Exit SCENE II. Another apartment in the same. Enter LYNCH and GOMEZ LYNCH. I must not keep thee longer from the friends Who wait thee in the hall. And yet to part With my dear Walter scarce could be more painful Than is this parting with the son of him Who, from the morning of my life, 'till now, When evening's shades are gathering thick around me, Has been even as a brother to my heart. Age makes us wondrous selfish. Every good That we may hold, as we approach the grave Becomes each moment dearer, 'till our grasp Is loosened only by the hand of death. And though in justice I should render back Unto my friend the youth entrusted to me, To be companion to my boy, that in Our children might their fathers' friendship live, Thou'st been so long my son, I yield thee up With deep reluctance. Yet it must be so ! And to the evil we cannot prevent 280 THE OATH OF OFFICE. We should, at least, -with seeming grace submit. So now farewell ! and with thee take the blessing Of one whose heart, though chilled by age and cares, For thine and thee hath cherished at its core The love that warmed it in life's budding spring. GOMEZ. O, my dear lord, I know not how to thank thee For all the kindness found beneath this roof, To which 1 came a stranger, but depart A son, at least, in love. I go ; and with me Bear that will summer to the winter be Of my dear father's age. How will he joy To hear of the success that has a life Of virtue crowned ; making his early friend The first in honour as the first in wealth ; And blessed O far beyond or wealth or honour ! In every thing that makes a heaven of home ! But I must hasten, to fulfil a promise To Agnes made, that I would see her father Ere my departure, and that hour is near. So, gracious lord, farewell ! LYNCH, (embracing him.") Farewell, dear youth, And may our Holy and Beneficent Mother Make smooth for thee the passage of the deep ! [Exit GOMEZ. THE OATH OF OFFICE. 231 Enter DAME MARGARET. Alone, my husband 1 LYNCH. Not alone, dear wife. The man of active mind is ne'er alone, For with him live the dead of buried ages, And distant friends are ever present to him. But now I'd other company than such As the magician Thought can conjure up. The youthful Gomez hath this moment left me. DAME MARGARET. Heaven speed him on his homeward way ! How must His mother long to fold him to her heart ! LYNCH. And thinkest thou a father's heart may not, Towards the object of its love, as fondly Even as a mother's, yearn 1 DAME MARGARET. It may be so ; Yet it is hardly what we would expect From man's rough nature. He may look with pride Upon the son through whom, to after years, His name and honours are to be transmitted, As thou upon our Walter, who, his faults The faults of youth the weeds that never spring But from a generous soil being now redeemed, 24* 282 THE OATH OF OFFICE. Will add new lustre to thine honoured name. But were Tie sickly ; of a feeble temper ; Unsightly to behold, would still thy love Him clasp unto thine heart, 'till he had grown To be the dearest portion of thyself? Or would'st not rather cast the creature from thee, In bitterness of soul, for being that Which thou could'st take no pride in ? for, believe me, Pride's oft the spring of much that man calls Love. LYNCH. Well, as thou wilt ; thy sex's privilege ; For 'tis a theme on which I cannot argue. I only know I love our boy as I Have loved his mother with my heart and soul. DAME MARGARET. Yet with a difference. Thou lovest me For what I was ; but him for what he shall be. LYNCH. For what ye are ; the choicest blessings Heaven, Throughout a long and prosperous life, hath given me ; And 'twere to be ungrateful to that Heaven, For what it hath bestowed, to love you not. But (taking her hand to lead her out) let us to our guests ; and though the hour Is wearing late, we still must urge their stay. [Exeunt. N THE OATH OF OFFICE. 283 SCENE III. A street before the house of AG^ES'S father. Enter "WALTER. WALTER. How soothing are thine influences, Night, To the perturbed spirit. Thy sweet breath Whispers of peace ; and as thy holy dews Fall on the burning brow, the wild disorder Which filled the brain with images of horror, Gives place to thoughts of love and confidence. The blood that late, with hot and furious haste, Rushed through these veins, now temperately moves, As if no maddening draught e'er mingled with it ; And the hard pulse, so painfully that throbbed, Is beating even as a sleeping babe's. The pangs of Jealousy the vulture that With sharpest tooth was gnawing at my heart Vex me no more ; and I have but one wish To see, and be to Agnes reconciled. [Enter GOMEZ from the house, and passes hurriedly up the street.'] Ha ! what is this ? I hope the old man's illness Hath not assumed a more alarming form, And this a messenger sent out for aid. I will accost him. By yon Heaven ! 'tis Gomez ! What docs he here at such an hour as this 1 What errand can he have but one ? O traitor ! 284 THE OATH OF OFFICE. Smooth-browed and serpent-tongued ! from thy false heart I'll draw the venomous flood that feeds thy life ! [Drawing his sword, andfolloiring. Ho, villain ! turn, and meet what thou deservest. [Exit after GOMEZ. GOMEZ, (without.) What means this violence ? WALTER, (without.) My sword shall answer. [Clashing of swords without. Re-enter GOMEZ, mortally wounded, who staggers down the street, and after him WALTER. GOMEZ. Whoe'er thou art, thy madness hath destroyed The life of one that ne'er did wilful wrong To living thing ; yet Heaven forgive it thee ! [Falls and dies. WALTER, (after a pause.) What have I done ! Destroyed a life, so dear That yesterday mine own I would have perilled To save it from mischance ! Sent unprepared Without a moment for one prayer for mercy A soul into the presence of its Judge ! - And here I stand, beneath the calm blue heavens, A.11 crimsoned o'er with blood ! My brain is burning ! THE OATH OF OFFICE. 235 My heart is turned to ice ! and aguish shiverings Do shake my palsied limbs ! What forms are these, That gather round and fright me with their glare ? Why do they point to that poor ghastly corse, And clap their hands, and laugh exultingly 1 O fiends are they, that from the realms of woe Have come to triumph in my misery, Before they drag me with them down th' abyss, To share the doom of howling murderers ! Murderers ! Who calls me Murderer ? Who Looked on, and saw my sword avenge the wrong My heart had suffered from his treachery 1 No eye beheld the deed, but that of HIM Who knows how deep had been the provocation. Then why should I before my fellow-men Be branded as a murderer, when the sea, Which almost to the spot whereon I stand Rolls its eternal waves, hath depths wherein The secret of my crime may hidden lie Until ^the day when all shall be revealed 1 ? Then to the sea will I this form commit ; And though Remorse tug ever at my heart, Will dress my face to look like Innocence. [Takes up the body, and bears it off. THE OATH OF OFFICE. ACT II. SCENE. A. hall in the house of the Mayor. LY^CU discovered icriting. Enter AKTHTJH, yawning. ARTHUR. Why, uncle mine, what villainous hours ye keep In this unrighteous city. Scarce had I Embraced my dearest friend, the couch, when roused By clamours in the street, enow to wake The sleepers of the grave. What mean those noises ? LYNCH, (looking up.) Noises ? What noises ? I hear nothing, save The ordinary sounds of city life, Which, when thou art as used to them as I, Thou wilt as little heed. Go sleep again. [Resumes his writing.. ARTHUR. I do not mean the hawkers' dissonance, Or heavy tramp of plodding citizens, But mingled shrieks, and oaths, and lamentatiors, And words that seemed to speak of murder. LYNCH, (rising and coming forward.) Murder? No brawl I hope has brought disgrace upon Our city. I must see to this. THE OATH OF OFFICE. 237 TIKLOGH, (entering hastily.") My lord! LYNCH. Well, what's the matter 1 TIRLOGH. O my lord ! my lord ! The noble Gomez has been basely murdered ! LYNCH. Great Heaven ! But no. Thou hast not heard aright. TIRLOGH. O I would give mine ears to know mine ears Had played me false. But they, alas ! too truly In this have done their office. He is murdered ! And the vile wretch who robbed him of his life, The rifled casket his poor body cast Into the sea, but which the sea, unwilling So foul a deed to hide, returned to earth, And by some sailors, who were hither coming To hasten his departure from our shores, Upon the beach at early morn was found. LYNCH. O Tirlogh, this is heavy news indeed ! A youth, of fairest promise, is cut off In manhood's early bloom. A heart, wherein All kindly virtues had their dwelling place, Is turned to ashes. And ah, heaviest woe ! 288 THE OATH OF OFFICE. The love, that filled with light his distant home, Is quenched in blood ; and his poor, aged parents, Must totter on in darkness to the grave No filial hand shall deck. Alas, for them, Even more than this poor victim, do I grieve ! But is there nought that to the murderer points 1 TIRLOGH. Nothing, my lord. LYNCH. And yet he shall be found. [Voices without. What noise is that? TIRLOGH. They bring the body hither. [Enter Spanish sailors bearing the body of GOMEZ, followed by CAHIR, and citizens of both sexes.] MEN, (as they enter.) Woe, to our country, woe ! In all the tears That from her have been wrung, no drops of shame 'Till now e'er mingled. Gone, alas ! for ever The name she long hath borne among the nations Erin the Hospitable ! Full of trust The stranger came unto her shores, but, ah ! Instead of welcome, and the hand of friendship, Received and fell beneath the murderer's knife. WOMEN, (following.') Alas, for the poor stranger ! far from home, THE OATH OF OFFICE. 239 And all he loved, to die alone ! unpitied ! Without a sister's hand to smooth his pillow ; A mother's voice to soothe his dying pangs ! Alas ! alas ! 'tis ever hard to die : But hardest is't to him who dies alone ! LYNCH, (ivho has been for some time gazing on the bcdy.) Alas, my friends ! this is a piteous sight ! And one on which not even the passing stranger Could look unmoved. How must it then afflict One who, like me, hath known this youth for years ; Hath loved him as he would a second son ; And, after filling long a father's place, Must now lament him with a father's grief! CAHIR. We all do know, my lord, how well you loved him ; And know we shall not call on you in vain For speedy vengeance on his murderer. LYNCH. Doubt not that ye shall call in vain for JUSTICE, For that is all, good friend, we should require, And more it is than we may dare to meet. But justice shall be done. I have an oath Which binds, me, on the peril of my soul, To grant impartial justice to all men ; And I have done so. And, what never yet Have 1 withheld from any who did seek it, 25 290 THE OATH OF OFFICE, I will not now deny, when the dear son Of a deal friend calls for it from the dead. CAHIR. Justice or vengeance call it what you will 'Tis much the same. All that we ask of you, Is that his murderer shall not go unpunished. LYNCH. That shall he not. The Law's decree is DEATH To him who wilfully another's life Shall take. And whosoe'er the murderer, Were he the dearest friend I have on earth, Nay, dearer even than that mine only son, I must and will obey the Law's behest. But first the obsequies of this poor youth Shall celebrated be with all observance ; While through the city, upon every altar, The Holy Mass shall Heaven propitiate For the immortal soul, that hath been thus Untimely sent into God's awful presence. But (to Arthur), where is Walter? Heavily this news Will fall upon his heart, for as a brother He loved this noble, but illfated, youth. Go seek, and break it gently to him, nephew. {Exit ARTHVB. But who, O Gomez, shall the tidings bear Of thy disastrous end to thy poor parents ! Whose eager gaze is bent towards our shores, THE OATH OF OFFICE. 291 While fancy makes of every wave, that lifts Its snowy crest above the dark green sea, The ship that to their longing arms shall brmg The treasure they had given unto my keeping, Nor dream how fearfully their trust has failed. ARTHUR, (re-entering in alarm.) He is not in his room. His bed looks not As through the night it had been occupied. He may have gone with Gomez to his boat. Pray Heaven he hath not been as foully dealt with ! LYNCH. Not in his bed 1 What horrors crowd my brain ! Fly ! Let the household be alarmed ! WALTER, (entering.) No need. Walter is here. The wretched, blood-stained Walter ! [TiRLOGH hurries to him. LYNCH. What is the meaning of those dreadful words ? With what blood art thou stained ? WALTER. The blood of Gomez. LYNCH, (in a low voice.) Have mercy, Heaven ! let not the thing I fear Become reality, and crush me utterly ! 292 THE OATH OF OFFICE. TIRLOGH, (to Walter.) Restrain thy tongue ! Dost thou not see all eyes Are on thee bent in wonder or in anger ? WALTER, (to Tirlogh.) I heed them not. My gaze is inward turned, And there I see a soul defiled with blood ! TIRLOGH, (to Walter.) O, for the love of Heaven ! restrain thy tongue. LYNCH. Come hither, Walter. Let me understand What thou dost mean. Thou and thy friend did quarrel. Ye fought ; and thou didst slay him. Was it so ? WALTER. We had no quarrel. LYNCH, (eagerly.} And thou didst not slay him ? O Walter ! say to me thou didst not slay him. WALTER. Father, I slew him. LYNCH. Pray for me, ye saints, That I my manhood lose not, nor my reason ! Yet 'twas not by design ? WALTER. O would to Heaven THE OATH OF OFFICE. 293 That, as thou wishest, I could say it was not ! But in a fit of momentary madness TIRLOGH. Ay, madness ; and the fit is on him still. LYNCH, (joyfully.) I knew, I knew thou didst not couldst not mean it ! WALTER. Alas, I cannot leave thee even the comfort Poor as it is of that belief. But hear me, Father ; and ye, who in amazement stand, Hear also, that, should love of life hereafter Lead me to palliate my dire offence, Ye may be able to convict of falsehood My coward tongue. I slew him. Not by chance , But with deliberate purpose. Ye all know How I did love him. Even as I loved, So did I trust him ; and he did deceive me. Deceived, and wronged me there where all men feel The wrong most keenly ; wronged me in mine honour. Beneath the cover of the night, I saw The traitor stealing from the house of her Whose faith to me was plighted. Stung to madness By proof of my disgrace I rushed upon, And slew him. ARTHUR. He deserved the fate he met. 25* 292 THE OATH OF OFFICE. TIRLOGH, (to Walter.) Restrain thy tongue ! Dost thou not see all eyes Are on thee bent in wonder or in anger ? WALTER, (to Tirlogh.) I heed them not. My gaze is inward turned, And there I see a soul defiled with blood ! TIRLOGH, (to Walter.) O, for the love of Heaven ! restrain thy tongue. LYNCH. Come hither, Walter. Let me understand What thou dost mean. Thou and thy friend did quarrel. Ye fought ; and thou didst slay him. Was it so 1 WALTER. We had no quarrel. LYNCH, (eagerly.) And thou didst not slay him ? O Walter ! say to me thou didst not slay him. WALTER. Father, I slew him. LYNCH. Pray for me, ye saints, That I my manhood lose not, nor my reason ! Yet 'twas not by design ? WALTER. O would to Heaven THE OATH OF OFFICE. 293 That, as thou wishest, I could say it was not ! But in a fit of momentary madness TIRLOGH. Ay, madness ; and the fit is on him still. LYNCH, (joyfully.) I knew, I knew thou didst not couldst not mean it ! WALTER. Alas, I cannot leave thee even the comfort Poor as it is of that belief. But hear me, Father ; and ye, who in amazement stand, Hear also, that, should love of life hereafter Lead me to palliate my dire offence, Ye may be able to convict of falsehood My coward tongue. I slew him. Not by chance , But with deliberate purpose. Ye all know How I did love him. Even as I loved, So did I trust him ; and he did deceive me. Deceived, and wronged me there where all men feel The wrong most keenly ; wronged me in mine honour. Beneath the cover of the night, I saw The traitor stealing from the house of her Whose faith to me was plighted. Stung to madness By proof of my disgrace I rushed upon, And slew him. ARTHUR. He deserved the fate he met. 294 THE OATH OF OFFICE. LYNCH. teach me patience, all-enduring Heaven ! WALTER. Then smote upon my heart the sense of guilt ; And loud within my breast a voice cried out In condemnation of the deed, which even My bitter wrongs refused to justify. And straight I fled, as if upon my steps Followed th' avenger of a brother's blood, And hid myself within a forest deep. But, though I felt secure from all pursuit, 1 could not rest ; and from my hiding-place Came forth, with purpose to demand from justice A murderer's reward. LYNCH. O wretched boy ! He thou didst slay was never more thy friend Than when thou deem'dst him false. The visit made Was not to Agnes but her suffering father. WALTER. O do not drive me mad ! Do not deprive me Of the dear thought that my revenge was just ! LYNCH. Thy cruel rage was wholly without cause. His visit and its object both I knew. THE OATH OF OFFICE. 295 WALTER, (throwing himself by the side of the body.) O murdered, murdered friend ! [Starting up atul drawing his sword. But I will join Ihee ! LYNCH, (wresting the sword from him.) And do a double murder 1 Be a man, And bear the penalty thy crime has dared. And, though it reach thy life, it cannot fall With half the weight on thee that 'twill on me ! WALTER. My father! LYNCH, (to an attendant.) Call me here the officers. [Exit attendant. TIRLOGH, (throwing himself on his knees before LYNCH.) My lord, my lord ! O think before you act ! Let not stern Justice drown the voice of Nature. He hath done wrong ; he owns it ; and repents it. And than repentance who can more demand ? He is "your son your only son; the sole Remaining prop of a time-honoured house. Then do not give him over to the Law The cruel Law, that nothing knows of mercy, But treats the being hurried into crime By fierce, impetuous passion, and the wretch Grown gray in wickedness, with like severity. O save him then, my lord, and save yourself 296 THE OATH OF OFFICE. From woe unutterable ! [Enter attendant with officer i. LYNCH. Tirlogh, rise. [He rises. My duty is most plain, however painful, And cannot be avoided. (To the officers.) To your charge Do I commit this youth. Stand not amazed. He is your prisoner. [Enter DAME MARGARET, and hurries up to WALTXS. DAME MARGARET. What's this I hear ? They tell me Gomez hath been basely murdered ; But sure that could not be and thou be near? CAHIR. Perhaps he was too near. DAME MARGARET. What means the knave ? CAHIR. No knave, good lady, but an honest man, Who speaks even as he thinks. TIRLOGH, (to Cahir.) Wilt hold thy peace, Before I cut thy tongue out, yelping cur ? CAHIR. Why, at thy bidding, should I hold my peace, THE OATH OF OFFICE. 297 Who am as good a father's son as thou. As good ? Ay, better. 'Neath this ragged vest Is purer blood than ever warmed thy heart, For all thy gay apparel thy daw's feathers Another's lendings. DAME MARGARET, (not heeding him.) How is this, my son 1 All eyes are turned on thee, and thine alone Are bent upon the earth. What does this mean 1 Art thou with grief so overcome as not To hear thy mother's question ? [Turning to LYNCH. Tell me husband [Officers place themselves on either side of WALTEK, who it about to accompany them, when she rushes before them.] O, no ! no ! no ! ye shall not take him from me ! Will no one say with what this youth is charged 1 CAHIR. The murder of young Gomez. DAME MARGARET. What base tongue Would couple murderer with the name of LYNCH 1 CAHIR. Even the tongue of your own son, my lady. DAME MARGARET. I charge thee, Walter, by the love thou ow'st me, To say to me, they do accuse thee falsely. 298 THE OATH OF OFFICE. WALTER. Dear mother ! blame not any for the strait Wherein I'm placed I am mine own accuser. DAME MARGARET. O he is mad ! Do ye not see he's mad 1 This sudden and most terrible affliction His reason has unseated ! Had it not, Would he, the kindest, the most merciful Of living beings, who would injure not The meanest of God's creatures, charge himself- O monstrous charge ! of lifting up his hand Against the friend that most he loved on earth ? O Heaven ! it is not to be credited ! Why (to Lynch) stand'st thou there, like image cut in Cold, and immovable, when on thy house Destruction conies in its most dreadful form ? LYNCH. Even as Heaven wills. If I must bear the brand Upon this furrowed brow, for wrongs I ne'er Have even in thought committed be it so ! The dust will cover soon my shame and me. And when I'm dead, I shall not of my blood Leave one behind to whom my memory Can bring a blush. The cold, unlovely grave Will be more welcome than the bed of down THE OATH OF OFFICE. 299 To one despised and childless ! Walter ! Walter ! WALTER, (throwing himself on his knees.) O pardon, pardon ! that upon thy head, Grown gray in honour, my rash deed hath brought Unmerited disgrace. LYNCH, (raising him.) Kneel not to me. The shadow, that must fall upon my name, Will pass away as all things earthly pass And even the name shall cease to be remembered In honour or reproach. But kneel to Him, Whom thou hast outraged by thine impious act, Thy rude defacement of His noble image, And humbly pray the waters of His mercy To cleanse the blood-stains from thy guilty soul. Now, officers, your duty. Take him hence. DAME MARGARET, (throwing herself upon the neck of WALTER.) Yet, yet a moment. Whether true or false The charge ye urge against him I know not. But this I know ; he is my child ; and ne'er In helpless infancy, when in these arms His form was cradled, and upon this bosom His head was pillowed, did he need the love That o'er him watched as much as now he needs it : And he shall have it. We will go together. 300 THE OATH OF OFFICE. WALTER. Nay, dearest mother ! As alone I sinned, Even so must I alone by suffering Seek pardon for the crime I have committed. Release me, then, and go thou with my father. DAME MARGARET. And leave thee to the horrors of a prison? Without one friendly voice to cheer the gloom ?- One sympathizing heart to rest upon ? And thou cast off by all the world beside ? Indeed, indeed I cannot ! WALTER. Be advised, I pray, dear mother. Let me now obey The Law's demand unhindered. 'Twill be best. DAME MARGARET. Where all is evil there can be no best. LYNCH, (disengaging her from WALTER.) In all the years that we have passed together, I ne'er have had to claim a husband's right To thy obedience. Must I do so now ? DAME MARGARET, (going with him.) No, dearest husband ; but my son, my son ! WALTER, (as his father turns away.) But bless me, wilt thou not ? before I go ! THE OATH OF OFFICE. 301 LYNCH, (returning and embracing him.) O from this breaking heart, I say God bless thee ! [ As they stand in the centre of the hall, with the officers be- hind them, DAME MARGARET, supported by TIRLOGH, on one side, and the bier, surrounded by sailors and citizens, on the other, the Act ends.] 26 302 THE OATH OF OFFICE. ACT III. SCENE I. Interior of the Church of St. Nicholas, the high altar of which is covered with black and lighted. Before the altar the coffin of GOMEZ, on which candles are burning. LYNCH, in his robes of office, is -discovered kneeling at the foot of the coffin. He rises and comes forward. LYNCH. O could 1 put this bitter chalice by, How gladly would I change my proud estate For poverty, and toil, and banishment Eternal from the blessed light of day, And the sweet air, of which the meanest thing That God hath formed is free. There is no depth Of human degradation I would not With cheerfulness explore, could I but take With me the holy bond of love unbroken. O Heaven ! what crime unknown have I committed, That for atonement thou of me demandest A sacrifice so terrible ? My life Would but my life suffice most cheerfully It should be offered up in expiation. Then teach me, O some minister of good ! How I may save my son yet keep my oath. My oath ? What is that oath ? A word ! a breath ! And shall a thing so weak possess the power THE OATH OF OFFICE. To wring the life of life from out our hearts, And make these forms our beings' sepulchres? Alas ! how weak a thing am I become ! That I should strive, with sophistries like these, To cheat my conscience to my soul's undoing ? Deliberate was my oath, inviolate The Law t' administer. That oath is writ Against me in the registry of Heaven, In characters as Heaven endurable, And, though my heart-strings shrivel in the fire Of the ordeal, must be kept. O Thou ! Who mid his tortures nerv'st the martyr's heart, Now aid me with Thy strength to do my duty. Enter ARTHUR and TIRLOGH. TIRLOGH. A melancholy errand brings us here ! ARTHUR. It is, indeed, a melancholy errand ! Ah, Tirlogh, not in haste shall we forget Our first sad meeting in this holy place. O I am sick at heart, in grieving o'er The woe unparalleled now fallen upon us. A few short hours have done the work of years. My youth seems gone, and all the weariness Of age hath settled, like a blighting frost, Upon my spirit. We have come to pray 304 THE OATH OF OFFICE. Beside the corse of Gomez, yet, so full Of his unhappy murderer are my thoughts, I cannot frame a prayer for the departed. TIRLOGH. I grieve indeed for both ; yet not like those Who hopeless grieve. I have no fears for Walter. ARTHUR. Thou know'st his father is inflexible. TIRLOGH. He is accounted so. But ne'er till now Hath his inflexibility been tested. I've heard of rocks of ice, that seemed as hard As adamant, yet were not proof 'gainst fire. O sir, we'll see how soon this heart thou deem'st Inflexible will yield. ARTHUR. Pray Heaven it may. [Organ sounds. But hush ; that sound preludes the holy rites. Then let us from our thoughts dismiss the living No easy task and think but of the dead. [They retire up towards the altar, as monks and others enter in procession, and arrange themselves on either side of the coffin.] REQUIEM. MONKS. A weak and erring child of dust, To whom his Master did entrust THE OATH OF OFFICE. 305 A jewel of excelling worth, Has passed to his account from earth. A weary path has man to tread, And round him are temptations spread, And oft, alas ! his strength will fail, Or pleasure's blandishments prevail. Then if he slept when he should wake, And let the foe his treasure take, Or if neglect its lustre dim, Pity, dear Lord ! and pardon him. [Scene closes. SCENE II. A chamber in the house of LYNCH. Enter AGNES dejectedly, and stops before a picture of the MATER DOLOB.OSA. HYMN. AGNES. Sweet Mother ! through whose tender breast, The sword of grief hath passed, O from thy place of blissful rest An eye of pity cast ! Thou seest a maid whose heart is torn By sharpest misery, Then think of all which thine has borne, And, Mother, pity me ! All hope of earthly aid is gone ! And I to none can turn, If thou, Queen of Heaven's bright throne, Thy lowly suppliant spurn. 2G* 306 THE OATH OF OFFICE. Then MOTHER ! by that tender name By Him was given to thee For love of man from Heaven who came, O MOTHER ! pity me ! Enter DAME MARGARET. DAME MARGARET. Dear child, I grieve to find thee so desponding. But take not counsel of thy fears but hopes. What though the night be dark 1 the morn will come When all its darkness shall be turned to light. Ah, madam, little cause have we for hope ; And thou but yesternight did'st hopeless seem. What since hath happ'd to change thy tears to smiles ? DAME MARGARET. An angel have I seen in Tirlogh's form ; Tirlogh, the well-tried friend of our poor Walter ; Who bade me not despair. And thus he reasoned : His father is his judge ; then he is safe. For could a father's heart the thought conceive, Or father's tongue give utterance to the thought, That, howsoe'er deserved, his son should die A felon's death 1 He may condemn the crime And who docs not 1 yet spare the criminal He can and will. Nay, must. Indeed he must. For if his own strong love should not compel him But that it will who doubts ?- to step between THE OATH OF OFFICE. The Law and him who has transgressed the Law, The universal sentiment of love, Which makes the child the parent's dearest care The feeling common to the meanest hind As to the proudest noble would raise up A wall of hearts to bar him from his purpose, If that were death to him he should protect ; The true, the earnest, the right-judging people Rise in their might, and from the altar tear The victim he to an unholy Law Would immolate. O no, he will not die ! AGNES. O blessings on him ! he has from my heart A burthen raised that weighed it to the earth. But is't not dreadful here to wait inactive Until some leaden-footed messenger Shall bring us tidings he is guiltless found ] DAME MARGARET. And wherefore wait that tardy messenger, When we are free to go into the court, And catch the blessed words of pardon from The judge's lips, before the gaping crowd Shall turn them into meaning 1 I have dresses Will so disguise us, that our nearest friends Would know us not. AGNES. Dear madam, this is kind. 303 THE OATH OF OFFICE. DAME MARGARET. But, look well, Agnes, into thy heart's depths, And see if any weakness there be lurking Will render thee unable to perform The task we have before us. If there be, Leave not thy chamber. I can go alone. The love that fills the bosom of a mother Would, to the feeblest of our sex, give strength To bear worse evils, than to stand alone Amid a jostling crowd. AGNES. Fear not for me. Let me but stand where I may gaze upon him ; May catch the murmured music of his voice, Or only breathe the blessed air he breathes, And I will nerve me to endure the worst That can befall. O how I long to be The first to cry from out the multitude, " Walter ! art safe ! art free !" DAME MARGARET. But should his doom Be death? AGNES, (shuddering, and covering her face.) O Heaven ! But no ; it cannot be ! DAME MARGARET. Nay, be not frighted, girl ; it shall not be, THE OATH OF OFFICE. 309 While lives of the bold race of which I come A man to guard the honour of our house. Die like a felon ? Thinkest thou the Blakes Would from their Castle of the Hills look down, And see an act committed at their feet That must for ever brand them with disgrace, Nor yet stretch forth a hand to save their kinsman ? O no. There is not one, from chief to kern, Who, should his father's reverence for his oath The voice of nature stifle in his breast, Would not make common cause with me, to save A life in which both mine and thine are bound. But let us haste, that we may meet the joy Would be too long in coming. AGNES. O most gladly. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A street. Enter MIHIL. MIHIL. Ah, well ! of all the sights I've ever seen And these old eyes have witnessed many sad ones I ne'er saw one so piteous as this ! A father sitting in the Judgment Seat, At which his only son stands charged with murder 310 THE OATH OF OFFICE. And if the charge be proved as proved it must be That father's lips the thought doth freeze my blood ! Must pass upon his son the doom of death. How my heart aches for them ! Enter CAHIB. CAHIR. Whence com'st thou, neighbour 1 MIIIIL. From witnessing the trial. CAHIR. Well, how goes it? Is it thy thought they'll prove this ruffler guilty Of any thing will put his neck in danger 1 MIHIL. Alas, I fear they will. CAHIK. Why should'st thou fear it? MIHIL. Because I loved this youth, as who did not ? The kindest heart and freest hand in Galway, Which even thou wilt not deny and if The crime be proved the penalty must follow. CAHIR. Thou mean'st it would were he thy son or mine. But, being whose he is, 'twere very strange THE OATH OP OFFICE. 311 If something be not found in the indictment, Or the proceedings of the court unless They plead at once insanity to warrant Postponement of the judgment for a term. And, in the interim, what is to hinder The youth by the remissness of his gaolers, Who need not fear too rigid scrutiny Into their acts beyond the sea t' escape ? When, as thou know'st, the citizens stand ready, As soon as Tirlogh shall the signal give, To aid him in his flight. MIHIL. And so do I, And so would every man who hath a heart To feel for human misery. And what misery Like this which threats the noble-hearted Lynch To doom away the life of his own child? ! Tis something of a trial, I admit. MIHIL. O hadst thou seen him as this morn I saw him, Kneeling within the chapel of St. Bhried, Thou must have wished to spare all further trial Of one so sorely tried. Before the altar He knelt or, rather, crouched, and on his breast His hands were folded tight, as if to still 812 THE OATH OF OFFICE. The throbbings of his heart, while his thin locks, Grown sudden white, around his temples hung In wild disorder. Up his face was turned ; I ne'er saw living face so like the dead's, Save there was not the calm that marks the dead's ;- And from his brow the sweat in heavy drops Fell down. He looked like one bereft of all That earth can give, and asking help from Heaven. CAHIR. I have no quarrel with this Lynch Fitzstephen ; And, though I had no wish to see him such, Must say most ably hath he filled the office Of our chief magistrate ; and 'tis not therefore From any personal feeling in the matter, That I declare, I have but little faith In his ability mark, not his will, But his ability to give a judgment, Whate'er the proofs against the criminal, Must make his old age childless. MIHIL. Ah, my friend, Thou little know'st the man of whom we speak, To judge him thus. Let him but know his duty, And from it he'll not shrink, cost what it may. CAHIR. Bah ! I at least know human nature, Mihil, THE OATH OF OFFICE. 313 If him I know not, who I think is Man. But go thy ways, while I will to the court, And see how well my prophecy's fulfilled. [Exit, AIIIIIL, (looking after him.) Thy hope is that it may be falsified. And never did 1 pray for disappointment To wish of man as now I pray for thine. [Exit in an opposite direction. SCENE IV. The court. LTNCH in the Judgment Seat. WALTER, with ARTHUB on one side and TIRLOGH on the other, stands in the prisoner's place. Spectators fill the lower part of the hall, among ichom are DAME MARGARET and AGNES, disguised. AGNES, (aside, and looking at WALTER.) How wretched are his looks ! His manly form. Hath lost its noble bearing ! On his brow Is writ the anguish of a wounded spirit ! His cheek is pale, and sunken ; and his eye From which the soul of honour once looked forth So proudly turns its gaze upon the earth, As if he feared to meet the face of man ! O crime ! this is thy work ! DAME MARGARET, (aside.) My son ! my husband ! 27 314 THE OATH OF OFFICE. I cannot look upon them, the hot tears So gall mine eyes and blind me. O, sweet Heaven, Have pity on them, and support them both. Prisoner, stand forth. [WALTER advances to the centre. Thou'st heard the testimony That doth convict thee of a grievous crime A crime alike by God and man abhorred And which the unhappy perpetrator places Beyond the pale of social fellowship, And dooms him to an ignominious death. [Sinks ba,"k. "A SPECTATOR. Look to the Mayor ; he faints ! LYNCH, (rousing himself ivith an effort, and leaving lack those who press forward to assist him.) If thou hast any thing to offer in Extenuation of thy dire offence, Or why the sentence of the Law should not Against thee be pronounced, now be it said. WALTER. Nothing have I to offer. I already My crime have published ; and to what I then Confessed I do adhere. And though from Heaven I may forgiveness hope of my dread sin, THE OATH OF OFFICE. 315 Which, with compunction lasting as my life, And with unceasing tears, I shall bewail, I cannot from the laws that I have outraged Expect aught else but death : and, to the fate Which I have merited, I do submit Without a murmur. Let me know my doom. LYNCH. Then learn it from the lips that laid the first Fond kiss of welcome on thine infant brow, And uttered the first words of thanks to Heaven That to mine ancient house an heir was born. [Pauses greatly affected. Hear, Walter Lynch, the sentence of the Court. 'Tis this. Thou to the prison must return From which thou earnest ; whence, on this day month, Before the hour of prime, thou shalt be taken Unto the usual place of execution, And by the neck be hanged 'till thou art dead ! And O may God have mercy on thy soul ! [Falls back senseless. TIRLOGH. O Heaven ! this is murder, and not justice. WALTER, (to Tirloffh.) If thou hast ever loved me, speak not now. LYNCH, (slowly recovering.) Remove the prisoner. 316 THE OATH OF OFFICE. AGNES, (rushing forward as the officers approach, and throwing her arms around WALTER.) Off! and touch him not ! Or, if ye will take him, why take me too. One dungeon shall receive us, and one grave, Whence we together will ascend to Heaven. This is beyond the bitterness of death ! O Agnes, thy unchanging love and truth, To him whose crime was first a doubt of thee, Is the -severest torture. I was not For this prepared. ( To officers.) In pity take me hence ' AGNES, (clinging to him.) They shall not part us. DAME MARGARET, (interfering.) In an hour like this, O wilful maiden ! is it for a mother To teach thee patience 1 Look, is this a place, Beneath the vulgar and irreverent gaze, To show a thing so sacred as the love That should be shrined within a woman's breast ? All efforts here are impotent to stay The course of those who serve the Law, and what We cannot do that should we ne'er essay. Come thou with me. THE OATH OF OFFICE. 317 WALTER. Dear Agnes, leave me now. And, mother, let her henceforth be to thce What I, alas ! must be no more thy child ! DAME MARGARET. My child she is, and shares my heart with thee. But only shares, for none can take thy place. Farewell, my son. Droop not. The worst is passed. The Judge hath spoke the Father now must act. {Exit leading out AGNES. WALTER. What does she mean ? Can there be chance of pardon ? An hour ago, I thought my heart was dead To every hope that appertained to life; But now, that I have seen my love once more, I feel, though ever in my cup of joy Must crime infuse its bitterness, I would Still willingly drag on the chain of life, While Agnes shrank not from me. (To officers.) I attend you. LYNCH, (descending from his seat, witlf the assistance of ARTHUR and TIRLOGII.) A moment stay. WALTER, (aside.) What trial now awaits me ? 318 THE OATH OF OFFICE. LYNCH, (breaking from those who attend him, and falling on his knees before WALTER.) Walter, my son, forgive thy wretched father ! WALTER, (attempting to raise him.) My father ! O forgive thy guilty son ! [LYNCH rises to his feet. They embrace. WALTER is led out, and LYNCH, staggering back, is caught by ARTHUR. THE OATH OF OFFICE. 319 ACT IV. SCENE I. A room in the liouse of LYNCH. Enter LTCNCD: followid by TlRLOGH. LYNCH. No more, Tirlogh, no more ; I -will not hear thee. Think'st thou I've shut my heart to others' prayers To open it to thine 1 Be disabused. TIRLOGH. I plead no more. But now, Lord Mayor of Galway, I do demand fulfilment of a promise. LTNCH. TPo that I'll listen. Give thy meaning words. TIRLOGH. Twelve years agone, when sporting in the bay With your unhappy son, a sudden tempest Upset our shallow skiff, and plunged us both Amid the boiling waves, that foamed and roared To drown our cries for aid, had there been hope That any such could reach us from the land. It was not the first time that with the waters I had contended, and I rose above them. But Walter was less fortunate, and sank, As to my fear it seemed, to rise no more. 820 THE OATH OF OFFICE. That fear gave strength to my exhausted frame. I dived, and grasped him by his matted locks, By which I dragged him upward to the day, Despite the violence of warring billows, And was, as then I thought, the blessed means Of giving him unto a father's arms. LYNCH. 1 remember, as 'twere yesterday, My agony, when I beheld the peril Of my poor boy, and the delirious joy With which I clasped him to my heart, that swelled With thankfulness not more to Heaven than thec ! TIRLOGH. You bade me then to ask whate'er I would, And promised solemnly it should be granted. LYNCH. 1 do remember I so promised thee, And ready stand to make my promise good ; But marvel that so long thou did'st delay To ask for its fulfilment. TIRLOGH. Good my lord, "Till now I nothing needed. By your bounty, Had I been from a low condition raised, To be companion to my foster-brother, And was in all things treated as your son. THE OATH OF OFFICE. 321 LYNCH. And art thou not so still ? TIRLOGH. Alas, far better ! For he LYNCH, (sternly.) Forbear ! but name what thou would'st have. I stand alone. My father's aged limbs Rest in the grave. My mother's heart is dust, And cannot feel for aught shall me befall : And never yet hath pulse of maiden's breast Been quickened at the thought of me. The Law- That thirsty is for blood demands a victim. Be mine the life that shall be offered to it ; And give me, in fulfilment of your promise, The freedom of your son. LYNCH. This this is cruel ! Thou seest me bound and helpless at the stake, O kill me then, but do not torture me ! TIRLOGH. Think of your word. LYNCH. I think but of my OATH, 322 THE OATH OF OFFICE. And every other thought is lost in that. Go, go, and let me hear no more of this. TIRLOGH, (going.) You are obeyed, my lord. But when again I come, it will not as a suppliant be, But backed by arguments that shall require More than a simple Yes or No to answer. [Exit. LYNCH. What ! does he threaten ? Well, it matters not. His threats are harmless. Less I ,fear all foes Without than one I carry in my bosom. [After a pawe. O it is terrible ! I dare not look Upon the desolation round me spread ! A winter, that no spring shall ever know, Covers the earth : and o'er the heavens is cast A thick, impenetrable pall. And this, They tell me, is my work. That, for my pride, A curse hath fallen on all goodly things, And blasted them. And cold, reproachful looks, And bitter words, are all that greet me now, Turn where I will. O can they think this deed Is one I would have chosen to perform, That they upbraid me thus, when they must know The stem necessity that forced my tongue To utter what was death to mine own heart ? THE OATH OF OFFICE. 823 For he was all to me ! my thoughts' sole centre ! The life-pulse of my being ! Walter ! Walter ! [Covers his face with kis hands, and walks distractedly up Enter ARTHUR. Welcome, dear Arthur. Thou of all my friends, Alone dost wear to me a brow unchanged, And speaketh in the tone of other days. * I know thou lov'st thy cousin ; and I thank thee, That, in thy love for lu'm, thou'st not forgotten The pity due his father. 'Tis most foul, The wrong my friends have done me in this matter. For could I with my life redeem my son's Most cheerfully the ransom should be paid. ARTHUR. Who knows thee cannot doubt it. But, dear uncle, Why wilt thou doom thyself, and all who love thee, To misery unnamable for nought ? LYNCH. For nought ? I have an oath I dare not break. Is't that thou callest nought ? ARTHUR. I call an oath That's rashly taken not being understood Such as the Church most wisely doth condemn Nothing ; or something it were far less sin To break than keep. If thou hadst sworn to rob, 824 THE OATH OF OFFICE. Or murder, art thou bound to keep that oath ? LYNCH. No oath unlawful can the conscience bind ; And he who swears he will commit a crime, Sins by Ms oath, but doubly if he keep it. Canst thou, believing thus, still plead thy oath To justify a murder ] LYNCH. MURDER, Arthur ? My oath is to maintain the laws, and they The punishment of death award to murder. ARTHUR. I know the laws that have come down to us, From times remote and barbarous ancestors Unnatural, bloody, and unchristian laws Have given to man a power which God alone Should exercise the power of taking life. But, whatsoe'er the sanction of the laws, 'Till he can breathe a soul into the clod, Or raise again, when crumbled into dust, The glorious temple of God's holy spirit, Let him not impiously dare to wield The power of the Almighty, lest the blood Shed by his hand unhidden by the earth Rise up to Heaven, and cry aloud for vengeance ! THE OATH OF OFFICE. 325 Dear Arthur, when the office I now hold Was tendered to me, I accepted it With a full knowledge of the laws thou speak'st of. And, with this knowledge, by a solemn oath I bound myself t' administer the laws Even as I found them. I have no excuse. Yet have I tried all arguments in vain To satisfy my conscience, that I might Yield to the yearnings of a loving nature, And, saving from the dark, insatiate grave Young manhood, raise up to the sun again That storm-crushed flower, sweet Agnes, And from the spirit of a doting mother Remove the grief that bows it to the dust. But O it cannot be ! My Oath ! My Oath ! Where'er I turn my gaze to earth or heaven I see it writ in characters of fire : The shrieking winds and moaning waves repeat it ; And when the solemn Night casts o'er the earth Her broad protecting wings, unearthly voices Sleep from my pillow scare by shrilly crying, " Thine Oath ! Thine Oath !" O Arthur, pity me ! My soul recoils with horror from the deed My conscience clamours for ; and my weak brain Grows dizzy, as I contemplate the abyss That yawns before me ! Heaven ! I shall go mad ! 28 326 THE OATH OF OFFICE. Enter AGNES. LYNCH, (with an effort at composure.) Poor child ! how does it fare with thee ? AGNES. Alas! How else than ill can it with any fare Deprived, as I, of hope the life of life ? O take not from me all ! Yet leave me hope. LYNCH. Alas, here is no Hope ! she's fled to Heaven. AGNES. 'Twas thou didst fright her hence ; and at a word Canst lure her from her refuge back to earth. Bid Walter live, and she will quick return. Come, Arthur, kneel with me, and pray tlu's stern, Unnatural parent but to spare himself. ARTHUR. O I would wear the pavement with my knees, In praying for the life of him we love, Did I not know the heart thou seek'st to move Is harder than the stones we tread upon. LYNCH. Pity me, Heaven ! all earth is turned against me ! O Arthur, this from thee! AGNES. Nay, he will yield. THE OATH OF OFFICE. 827 Come, kneel. ( They kneel.) look upon us. We do ask Nothing, but that thou wilt be merciful Unto thyself. Think of the present grief; The blighted name ; the black and desolate future, Thy deed must work, and spare, O spare thy son ! LYNCH. Thou liftest up thy voice against the wind. I cannot hear : Mine oath has made me deaf. A wicked oath is that which shuts the heart Against the voice of Nature ! O for pity, Pluck not with ruthless hand the love away That with my life is twined ! LYNCH. Girl! do not talk Of thy young love to me ; a summer flower That lives but in the sun, and shrinks and dies If the cold wind breathe on it. Have not I, Obedient to a stern, relentless duty, Torn up a love whose roots were in my heart ! Yea, knit with every fibre of my being ! And cast it from me, even though life went with it ! And thinkest thy weak voice can change a purpose All other pleadings hath resisted ? Rise ! Enter DAME MARGARET. Nay, rise not yet, 'till I have joined my prayers THE OATH OF OFFICE. Wi;i TOUTS, iz :".iir^i :-: u~s ci-Iura:* DM* (Jbrfc.) My lord! My husband! latter of my son W3t Aon not list to her whose lightest von! TSfl m, as than feet aud, TO Iw to thee ? O do not modk me widitttsdOT of reverence, |b : ~^n_ truv ~Jr ' ^.11. rrsy *_ic-r. BE DI* i*>^ I^ _* r.S-r "JUL" " ~.Z-~'~ TT". T'rr T-i>- -_"" .L-rlTt.. No, I wffl laeci wrifl lay knees d^i grow Uto the eartk, if aooBcrdm dort jidd not. O by our earij kne;-^ov wedded bfias; Tfcc hope* and fan we dared far one dew object* -.: B Idnenotbeu-Aee! DAVK VAm<3 4KET Whf pafst ttoa of s motfaer's pangs to me, tifiKt I have borne Up, vp. I ay. I eamo^ wffl not hear tkee. rzz : ATE : i ruin to o'ercfeb* i^ SSO THE OATH OF OFFICE. To which I am most sorely tempted now, By subtle fiends, that borrow for their purpose The voices of our holiest affections ! [Exit. SCENE II. A hall in the house of LYNCH. Enter BLAKE OF THE HILLS and DAME MARGARET, with AGNES and ARTHUR, from opposite doors. DAME MARGARET. Dear brother, welcome ! I was now about To seek thee in thy Castle of the Hills, To beg of thee no, no, not leg demand That thou wilt save the honour of our race. BLAKE. That will I with my life, if thou wilt show me In what it is imperilled. DAME MARGARET. Know'st thou not My son thy nephew he who bears the name Of our most noble father now in prison Lies under sentence of a shameful death ? That there is scarce the space of twelve short hours Between him and the scaffold 1 That the sun, Which shall to-morrow gladden all the earth, Will shine upon his blackened corse, unless THE OATH OF OFFICE. 331 Thou stretchest forth thy hand to snatch him from The executioner ? Then save him, brother ! Save our pure blood from foul contamination ; And me, thy sister save from death or madness ! BLAKE. I knew thy husband, like some man of old, Of whom I once heard tell, from one who had Lost precious hours in poring over books Which, thank the blessed saints ! I never have Had on his son pronounced the doom of death ; But did not dream that he would be so mad As push the Law to its extremity : Nor yet can I believe 'tis his intent. ARTHUR. Ah, father, thou but little know'st the man, To doubt his purpose when he gives it words. That which he says he'll do. BLAKE. Dost think so, boy ? We'll see ; we'll see. Of me thou something know'st ; And know'st, I think, I never yet have yielded My resolution to another man's. If Lynch Fitzstephen were resolved to hang All of his name, if in their veins my blood Flowed not with his, I'd say, " With all my heart ! The world has done, and yet may do without them." S32 THE OATH OF OFFICE. But he should first have asked, before he gave His purpose breath, to hang my nephew, whether I would thereto consent. He has not done so : And I have come to tell him to his teeth, That, in despite of Law ; its myrmidons ; And the whole tribe of smooth-tongued hypocrites, Who seek by holy means unholy ends, And clothe Corruption hi the garb of Justice ; My nephew shall not die. DAME MARGARET. There spake the son Of my brave father ! AGNES. Heaven's blessing on thee ! BLAKE. Nor did I come alone to tell him this. For I have left without the city those Who, at the raising of my hand, would burst His victim's prison doors ; lay with the dust His dungeon walls, and give him back to freedom j Or from the very gallows AGNES, (with a sJmdder!) dread Heaven ! BLAKE. In spite of all their guards, bear him away In triumph to his grandsire's rock-built hoine. IKE OATH OF OFFICE. 333 ARTHUR. Give me thy kerns, and we will teach these curs To open never more on noble game. BLAKE. No, by thy leave, that duty shall be mine. Go to thy cousin. Bid him be of cheer. No hair of his shall ever come to harm. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The prison. WALTER alone. WALTER. 'Tis night without the prison walls. So judge I From the unbreathing silence that now presses So heavily on all around me, not Because the light's withdrawn that cheered of late This dismal place, for day ne'er enters here. And Night has given peace to all the land. The weary hind, and o'ertasked artizan, Forgetful of their toil, and care, and want, Have laid them down to dream of happiness. The widow to her breast her infant folds, And sleeps, and he that's gone is at her side, When she doth smile, and think the truth a dream. The sick man even hath forgot his moan : 834 THE OATH OF OFFICE. And, save the guilty, all short respite find From woe. For him there's no forgetfulness. Sharp thorns are in his pillow ; and his heart Hath at its core the worm that never dies. O for one hour of unremembering sleep ! One night of darkness that would from my gaze Shut out that form which, turn me where I will, Is still before me ! Must it be thus ever ? Alas ! alas ! to what a narrow space My ever now is dwindled. A few hours, And the Great Mother, taking to her bosom Her suffering child, shall soothe him into quiet. Then shall I rest 1 ? Ah, no ! Not in the grave Can there be rest for one blood-stained as I, Unless the bitter waters of repentance Have washed away his guilt ! Enter ARTHUR. Welcome, dear cousin. Thou kindly com'st to gladden with thy presence The convict's cell, and bless his parting hour. But how is it thou com'st alone 1 My mother 1 And Agnes 1 Will not they too see me ? ARTHUR. Yes. But, Walter, not in this most wretched place. They wait thee where no walls shall from thee shut The pure, free air of Heaven. THE OATH OF OFFICE. WALTER. What canst thou mean 1 ARTHUR. That thou shalt walk abroad in freedom yet. WALTER. O, Arthur, mock me not ! Kindle not hope, Only to render darker my despair. ARTHUR. I bid thee hope, because I know thy hope Shall not be disappointed. O my heart, Bound not so wildly ! Let not love of life Lure thee to grasp at that thou canst not reach. Alas ! alas ! nor guilt, nor penitence Hath power to sunder the strong links that bind The young and loving to the things of earth. And I am young, and, Arthur, I have loved And still do love with all my being's strength. And 'tis so terrible, leaving behind The treasures of the heart, to go alone Into the cold, dark grave and be forgotten ! Then cheat me not with hope at this late hour, Or I shall die when undeceived ! 336 THE OATH OF OFFICE. Enter LYNCH and PKIEST. My father ! Thou com'st to bring me life ? LYNCH. Ay, life eternal ; Hast thou had grace to ask for it from Heaven ; Alas, I cannot promise other life. And, O my son ! let not the love of that Which, even while we look on't, passeth from us, Loosen thy hold on life that shall endure When this vain world, to which the heart so clingetb, Shall be the Nothing whence 'twas called at first ; Nor leave my wretched age the harrowing thought, When I have yielded thee unto the laws, That they have slain thy soul as well as body. WALTER, (covering his face, and falling on his knees.) O, Arthur, it was cruel to deceive me ! ARTHUR, (aside to WALTER.) Deceive thee did I not : There still is hope. WALTER, (rising, and embracing him.) None, none for me ! farewell ! [Exit AiiTHUit. [After a pause, to the PRIEST.] Thou, holy father, For the few hours that I may still call mine, Wilt stay with me, and aid me with thy counsels, To meet my doom as may become a Christian. THE OATH OF OFFICE. 837 LYNCH. I too will stay with thee this last sad night ! And, as I've watched by thee in happy childhood, Will watch once more ; but with how changed a spirit ! PRIEST. Let us with prayer our solemn watch begin. [They kneel. 29 838 THE OATH OF OFFICE. ACT V. SCENE I. A retired part of the city. TIRLOGH, CAHIR, MIHIL, and CITIZENS. TIRLOGII. Ye know, my friends, for what we are assembled. Within a stone's throw of the spot whereon We stand, a murder ; though the deed may have Another name, it is no less a murder, For all the sanction of the law, than if In heat of passion I my fellow-man Should slay ; a murder on the coming morn Shall be committed, if ye step not forth To stay the acting of so foul a crime. I need not speak to you of Walter Lynch ; For no one here knows not the poor man's friend Long tried and never failing. Who among you E'er knew distress that he refused to share 1 Or asked for aid which was denied by him ? And not alone your friend in time of trial ; But heartsome sharer of your merry games, And loved by all for the unfailing sunshine His presence cast on your festivities. O ye would miss him should mischance befall him. Well, he the generous friend the gay companion THE OATH OF OFFICE. j fllust die more like a dog than Christian man Unless ye kindly aid me to prevent it CAHIR. I do not wish his death ; no, Heaven forbid ! Yet every man should suffer for his crimes. TIRLOGH. Thou mean'st not that. Thou, Cahir, hast a son, A youth our very noblest might be proud of, So have I often heard poor Walter say CAHIR. 'Twas like him. He had still a kindly word For all ; and my poor Phadrig loved him much. TIRLOGH. Now had thy son by some unguarded act And who is always master of himself? Done that would place his life in jeopardy, When thou should'st see him at the gallows' foot, Would'st stand because he had for once done wrong- And see him mount to shame and sure destruction, Without one effort to avert his doom ? CAHIR. One effort 1 I would drag him from the scaffold, Or I would die in the attempt to do it. TIRLOGII. I know thou would'st. The father who would not Deserveth not the name. Yet, by his office, 840 THE OATH OF OFFICE. Is Lynch denied the blessed privilege Enjoyed by every father in the land, To turn aside the shaft aimed at the heart Of him he loves ; but must writhe as he may Yield up his son a victim to the Law. O men ! O fathers ! will ye that a, father Should be compelled, by stern, relentless duty, To do such outrage to a father's heart To be the murderer of his only child ! When ye, by simply stretching forth your hands, Can save him from such wretchedness? MIIIIL. But tell us What thou would'st have us do, and we will do it. TIRLOGH. Why, only this. Let each man here attend Among the crowd, that will before the prison Be gathered, to behold the agonies Of a poor fellow-mortal, which disgrace To human nature ! even tender woman Finds pastime in ! and when I shall pronounce Our city's name, rush ye upon the guards, And overpower them. This you may do easily. For they are men ; and in their painful duty Be sure men's hearts are not. Then seize the prisoner. And when we have him with us once again, We'll take good care to place him beyond danger. THE OATH OF- OFFICE. 341 MIHIL. But should the guards be reinforced 1 TIRLOGH. No fear. That would require the order of the Mayor ; And rather would he ye succeed than fail. But, at the worst, the followers of his uncle Blake of the Hills are now without the city, Ready to battle for young Walter's life, Who will come joyfully to your assistance, And aid the cause of Right 'gainst any odds. MIHIL. Say nothing more. We all of us are ready To do thy bidding. Are we not 1 ALL. We are. TIRLOGH. 1 cannot speak my thanks ; but in my heart The memory of your truth shall never die. But let us now disperse, and each return Unto his home, and wait the hour that's near And so, good-night to all. ALL, (as they disperse.) Good-night, good-ught. [Exeunt followed by TIRLOGH. 29* 342 THE OATH OP OFFICE. SCENE II. An apartment in the house of LYNCH. Enter BJ.AKE, DAME MARGARET, and ARTHUR. BLAKE. All is prepared. My kerns but wait the word, To march into the citv, and the prison Must pass into our hands in half an hour ; And Walter then is free. To this my word Is pledged ; and that has ne'er been falsified. DAME MARGARET. And may not I go with you? BLAKE. 'Twere scarce safe. But when we shall have gained admittance, then Shall Arthur here, with thee and Agnes, come To join us. ARTHUR. But can I be of no service ? In his great peril, shall my cousin owe Nothing to me for his deliverance 1 Thy aid we need not. Stay, then, where thou art, And seek, with the glib tongue with which thou'rt gifted, To make the halting hours move swiftly by. THE OATH OF OFFICE. Enter AGNES. DAME MARGARET. Come, rouse thee, child ; the hour is near at hand Which gives our darling Walter back to us. And dost thou in the sunshine bow the head, That through the storm so bravely was uplifted 1 AGNES. Alas, my mother ! let me call thee so, For, since my father hath to his reward Been called, I have than thee no other parent ! The hour, whose near approach thou hail'st with joy, Fills my distrusting heart with sad forebodings. I fain would listen to the voice of Hope, But her low whisperings by the cries are drowned Of desolate Despair! DAME MARGARET. My brother here Will tell thee, there is not a doubt to cast A shadow on the path that leads to safety. BLAKE. Believe me, girl, ere tolling of the hour Which was to be the call to pious Christians To pray for one departed, Walter Lynch Shall stand as free as any man in Galway. AGNES. that I too could think so ! 844 THE OATH OF OFFICE DAME MARGARET. Unbeliever, Will nought convince thee ? Enter TIRLOGH. Welcome, welcome, Tirlogh. Thy looks, without thy tongue, have told how well The .citizens have answered to thy call. TIRLOGH. As they have ever answered, when appeal Is made, in simple phrase, to honest hearts. They will not stand with folded arms and see A deed committed would the world appal ; But, siding with the weak against the strong, Against high-handed Wrong with simple Right, Are ready from the iron grasp of Law To wrest its victim, when they hear the signal, And give dear Walter back to life and freedom. DAME MARGARET. Heaven bless their honest hearts and willing hands ! True Justice never suffers in their keeping. But, Agnes, come. We'll to my oratory. Even joy may need with prayer be sanctified. BLAKE. Pray an you will. Come, Tirlogh, thou with me. [Exeunt DAME MARGARET, AGNES, and ARTHUR, at one door, and BLAKE and TIRLOGH at another.] THE OATH OF OFFICE. 845 SCENE III. The Prison* LYNCH, PKIEST, and WALTER. WALTER. I thank thce, holy father, for the strength Thy prayers and blessings have to me imparted. Now, that the grave is yawning at my feet, Its cold and dreary passage I no more Do fear, as when I viewed it from afar ; For thou assurest me, that true repentance Can never fail of gaining Heaven's approval, And through it may the sinner hope for pardon. And O, I beg of thee, when I am gone, In daily ministering at God's holy altar, Do not forget to join my name with his, Whom my rash act hath all untimely sent Into the presence of his Judge and mine, That both the victim and his murderer May 'scape the punishment their sins deserve. PRIEST. Fear not, my son ; I never will forget thee. And if the earnest prayers of one poor sinner May for another be by Heaven regarded, Thou shalt find mercy and not chastisement. WALTER, (to LYNCH.) And now, my father, ere I quit for ever A world whose blessings I have so abused, 846 THE OATH OF OFFICE. Upon my knees (kneeling) I pray thee pardon me The shame that's fallen on thine honoured head, And the keen anguish that thy heart hath pierced, Through my sad crime, and bless me ere I die. LYNCH, (raising and embracing him.) My son ! my son ! as I do pardon thee, May I be pardoned ! and may Infinite Mercy Bless thee, my boy, as doth thy father bless thee ! [ To tJie OFFICER who enters. Well, sirrah, what would'st thou ? OFFICER. The hour, my lord, Named for the execution is arrived. LYNCH. Arrived 1 'Tis false ! Where are the signs of day ? Dost hear the trampling of the feet of those Who are abroad before the stars grow dim, To win by daily toil their daily bread 1 No, all is silent, save the hollow sounds These vaulted dungeons give in answering me. And then, where is the sun ? Seest aught of him ? Yet would not his bold eye have looked into These heavy mists, that render dim our torches, And scattered them, if it were as thou sayest ? OFFICER. You do forget, my lord ; no sound of that Which passes in the street can reach us here ; THE OATH OF OFFICE. 347 And, save the blaze that shall consume the world, No light can find its way into these dungeons. LYNCH. I did forget : God help me ! I forget All, all, save that I am the most accursed And wretched thing on whom the load of life Was ever laid ! 'neath which both heart and brain Are crushed ! No wonder I forget all else ! PRIEST. Great are thy trials : let thy patience be As great, and thine shall be the martyr's crown. LYNCH, (impatiently.) The martyr's crown ! O father, was there one, Of all the glorious host baptized in blood, Who bore a martyrdom like this of mine ? What is the anguish of the dying body That is no more remembered when it ceases Compared to this which wrings th' immortal spirit ? O give me strength, sweet Heaven ! that I yield not To the despair that tuggeth at my heart ! WALTER. Dear father, be more calm. Make not thy son A coward seem when he should play the man. It easier were to meet my fate at once, Than see the wretchedness my guilt has caused. 848 THE OATH OF OFFICE. LYNCH. Poor boy ! them justly dost admonish me. Yes, I'll be calm. Despair should ever be so ! [Shouts without. Enter GAOLER. GAOLER. My lord, my lord, the prison is beset By crowds of citizens, with bludgeons armed, And at their head young master's foster-brother, Tirlogh the Red ; and with them that fierce chief, Blake of the Hills the brother of your lady Whose wild retainers, like a mountain flood, Have come upon us, threat'ning quick destruction To every thing that shall oppose their course j And all are loud demanding that we yield The pris'ner to them, ere they cast to earth This pile, of which they swear they will not leave One stone upon another. Hark ! they come. [Shouts continued, tcith the noise of battering at the gale Enter SECOND OFFICER. SECOND OFFICER. The gates are in possession of the mob ; The avenues are closed against the guards ; And on his way the executioner The citizens have seized, and all declare That he shall hang before the prisoner. GAOLER. O my good lord, I would advise you yield THE OATH OF OFFICE. 349 To their demands, and set the prisoner free. LYNCH. What, have I heard a mother plead in vain ; Denied the prayers of an affianced bride, And silenced the deep cry of mine own heart, To stain at last my soul with damning guilt By rude enforcement of a brutish mob ? O Walter, could I save thee without crime, With my own life I'd gladly ransom thine, But as I cannot, wilt thou that these men Now drive me into toils whence no escape Is left? WALTER. No, father. I'm content to die. Then let me satisfy the claims of Justice, That peace may be restored to all I love. LYNCH. Peace? Peace? O never to this heart shall Peace Eeturn ! but desolate for ever desolate ! Till changed to dust, shall be her former dwelling, When she and thou have gone from me to Heaven ! [ The shouts sound nearer* WALTER. Come, let us not delay. They press upon us, And will be here anon. Quick, let us go. LYNCH, (wildly.} Go where, my boy ? Eternal Heaven ! to death ? 30 350 THE OATH OF OFFICE. WALTER. It must be so. LYNCH. It must ; dread Heaven ! it must ' [Walks with WALTER toicards the door. GAOLER. The passage hence is blocked up by the people. WALTER. Is there no other ? GAOLER. Yes. Pass through this vault ; [Opening a door at the back of the cell. And at the end you'll find a stairway leading Thence to the platform. Follow, and I'll show it. LYNCH. One last embrace ! [Falls upon the neck O/WALTER. Releases him ; and after a struggle icith himself, to the FIRST OFFICER.] Do that which must be. FIRST OFFICER. Not for a kingdom's ransom would I do The office here of executioner. LYNCH, (tO SECOND OFFICER.) Friend, wilt not thou ? SECOND OFFICER. My lord, I'd sooner drain My heart's blood, drop by drop, than raise a hand THE OATH OF OFFICE. 351 Against a life so sacred. {Battering and shouts renewed. TIRLOGH, (without.') Forward, men ! Strike with a will ! The gates already yield ; And must give way ! BLAKE, (without.} That's bravely done, my kerns ! Forward again ! We soon shall be rewarded, By wresting from a murderous father's grasp His noble son ! [SOLDIERS shout exultingly. LYNCH, (distractedly.') To what will these men drive me ! Is't not enough that I was made to judge A life away in which mine own was bound ; But will they force me to put forth my hand To do the hangman's duty 1 Spare, O God ! [Shouts, followed by a crash, WALTER, (eagerly to LYNCH.) One way is left thee to redeem thine oath. (To the GAOLER.) Show us the secret passage. FIRST OFFICER, (rushing before them.') No, O no! LYNCH, (seizing him furiously, and casting him aside.) A. way ! or I will tear thee limb from limb ! [Exeunt LYNCH, WALTER, and GAOLER, by the secret passage. 852 THE OATH OF OFFICE. FIRST OFFICER. O Heaven ! this is too dreadful ! Holy father, Wilt thou stand by and see this murder done ? PRIEST. What can I do ? All that I could I've done. But arguments and prayers have been in vain. FIRST OFFICER. I'll make, at least, one effort to prevent it. [Rushes out. Shouts and a tremendous crash, and then enter BLAKE, TJULOGH SOLDIERS, and CITIZENS. T1RLOGH. Safe, safe at last! BLAKE. My nephew, thou art free ! Enter ARTHUR, DAME MARGARET, and AGXES. DAME MARGARET. My son ! where is my son ? AGNES. Where, where is Walter ? SECOND OFFICER, (after a pause, and pointing to the secret passage.) Gone to death ! TIRLOGH. Thou art deceived. [Rushes out. THE OATH OF OFFICE. 353 AGNES. Sweet mother ! [Falls, and is supported by ARTHUK ARTHUR. Nay, cheer thee, gentle one, this cannot be. DAME MARGARET. \V ho does not know it cannot ? Man, thou ravest ! PRIEST. Alas, my daughter ! he too truly speaks. TIRLOGH, (returning.} Too late! too late ! The fatal deed was done Ere I arrived ! So horrible a sight Has eye ne'er witnessed ! By the father's hand Is slain his only son ! ARTHUR. O CHRISTIAN LAW ! This murder is thy work ! [To AGNES, who has fainted. Poor, blighted flower, Thou ne'er shalt raise thy head up to the sun ! [Lays her on WALTER'S couch, and kneels by her side. DAME MARGARET. Dead? dead? My Walter? O ye seek to fright me. Fly, brother, fly ! (to BLAKE) or these will drive me mad. [Exit BLAKE. He is not dead the young ! the beautiful ! 30* 854 THE OATH OF OFFICE. The gentle ! the beloved ! could he die, And leave his mother here all desolate 1 Good Tirlogh ; thou didst love him ; was not he Thy foster-brother ? say he is not dead. TIRLOGH. Dear lady, that I could ! DAME MARGARET. I know thou canst. Then say he is not dead 'dear Tirlogh ! say it, And here I will kneel down, and worship thee. [ To BLAKE, wJu returns O he is safe ! BLAKE. Yes, safe in Heaven, my sister. DAME MARGARET. O ye do all conspire to torture me. But I will go [She is going, when LYNCH, followed by the GAO^R and FIRST OFFICER, enters, bearing the dead body of WALTER.] O Heaven ! my sight is blasted ! [Throws herself into the arms O/"BLAKB. LYNCH, (staggering forward.) Ye have it as ye would, ye murderous crew ! This is your work, and ye may glory in it. [To the SECOND OFFICER, who goes up to him Approach us not. He now is mine all mine. The Law is satisfied it has his life THE OATH OF OFFICE. S55 And this poor outraged form it leaves to me. [Kneels on one knee, and rests the body on the other Walter, my son ! Walter ! Wilt thou not speak To thy poor father ? Hast thou not one word For him to whom the lispings of thy childhood ; Thy boyhood's ringing laugh ; thy manhood's tone, Were music that did fill his foolish heart With joy 'till it ran o'er ? My brave, brave boy ! The ruffler now may smite the white-haired man, And not a hand shall smite him in return, While craven caitiffs boast o'er thy young valour ! O true and loving heart ! when to this bosom Wast ever pressed and gav'st no answering throb 1 O God ! O God ! the meanest thing that crawls Hath something of its own that it can love, While thou must lie in a dishonoured grave Dug by the hand of him who loved thee best Leaving thy Judge thy Executioner Thy FATHER ! all alone in this bleak world, To live in agony ! and still to live ! [Fall* insensible upon the body UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. orm L9-20m-7,'61 (C1437s4)444 C8^A19 Dramas PS 12 C8 18^7 3 1158 00575 088