A thrilling pleasantness, which send a glow Through the poorest serf that tills the happy soil— I am shut out from all. This is my tomb.
Uncle, be merciful! I do not ask
My throne again. Reign! Reign! I have forgot That I was once a king. But let me bide
In some small woodland cottage, where green leaves May wave around me, and cool breezes kiss My brow. Keep me not in a dungeon, uncle, Of this dark gloomy chamber. Let me dwell In some wild forest. I'll not breathe a word That might be dangerous. No! not to the birds, My songsters, or the fawns, my playmates, uncle. Thou ne'er shalt hear of me again.
Alb. Boy! boy! Cling not about me thus.
Theo. Thou wilt have mercy;
Thy heart is softening.
All. "Tis too late. To reign, And he at liberty! I am a child
Myself, that, won by this child's gentleness, I seemed to waver. Boy, thy fate is fixed! Thyself hast said it. Thou'rt a prisoner, And for thy whole life long; a caged bird. Be wiser than the feathered fool that beats His wings against the wire. Thou shalt have all Thy heart can ask, save freedom, and that—never! I tell thee so in love, and not in hate;
For I would root out hope and fear, and plant Patience in thy young soul.
Rest thee content. No harm shall happen thee.
(Exit Alberto.) Theo. Content! Oh mockery of grief! content! Was't not enough to take away my crown, To mew me up here in a living tomb, Cut off from human ties; but my jailer Must bid me be content! Would I were dead! Forgive me, heaven, for my impatience! I will take better thoughts. "Tis but to fancy This room a quiet hermitage, and pray As hermits use through the long silent hours. I shall be innocent. Sure he's a friend That shuts me out from sin. Did he not call me
A caged bird? I've seen one prune himself, And hop from perch to perch, and chirp and sing
Merrily! Happy fool, it had forgot
Blithe liberty! But man, though he should drag A captive's heavy chain, even till he starts
To hear his own sad voice, cannot forget He wants that blessed gift.
ATHELWOLD-EDWIN-PILGRIM.-Mason.
Athelwold. Banish me! No. I'll die. For why should life Remain a lonely lodger in that breast
Which honor leaves deserted?
Idle breath! Thou canst not fill such vacancy. Begone. This sword shall free
Shame to that manly passion, which inspires Its vigorous warmth, when the bleak blasts of fate Would chill the soul. Oh call fair ready virtue Quick to thy aid, for she is ever near thee; Is ever prompt to shed her sevenfold shield
Athel. And but o'er noble breasts; Not o'er the breast which livid infamy Indelibly hath spotted. Oh shame, shame! Sword, rid me of the thought.
Pil. Forbear, forbear;
Think what a sea of deep perdition whelms The wretch's trembling soul, who lanches forth Unlicensed to eternity. Think, think;
And let the thought restrain thine impious hand. The race of man is one vast marshaled army, Summoned to pass the spacious realms of time, Their leader the Almighty. In that march- Ah! who may quit his post? when high in air The chosen archangel rides, whose right hand wields The imperial standard of heaven's providence, Which, dreadly sweeping through the vaulted sky, O'ershadows all creation.
Yes, I was once, I have his royal word for it,
A man of such tried faith, such steady honor, As mocked all doubt and scruple.-What a change! Now must that unstained, virgin character, Be doomed to gross and hourly prostitution,
Sating the lust of slander; and my wife, My chaste Elfrida! Oh distraction, no. I'll fly to save her.
Edwin. Stay, my dearest master; You rush on instant death.
Athel. I mean it, slave,
And wouldst thou hinder me? Ed. Yes, sir, I hold
'Tis duty to my king, and love to you, Thus to oppose your entrance.
Athel. What! thou traitor!
Thy pardon, Edwin, I forgot myself; Forgot, that I stood here a banished man; And that this gate was shut against its master. Oh earth, cold earth,
Upon whose breast I cast this load of misery, Bear it awhile; and you, ye aged oaks,
Ye venerable fathers of this wood,
Who oft have cooled beneath your arching shades My humble ancestors; oft seen them hie To your spread umbrage, from yon sultry field, Their scene of honest labor; shade, ah! shade The last, the wretchedest of all their race. I will not long pollute ye; for I mean To pay beneath your consecrated gloom A sacrifice to honor, and the ghosts Of those progenitors, who sternly frown On me, their base descendant.
How horror shades his brow; how fixed his eye; Heavens! what despair.
Pil. Edwin, 'tis ever thus
With noble minds, if chance they slide to folly; Remorse stings deeper and relentless conscience Pours more of gall into the bitter cup Of their severe repentance.
CASWALLON-FITZ-EDWARD.-Walker.
Caswallon. Off.—I have strength in this unwearied arm(Recognizing his son.) Ha! is it thou?
Fitz-Edward. Turn not away.-One word →
Upon my knees I beg it.
A brief one, then.-What wouldst thou?
The tempest that my slighted speech foretold, Hath it not burst upon thee!
To tell me this, that thou art here-to vaunt Thy skill in divination?
To break thy commerce with the midnight wolf- To pluck thee from the lair where foxes litter :- Restoring thee to all those social joys
That flow from man's communion with his kind:- To place thee once again—
Cas. Beware-beware.
If I thought that-thou knowest my temper-hence, Nor urge it farther.
Fitz-Ed. Oh, I must, and thou
Must hear me, too. Enough of constancy- Enough of valor hath thy heart displayed.— We are a fallen people.-To contend With fortune now, were desperate vanity. The sceptre hath departed from our land :—
Cas. Patience-oh, patience, heart!—
Fitz-Ed. Nay, hear me on.-Is not all lost?—and thou
Dost thou still singly labor to oppose
The common doom?-oh, idle all.-There now
Is left thee but one way to save thyself:
But one—and I must speak it, howsoe'er It grates against thine ear—it jars within
Thy bosom-I must speak it-'tis submission.
Cas. Heaven!—are thy thunders idle?—and thou, earth 'That yet endurest his tread!-thou wilt not part
Beneath him, and deep hide his infamy! No-thou disdainest that such a rank pollution Should rest within thy bosom !-This to me!— Submission!-Breathes the recreant to confront Caswallon with such counsel ?-Yes-behold him!- There—with the uttered wish—the hateful hope Fresh reeking from his lips, he stands before me- Endless disgrace!-a Cambrian, and-my son! Fitz-Ed. Yet-vet I will be patient.
On the pure 'scutcheon of thy noble fathers—
How lovely, how sweet the repose of the tomb : No tempests are there :—but the nightingales come And sing their sweet chorus of bliss.
The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave: 'Tis the vulture's abode :-'tis the wolf's dreary cave, Where they tear up the earth with their fangs. Second Voice.
There the rabbit at evening disports with his love, Or rests on the sod;-while the turtles above, Repose on the bough that o'erhangs.
There darkness and dampness with poisonous breath And lothsome decay fill the dwelling of death; And trees are all barren and bare!
Oh, soft are the breezes that play round the tomb, And sweet with the violet's wafted perfume, With lilies and jessamin fair.
The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears, Would fain hurry by, and with trembling and fears, He is lanched on the wreck-covered river!
The traveler, outworn with life's pilgrimage dreary, Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary, And sweetly reposes for ever.
Why wouldst thou leave me, oh! gentle child? Thy home on the mountain is bleak and wild, A straw-roofed cabin with lowly wall- Mine is a fair and a pillared hall,
Where many an image of marble gleans, And the sunshine of picture for ever streams.
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