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PASSION'S DREAM 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
 BY 
 
 W. BOYD SAMPLE. 
 
 '&: 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 COPTRIGHT, 1895, BY 
 
 G. IV. Dillingham, Publisher, 
 
 Successor to G. W. Carleton & Co. 
 
 MDCCCXCV. 
 {All Rights Reserved,'] 
 
 inLjir-CLCL 
 
PS ^^ ^r 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Edgar 
 Lady Clara 
 Charles ) 
 Harras ) ' 
 Ellen 
 
 Bernardo . 
 Maurice 
 
 Ju English Nobleman. 
 Wife to Edgar. 
 
 . Sous to Edgar. 
 
 . A Guest. 
 
 A Robber. 
 
 Servant to Charles. 
 
 Robbers. 
 Scene : different part^ of Edgar s estate. 
 
 [iii] 
 
ACT I. 
 
 Scene i. A room in Edgar s house. Enter Edgar and 
 Lady Clara. 
 
 Edgar. Our son, it seems, hath his affections 
 given 
 To this young maid. With him I've anxious striven 
 In many a sore debate prolong'd. 
 And urged that some respect to me belong'd ; 
 But he, his mind with fancy sorely fraught, 
 Gives little heed, holds my advice as naught, 
 And then in secret does not cease to muse 
 
 [5] 
 
And think that I his feelings do abuse, 
 
 Which grieves me much. O, could he only know 
 
 The anxious hours that I on him bestow, 
 
 How often by dim candles' light, 
 
 I for his pleasure plan till night takes flight ! 
 
 For this dear son, heaven's latest, precious gift, 
 
 My fond desire is to him uplift, 
 
 That when, at length, he fills my vacant chair. 
 
 With honor crown'd, my name through life he'll 
 
 bear. 
 Lady Clara. Dear husband, much I fear you are 
 
 too hard ; 
 For why should we strive to his love retard ? 
 
Ought we not rather seek his love to prove, 
 And that by hidden stead of open move ? 
 Edgar. Ay ! there's the point on which my pride 
 doth hang, 
 And fears such union might a misalliance prove. 
 This maid is but of mean and lowly birth, 
 And though she be of fair, unblemish'd fame, 
 Might bring aspersion on our name. 
 Lady Clara. O, dull, unreasoning reason ! O, 
 puff'd 
 Up man ! Alas ! that now too late I see 
 What soft deceit's engender'd by a name. 
 Edgar. Fair wife, you jest. Thou know'st full 
 well that I'd 
 
Have wedded thee, hadst thou been as this maid. 
 
 Lady Clara. O, changing man I if this be truly so, 
 What boots it then this maiden's humble birth. 
 Her wealth, her kindred or her nation ? 
 All these, but serve for selfish contemplation. 
 
 Edgar. Lov'd wife, vain now indeed my pride 
 appears, 
 An empty dread, up- wrought by selfish fears. 
 And now, to you this secret I'll impart. 
 You've caught me at robbing a youthful heart. 
 
 Lady Clara. And yet, methinks your fears have 
 little ground. 
 Since, 't is easy seen, by no ties he's bound ; 
 
And so, dear husband, let us trust the rest 
 To patient-working time and love's behest. 
 Do you, this day, write to our trusty friend. 
 His beauteous daughter us awhile to lend. 
 He hath, ere this, made offer of her hand ; 
 In faith, what fitter time could we command 
 To prosperous lure our son unto this suit ; 
 Love disappointed, easy takes new root. 
 
 Edgar. What mists a little counsel clears. 
 Renewing hopes, and quelling fears. 
 T will, at once, a fitting escort send 
 To crave the honor, and to her attend. 
 
 \ Exeunt. 
 
lO 
 
 Scene 2. The same. 
 Enter H arras. 
 
 Harras. O, fairest Dorothy ! 
 
 O, rare and beauteous flower of chastest dye» 
 Whose tender stem swings where I may not pluck ! 
 Thy coral lips, whose founts I may not know, 
 Are like to clear and sparkling springs whereat 
 My thirsty soul doth bend yet dares not drink. 
 Thy clear blue eyes are as two limpid seas 
 Whereon my heart doth steer its ship of love. 
 The light that springs from out their shining depths, 
 
II 
 
 A calm and peaceful harbor brings to view, 
 Whose fair, delightful shores I may not reach, 
 Whose sweets I may not taste. O, would that thou 
 Mightst take the helm, and guide my ship to port ! 
 O, love, how swiftly sudden is thy birth ! 
 What warmth is in thy youth, what peace thy age ! 
 So summer's sun ascends his glorious course, 
 And drawing near his zenith, ere more swift 
 His fiery arrows shoots ; then, softening, sinks, 
 His height attain'd, unto a calm repose 
 Upon the loving bosom of the west. 
 Enter Charles. 
 
12 
 
 Charles, Come, brother, brush the cobwebs from 
 your mind. 
 Dismiss that absent look, and in its place, 
 Put on your wonted smile and easy grace. 
 Fling off dark melancholy, and assume 
 The bounding humor of the light and gay. 
 Let fancy have full swing. She'll carry you 
 With swiftest pace, where joyous laughter rings. 
 She'll give thy spirit wings to mount to heights 
 Ebullient, where, from dull care far away, 
 Fair mirth prevails, and pleasure holds full sway. 
 Then come, to mirth and pleasure let 's away ,• 
 
13 
 
 For on this night you must yourself appear, 
 This gloom you must cast off, and in its stead, 
 The smile and voice of welcome wear ; for you. 
 This night, must add your presence to a fair 
 And festal banquet, where we do intend, 
 In an unbroken circle, to unite 
 In doing honor to a lovely guest. 
 And this, our gracious father bade me say. 
 
 Harras. Fair Charles, you jest. I have no mind 
 For airy nothings, empty compliment. 
 If through this soft exterior one might look, 
 How harsh, discordant might the inner thought 
 
H 
 
 Appear. These honey'd voices bear for me 
 
 Too much the ring of hollow mockery. 
 
 Say to our father that I will attend, 
 
 And though my heart I may not bring, will due 
 
 Respect unto his guest and banquet pay. 
 
 Light hearts, toward revels go with ardent looks 
 
 But weighted souls with lagging steps attend. 
 
 {Ext'f H arras. 
 
 Charles. O, Ho ! I now perceive his humor is full 
 deep, 
 And like to hold. In faith, I pray that 't will ; 
 For thus the pathway of my fond intent 
 
15 
 
 Already 's cleared of that I most did fear. 
 
 Thus, this proud churl who ever seems to snatch 
 
 Away the sweets I fain would taste, and by 
 
 Some trickery contrives to ever claim 
 
 As his, by right, those fond attentions which 
 
 I'd fairly won, for once I'll thwart, and bear 
 
 This blossom from the field, my very own. 
 
 And thus, o'er him, a double victory 
 
 I'll easy gain ; for well I know whom 't is 
 
 This flower is hither brought to grace. 
 
 To me, no stranger is this lovely guest ; 
 
 This queen of beauty I have seen before. 
 
i6 
 
 It chanc'd, when I did scour the north in quest 
 Of deer, my filly, stumbling, broke her leg, 
 And I was forc'd to seek, on foot, the first 
 Domain which proffer'd hospitality. 
 There, my misfortune was to fortune turn'd, 
 And skies that 'foretime lower'd, brighter grew, 
 And I, while time recorded one moon's space, 
 Did bask within the sunshine of her glance. 
 And though she then my suit did cold reject, 
 Methinks I now perceive auspicious signs 
 Which tell of sweet success, and lure me on 
 To thoughts of love, and love of thoughts of Ellen. 
 
17 
 
 Ay ! brother, draw the mantle of thy pride 
 About you, blind thine eyes with soft conceit 
 While soft I steal away thy treasure. {Exit. 
 
 Scene 3. A hall in Edgar s house. 
 Enter H arras. 
 
 Harras. Away ! fond thoughts. Give place to 
 pleasure's sway ! 
 Ah me ! how vain are mirth's but passing sweets 
 Which do exist but for a moment, and 
 Then leave a yawning chasm from which 
 
i8 
 
 We cry aloud for more, when more, alas ! 
 
 She cannot give. Once 'neath her, seeming, soft, 
 
 Yet iron rule, insatiate, we are 
 
 By whirling impulse lured on from gay 
 
 To gayer pleasures which but, mocking, prove 
 
 Mirages fair whose fruits, in easy reach, 
 
 We vainly grasp, to find but emptiness. 
 
 Fair love, go not away ! Thy presence sweet. 
 
 The portals of my heart have lock'd within, 
 
 There thou shalt ever stay. To banish thee ? 
 
 'T were but a fruitless task. O, empty boast — 
 
 To banish thee ! I could not if I would. 
 
19 
 
 Thou know'st, fair love, I would not if I could. 
 Then come with me unto this banquet fair, 
 And while the dance, in giddy whirl, goes round, 
 And music plays, and shouts of mirth resound, 
 I'll sit and talk with thee, and thou w4th me ; 
 Thou tell of her who is thy mistress fair, 
 And I will tell of one beyond compare. 
 And whilst the brimming cup is freely drain'd. 
 And joyous laughter rings throughout the hall, 
 We'll draw ourselves apart and combat wage, 
 Where thou shalt vie with me, and I with thee, 
 In doing honor to each mistress rare. 
 
20 
 
 And if I win, thou shall confession make 
 Of that fair name thou on thy banner bear ; 
 But if fair fate should give to thee the palm, 
 Then I must name to thee my honor'd fair. 
 I know, sweet love, that thou wilt victor be ; 
 But yet, thou canst not do my fair one wrong, 
 For I and thee both to one heart belong. 
 Then come, fair love, our pleasure lies one way. 
 
 £nferEdgSLT, Lady Clara, 
 Charles, Ellen and Guests. 
 
21 
 
 Edgar. Good friends, your presence here this 
 festal night, 
 Is truly welcome, and we thank you all. 
 And now, to all, we do propose this toast — 
 May merry nights, sweet wine's delights and all 
 That go to make a joyous, mirthful life, 
 Recur to each and all in countless number. 
 Good friends, drink each to each, and each to all. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Then let the music play. 
 Cast thoughts of care away, 
 And to the measure gay 
 Reel off the night till day. 
 
22 
 
 Then let the minstrel sing, 
 Let peels of laughter ring, 
 Let each and all be gay 
 Until we part at day. 
 
 Give way to joyous mirth, 
 And at each new step's birth 
 Let the ball be rolling 
 Faster toward the day, 
 
 Let merry hearts combine 
 In praises of sweet wine, 
 Let the bowl be flowing 
 Until the break of day. 
 
 Let old and young be gay. 
 
 Let pleasure have full sway. 
 
 And till the break of day 
 
 Give way ! good friends, give way ! 
 
 (Dancing. 
 
23 
 
 Lady Clara. Dear husband, now indeed my heart 
 is light, 
 Since on this happy night, our son hath cast 
 Aside the gloomy mantle that did shroud 
 His heart and presence from our love and eyes. 
 
 Edgar, Lov'd wife, your heart but echoes what 
 mine own 
 Hath voic'd, and yet methinks he doth but come 
 As 't were in duty bound, and not in love. 
 I miss his smiling face, his gay retort. 
 His gentle grace which ever won and held 
 The hearts of all who ever knew his face. 
 
 Lady Clara. O, fear not that this humor hold ; 
 for if 
 I not mistake, the genial kindness of 
 
24 
 
 His heart already hard doth press, and soon 
 Will break from out its frozen bonds and shine 
 With ardor new. *T was ever thus. When we 
 Restrain the natural impulse of the heart, 
 We silent grow, and know not that our fond 
 Desires are but pent up and gaining strength 
 To break their chains, and rushing forth will claim 
 With doubl'd energy their natural right. 
 
 (Exeunt Edgar and Lady Clara. 
 
 Ellen. Friend Charles, what fancy preys upon 
 the mind 
 Of your fair brother Harras ? He doth seem 
 To bear no interest in our revelry ; 
 
25 
 
 But chooseth, rather, drawing thus apart 
 
 In moody silence. When I pleasant spoke, 
 
 His short, abrupt reply, me quite offended ; and 
 
 Once more I fear Dame Rumor hath been wrong ; 
 
 For, from report, I did anticipate 
 
 A greeting I'd receive more like your own, 
 
 A frank and gentle nature, and a heart 
 
 Both warm and true, a manner courtly and 
 
 Refin'd ; all these, and more did rumor give. 
 
 Charles. All these, I know he hath from nature's 
 store ; 
 But they are exercis'd by mere caprice ; 
 Vv'hilst unto one he proveth most attent, 
 
"26 
 
 The next, he turneth from in haughty pride. 
 This strange behavior grieves me much, and oft 
 I've striven to my inmost heart deceive 
 With vain excuses for these shameful whims ; 
 But now my face doth bear the blush of shame. 
 This latest insult doth my wounded pride 
 Upstir, and rouses me to action. This — 
 
 Ellen. O, no ! friend Charles, my meaning you 
 
 mistake ; 
 'T was not of insult that I did complain. 
 He seem'd as in a dream, or not himself, 
 And thus but coldly greeted me, his guest, 
 Which sharp did wound and pique my feminine 
 
 heart. 
 
2; 
 
 O, no ! it was not insult ; and I fear 
 Some heavy burden weighs upon his heart, 
 That him unfits for merry pleasure's round. 
 
 Charles. Thou mayst be right. Once more then 
 let it pass. [^Exeunt Charles and Ellen. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Good-night, to all a fond good-night, 
 Bright dreams bring brighter morrow. 
 
 And may we often, often meet 
 In an unbroken band complete, 
 And often o'er the ruby wine 
 At merry festal tables dine. 
 
 And often in the whirling dance, 
 Each seeing in his mistress' glance 
 The love that thrills with sweet delight. 
 May we reel off another night. 
 
 Good-night, to all a fond good-night, 
 Bright dreams bring brighter morrow. 
 
 {ExeunU 
 
28 
 
 Scene 4. A room in Edgar s house. 
 Discovers H arras. 
 Enter Ellen. 
 
 Ellen. O, I shall die from hot remorse and 
 shame 
 That I my simple heart did lend a prey 
 To such a villain, who with honey'd words 
 Convinc'd me that 't was thou whom I should dread. 
 And that I shunn'd thee, now thou shunnest me. 
 Thus did he steal from thee a fair disguise, 
 And basely pictur'd forth in you — himself. 
 O, I have done thee wrong, and ere I go 
 I beg that thou wilt just forgiveness show ! 
 
29 
 
 Harras. Chaste heart, no need hast thou to be 
 forgiven ; 
 'T is rather I, who unto thee should sue. 
 Fair one, let not this lie upon your heart, 
 And O, forgive my weak and foolish part ! 
 Henceforth V\\ strive to make amends, 
 And here then, dear, straight let your sorrow end. 
 Leave him unto his meanly selfish pride, 
 And let me, loving, linger at thy side. 
 The friendship so abruptly broken. 
 Let me replace, and by this token, [Kisses her hand. 
 We'll take a surer way, whose course soft lies 
 O'er velvet pathways like to paradise ; 
 
30 
 
 Beneath whose shady, spreading, friendly bowers 
 We'll roam to cull the sweetest flowers — 
 The joys that spring from holy friendship pure, 
 Those precious sweets whose balm alone endures. 
 Elle7t. O, H arras, you have sure a noble mind, 
 A loving soul, to sympathy inclin'd. 
 He that possesseth but a steadfast mind, 
 Is like an altar with rich beryl lin'd, 
 Or like pure gold in furnaces refin'd. 
 What joyful peace, when sore by trials prest, 
 We fly unto a loving, friendly breast 
 Where sorrows flee, and we find tranquil rest. 
 
31 
 
 O, may our hearts as now we join our hands, 
 Be ever sway'd by friendship's closest bands. 
 Harras. O, Ellen, dear, as now you hold my 
 hand,. 
 My soul but lives to list to thy command, 
 My ear but hears to warn me of thy need, 
 My lips but move to hold the sorrow-freed, 
 My eyes but see to linger on thy peace. 
 To shelter thee, my arm shall never cease ; 
 But O, to hear, to see, is not to feel 
 The sacred touch that makes two hearts as one ; 
 Let me then seal our everlasting weal 
 On thy fair lips, chaste sentinels of thy soul, 
 And lips to lips, forever join our souls. 
 
 (Exeunt. 
 
32 
 
 Scene 5. The same. 
 Enter Harras. 
 
 Harras. O, fickle man \ 
 
 It was but yesterday I lov'd ; 
 To-day — I love another. 
 My erstwhile love was but a childish dream, 
 A passing shadow cast by fancy's mean ; 
 But this is love's pure, everlasting flame 
 That melts my soul and blends it with her name. 
 Her soul's sweet image hangs within my heart, 
 From which fair shrine, my own no more shall 
 part. 
 
33 
 
 My fond heart-throbs make now no other claim 
 But leave to live and ever breathe her name. 
 A glowing chain enwinds and binds me to her. 
 O precious bond ! O bond so firm and true ! 
 O, join our hearts, and them with love imbue 
 Till each drink love as flowers drink evening dew ! 
 O, precious bond ! O bond so firm and true ! 
 O, blend our hearts in sweetest, perfect tune, 
 Till, like the heavenly, swelling choirs above. 
 They play one soft, harmonious song of love ! 
 Ah me ! I fear her heart doth lie without 
 My reach. Perchance 't has been already given 
 
34 
 
 Unto the keeping of some worthier hand ; 
 'T has ever been the flowers of loveliest bloom 
 That earliest have been pluck'd. Ah, me ! how vain 
 To dream the fragrance of a heart so pure, 
 Could wanton stoop to grace such love as mine. 
 He who to lofty heights would dare aspire, 
 Must bear within, gifts worthy of the prize, 
 .Else he should fall down to the lowest mire 
 Of black despair, and, falling, never rise. 
 So he who halts midway upon the slope. 
 And looking upward, quails before the height, 
 Ne'er stands upon the summit in his might, 
 
35 
 
 Since he hath lost the goodly weapon hope. 
 See, where she comes, like sudden rising morn 
 Bright bearing down on slow dispersing night ; 
 For roimd her moves a radiance so bright, 
 That 'fore her day doth pale and night grows light! 
 
 Enter Ellen. 
 
 Ellen. O, Harras, dear, where hast thou left that 
 smile 
 With which thou'rt wont my sad soul to beguile ? 
 O, let it not from you too oft depart, 
 That joyous herald of a happy heart, 
 
36 
 
 For oft dismiss'd it may return no more, 
 
 And leave you lone, disconsolate and sore, 
 
 O'er numerous sullen fancies brooding, 
 
 Which through the open door will straight come 
 
 trooping. 
 Art come that I, with friendship's soothing art. 
 May chase the sorrow from your wounded heart ? 
 How came that anxious cloud upon thy brow ? 
 Come, tell it me, else break our friendship's vow. 
 Hath care's cold wind gan o'er thee blow ? 
 Perchance 't is on a journey thou dost go ? 
 
 Harras. Ah, yes ! 't is for a journey I prepare. 
 It hath two turnings. One is dreary dark, 
 
37 
 
 The other shining light, and wondrous fair. 
 For one I long, and yet I may not choose. 
 O, sweet, one gives me thee ; one, thee I lose ! 
 O, lov'd one, must it then be ta'en alone ? 
 O, hardest thought, that I from thee must fly ! 
 Our friendship new, hath scarcely gan its start, 
 Ere I from you, and you from me must part. 
 Was ever thus a tender friendship form'd, 
 Whose very battlements were not soon storm'd 
 And carried by that strongest, softest foe 
 Whose name is love, whose war is one long glow 
 Of passion, and whose fires will ne'er return 
 
38 
 
 But in their hearts will ever, ever burn ? 
 
 Ah, no ! friendship thus form'dis too soon past ; 
 
 For if not crown'd by love, it ne'er can last. 
 
 Ah ! Ellen, from your eyes no light is thrown, 
 
 Save that by which a tender friendship's shown. 
 
 O, that from my heart some little fire 
 
 Might fan to birth in yours, that fond desire ! 
 
 Yet my fond heart is loath to thus give up ; 
 
 It is so hard to drain this bitterest bitter cup. 
 
 O, dear love, if from you I must now go. 
 
 That doom, from your sweet lips, I first must know. 
 
 If from those lips, *t is but a gentle blov;. 
 
 O, Ellen ! Ellen ! is it, is it so ? 
 
39 
 
 Ellen. loving heart, how can I bid thee go ! 
 For your love, none may I returning show, 
 And yet — I would that from my heart might flow 
 A loving stream that only thou mightst know, 
 Which, join'd to thine, might ever with it flow, 
 O'er which the gentle breeze of love might blow, 
 Through whose clear depths our pictur'd souls 
 
 might shine. 
 Mine show thee thine, and thine, in turn, show 
 
 mine. 
 O, dearest friend, I cannot let thee go ! 
 Thy love, so great, may make mine grow. 
 Harras. O, precious girl, now I will never go ; 
 
40 
 
 I'll stay by thee, and to thee my love show 
 Till thou shalt love me by its overflow. 
 
 {^Exeunt. 
 
 Scene 6. The saitie. 
 
 Enter H arras. 
 
 Holding Ellens Portrait. 
 
 Harras. My sweetheart now, in calm repose, 
 Rests on her pillow, fair as sweetest rose. 
 Her sunny, golden hair, in rich profusion. 
 Soft o'er her falls in ravishing confusion. 
 
41 
 
 Her true-blue orbs whose hue doth shame the skies, 
 
 Whose light doth outshine far all other eyes, 
 
 Are hid by lids that loving o'er them lie 
 
 In close communion. Sweetest fair disguise ! 
 
 Her softly curved, rare and precious lips 
 
 Are gently clos'd by Cupid's finger-tips. 
 
 In balmy fragrance lightly steals her breath 
 
 To lavish softest zephyrs o'er her breast. 
 
 Borne on the swelling ocean of her breast, 
 
 Between two heaving, snowy billows prest. 
 
 Her lily, snow-white hand divinely dips 
 
 To ride serene — the queen of ships. 
 
42 
 
 Thus peaceful resting is she woo'd by night 
 Until bright day shall warn him of his flight ; 
 Thus all her charms, in slumber's chaste secluse, 
 Proclaim, and hold with life a transient truce. 
 O, sweetest girl, thus 'fore me like a dream, 
 Thy fairest, rarest charms depicted seem ! 
 The picture melts, and in its place there stands 
 Thine own fair form, with outstretch'd beckoning 
 
 hands. 
 I rise to clasp thee to my beating heart, 
 When from my soul the vision fair departs. 
 My heart upleaps — from my soul's window strains 
 To catch, perchance, one sweetest glimpse again. 
 
43 
 
 And now I'll lay me down my weary head 
 To lose my soul on an enchanted bed, 
 And waft it to thee on that lulling stream 
 Whose rippling waves through dreamy portals 
 gleam. {Exit, 
 
 Scene 7. The same. 
 
 Enter Harras and Ellen. 
 
 Ellen. Dear Harras, much I love thee as a friend, 
 And much it grieves me that it now must end. 
 I would that thou mightst find some other love ; 
 There many are, with me. ranked far above. 
 
44 
 
 Full oft a lonely flower doth charm the eye, 
 Which plac'd by others, hath but sickly die. 
 Thou art but young : go look in other eyes, 
 What lacks in mine, thou'lt find in theirs it lies. 
 Their love, too, like to flowers' sweet perfume, 
 They'll willing give thee to thy heart illume. 
 Harras. O, love, how canst thou of my love speak 
 wrong ? 
 Thou fairest one, thou shalt to me belong ! 
 These flowers are young, have not to blossom blown ; 
 But thou art ripe like fields that should be mown. 
 These want experience ; thou hast older grown ; 
 Their love might waver ; thine is ever shown. 
 
45 
 
 Thou lov'st me. But yestreen thou told'st me so, 
 And couldst thou then so sudden colder grow ? • 
 Ah, no ! This ripening bud is still so young 
 That thou dost fear it hath too sudden sprung. 
 Its tender shoots do barely show their heads, 
 And ere from these the full-blown flower spreads, 
 Thou must their life protect with tender care, 
 Lest they should die when none their growth pre- 
 pare. 
 O, lock not up the garden of thy heart, 
 And bid this tender bud of love depart ; 
 But if thy heart can not its petals see, 
 Let me it nourish, and thy gardener be ! 
 
46 
 
 ril o'er it watch with anxious, loving eye, 
 And from my heart its tender wants supply. 
 On love's soft sunshine I'll this floweret rear, 
 When it doth droop, I'll water it with tears. 
 O, then, sweet love, with me thy garden share, 
 That I may, loving, plant my blossom rare. 
 O, see ! its life doth tremble in thy hand, 
 O, sweet, and canst thou then its death command ? 
 Elkfi. O, no [ Where in my heart thou hast it 
 laid, 
 It shall forever bloom and never fade. 
 Dear love, 't was but my colder reason that 
 Against my warming heart did sharp combat. 
 
47 
 
 And in the strife such weighty weapons drew 
 From tri'd example, taught by wisdom true, 
 That she, o'ercome by fear, did to him yield, 
 And left her treasure bleeding on the field. 
 Thus argu'd reason " Though his heart 's sincere, 
 His love may not endure, 't is that I fear. 
 This may but from a fleeting passion spring. 
 Which never yet a lasting love did bring. 
 Like as the firefly's ever fitful gleam. 
 Whose light, though brilliant, sheds but transient 
 
 beam ; 
 So passion's glow is but a passing light 
 Which lusn-ous shines, then fades in darkest night. 
 
48 
 
 The course of true-love should be sure and slow ; 
 But passion bursts to life with sudden glow. 
 Love is the offspring of esteem — respect ; 
 These, join'd to others, forming one — complect. 
 That thou, fair heart, lov'st him, I'll not deny. 
 Does he love thee ? Time only can reply." 
 Then straight my timid heart began to swell 
 With strange forebodings and misgivings fell, 
 And fond assurance from her hand did fall, 
 And with it fell her treasure and her all. 
 But now, my heart the palm of victory bears. 
 And doubting reason, too, her colors wears ; 
 
49 
 
 And thus my love is doubly fortifi'd 
 
 Since reason doth my heart no longer chide 
 
 But doth unite with hers his stronger voice 
 
 In claiming thee, the lov'd one of my choice. 
 
 And so my hope is stronger than before 
 
 Since reason guards without, and love within 
 
 the door. 
 O, love, thou art indeed my only home I 
 How could my love from thee one moment roam ? 
 Like as the bell from out cathedral dome 
 Calls men to worship with its every tone, 
 So beats my heart within its cloister'd home 
 To call my soul to worship at love's throne. 
 
so 
 
 I love thee, dear, and I am all thine own. 
 Without thy love e'en life itself were flown. 
 
 Harras. My sweet, art thou in very truth mine 
 own ? 
 
 O, priceless gem ! how shall thy worth be known ? 
 O, lov'd one, how shall I my love thee show ? 
 My words are but as wanton winds that blow. 
 These idle vauntings — empty — meaningless, 
 Can not the passion of the heart express. 
 Is not my heart within thine own conceal'd, 
 Its every thought to thee alone reveal'd ? 
 As thou, dear love, upon my breast recline, 
 By thy love, thou shalt my love sure divine. 
 
SI 
 
 How my soul trembles on, and melting drips 
 From mine, drawn through by thine — soul-stirring 
 
 lips ! 
 As lovingly your fingers through mine lace, 
 Your love holds mine in intricate embrace. 
 Thy breast which lightly heaves againt mine own, 
 Is a loving ocean over which I'm blown, 
 Thy heart, the pilot guiding to the shore 
 Where we shall rest in love for evermore. 
 
 {Exeunt, 
 
ACT II. 
 
 Scene i. A room in Edgar s house. 
 
 Enter Edgar and Lady Clara. 
 
 Edgar. I have, this day, receiv'd dispatches of 
 Most weighty import, which do bear upon 
 The safety of oitr tenure to th' estates 
 That lie upon the north. I must, at once, 
 Procure some trusty messenger, our claims 
 To represent, and to our honor hold 
 Against the court. Myself must linger here 
 
53 
 
 To quell intestine broils which sharp do break 
 
 Our peace with angry menace. All my band 
 
 Of ever wavering retainers that 
 
 Do hover on our southern border, now 
 
 Anew wrought up into dissension by 
 
 Some fancied grievance, do, with dark intent 
 
 Of throwing off their yoke, and seizing my 
 
 Possessions, rush to hurl against my head. 
 
 In reckless, overbearing power, their 
 
 United fury. Them to overcome 
 
 I must retain unto a man, all who 
 
 Can head a cloth-yard shaft, or couch a lance, 
 
54 
 
 And with the axe safe brook the shock of close 
 
 Encounter ; for in numbers lies my strength. 
 
 Our foe, inur'd to predatory modes 
 
 Of servile war, are so accustom'd to 
 
 Their easy victories carry with a high 
 
 And sweeping hand, that open conflict chills 
 
 Their coward hearts to weak submission. This 
 
 Audacious outbreak must be check'd, 
 
 And they, with sharp contempt, be driven back 
 
 Unto their rightful place, and thus be taught 
 
 A lesson hard, which shall instill into 
 
 Their minds a due respect unto their head, 
 
55 
 
 And fast forever bind with heavy bands 
 
 Their faltering allegiance. To this end, 
 
 I quick must summon all my faithful squires 
 
 Who by a long acquaintance with these bands, 
 
 Are well prepar'd to baffle their assault. 
 
 And turn their wily measures back upon 
 
 Their heads. Thus, am I bound to keep the peace 
 
 At home, while the rich revenue from our 
 
 More distant lands doth hang in jeopardy ; 
 
 And so I come this boon to crave ; your leave 
 
 To send unto the court our Charles ; for he 
 
 Is fully vers'd in these affairs, and might 
 
56 
 
 The mission undertake with little chance 
 
 Of meeting danger, since his portion of 
 
 Th' estate which looketh toward the coast, through 
 
 which 
 The journey lies, still standeth fast in its 
 Adherence to his will. What say you, wife ? 
 Lady Clara. Dear husband, thou dost do me honor 
 in 
 Allowing me a voice upon such deep 
 And weighty business ; but thou need'st it not ; 
 For those whom I do claim as mine, thou know'st 
 Are thine, to do with as thou wilt. I would 
 They had been more, or that my woman's hands 
 Had at their beck some heavy power to join 
 
57 
 
 With thine, and holp to teach obedience to 
 
 Thy hot, rebellious subjects ; but, e'en as 
 
 It is, these two, take thou the one for war, 
 
 The other for the more unwieldy court. 
 
 I could have wish'd thou hadst made other choice 
 
 It seems that thou hast hit upon the bold 
 
 To send to scenes of peace, and found the young 
 
 And tender fit for those of strife. 
 
 Edgar. Dear wife, 
 
 I've chosen for the best ; for Charles will pass 
 But through his own domain which, strange as it 
 May seem, doth bear for him a strong regard. 
 
58 
 
 While to myself and all our house it hath 
 
 A foreign aspect, and I trust it not, 
 
 And fear that it may yet make head against 
 
 Myself. There roam fierce robber bands, within 
 
 Whose grasp I fear to trust our younger son. 
 
 And yet my fears may be ill-grounded, and 
 
 I will sound Charles upon 't. Perchance he can 
 
 Insure to him an easy passage, and 
 
 'T will be the wiser plan to hit upon 
 
 The younger for the court. 
 
 Lady Clara. Dear husband, wilt 
 
 Thou do it ? Much 't would ease my fears. 
 
59 
 
 Edgar. I will, 
 
 Dear wife, this night, and straight will bring you 
 word. (Exeunt, 
 
 ^CENE 2. The same. 
 
 Enter Charles. 
 
 Charles. Once more doth fortune turn her face, 
 and bears 
 A smiling front toward hopes I had well nigh 
 Given o'er ; and now with lighter heart I'll press 
 My suit, since my great obstacle *s remov'd. 
 Of him I now need have no fear. I've plann'd 
 
6o 
 
 A means by which his safe return will prove 
 A doughty question which I trust will keep 
 Him occupied for many a day. O, Ho ! 
 That was a lucky stroke I made when I 
 Did plead too small acquaintance with the forms 
 Of our high court, and with the import of 
 Those weighty questions which do hinge upon 
 These matters of estate, and when unto 
 Our sire I did suggest how much he'd gain 
 By choosing that his younger son should bear 
 The weight of this high mission ; for I said 
 That he, by virtue of his noble gifts, 
 
6i 
 
 Would these important matters carry to 
 
 A more successful issue. Ah ! 't was there 
 
 I struck into the centre of his pride, 
 
 And moving that, did likewise move his choice. 
 
 My g^ame doth prove full shy, and I must take 
 
 The fullest measure of my time, lest I 
 
 Should be o'er hasty, and my fair one catch 
 
 Alarm ere I have won her favor. Ha ! 
 
 What if this youthful knight should not return ? 
 
 He might full easy fall a prey to those 
 
 Fierce, outlaw'd bands that range for booty, and 
 
 Who leave no trace behind, not even blood. 
 
^52 
 
 Ha ! this doth promise well, and when the news 
 
 Doth spread, I'll lend a sympathizing- ear 
 
 To tales of grief. O, well I know the course 
 
 That leadeth most direct to female hearts. 
 
 This then shall be my course. I will, this night, 
 
 Dispatch advices to my trusty squires 
 
 To this effect, and then my path doth plain 
 
 Appear — an open course to victory. 
 
 I soft will break the news, with moistening eyes, 
 
 Then bide my time till sorrow's first, great grief 's 
 
 Assuag'd, and then I'll lend my tears to blot 
 
 It from the page of memory, and while 
 
63 
 
 She, weeping, to me clings, I'll make myself 
 
 Her only stay, and slow I'll teach to her 
 
 A lesson new, till in my arms, at length, 
 
 I Ve coax'd to life a new born love which shall 
 
 Outstrip the last, and bring within my view 
 
 Sweet visions of those fair and lovely charms 
 
 Whose sweets I long to taste within her arms. 
 
 Exit, 
 
 Scene 3. The same. 
 
 Enter Harras and Ellen. 
 
 Harras. Sweet love, what cloud is 't hangeth o'er 
 thy mind, 
 That sheds its rain through those sweet eyes of 
 thine ? 
 
64 
 
 O, tender heart, to me your cares resign ; 
 I'll be your sun, and soon all things shall shine. 
 Dear heart, I'll dry your tears with kisses sweet, 
 Till kiss on kiss we reach love's joy complete. 
 Ellen. Sweet, I but wept for thee. Thy absence 
 long. 
 Did 'fore my mind draw up a picture of 
 That longer journey thou 'It soon undertake, 
 And rous'd within my timid heart a fear 
 Lest on thy way, thou mightst meet with some dire 
 Mishap which, jealous, rose to snatch thee from 
 Me, and when fear thus left the door ajar, 
 In at the portal stealing, fancies grim 
 
6s 
 
 Did battle with my peace, presaging some 
 
 Event which might, perchance, wreck all my hopes, 
 
 And dash my ship of love upon some rock 
 
 Of sharp disaster. O, could such dark cloud 
 
 Ere cast its lowering shadow o'er my life, 
 
 And black obscure its sky, and quench its sun, 
 
 Within its gloom my wounded soul would droop, 
 
 And drooping die ! Such cruel blow would in . 
 
 Its fall, forever lame her pinions, and 
 
 Point out a swift descent from brightest realms 
 
 Of bliss, to lowest depths of dark despair. 
 
 But at thy coming, love, my darkened sky 
 
66 
 
 Doth "brighter grow, and by thy sunny light, 
 
 I now perceive, on its horizon fair, 
 
 Sweet visions of a field of careless joys 
 
 Which we shall taste together on a fair 
 
 And happy mount whose slopes we hand in hand 
 
 Ascend to be upon its summit crown'd 
 
 With emblems of an everlasting love. 
 
 Harras. And I, dear heart, do see within the pale 
 Of love's dear charm, fair pathways which soft lead 
 Through fruited groves whose trees do bend be- 
 neath 
 The weight of ever-changing sweets which love 
 Hath, mindful of our passage there, low hung 
 
67 
 
 That we might pluck. And then, beyond, our 
 
 course 
 Doth lie past shady bowers which do call 
 To rest upon a couch made radiant by 
 Sweet flowers of a thousand hues, whose breath 
 Doth steal upon the senses in a soft, 
 Divine perfume, and whispers — this is love. 
 There will we sit and of fair love discourse, 
 I, rapt, will listen to thy accents sweet. 
 And in return, will make thy tale complete. 
 While soft thine arms around my neck incline, 
 I'll be a tree with sweetest flowers lin'd, 
 To which thou 'It cling to drink life-giving sap. 
 
68 
 
 Thou, love, shall be the branches, I the vine, 
 From vine to branch shall flow love's tender stream. 
 Nay ! I would be a waving forest green, 
 And my arms be like unto its spreading tops 
 Which ever 'd wave around their loving screen, 
 And 'neath whose boughs thou 'd sit as nature's 
 
 queen. 
 As birds that play among sweet blossoming tips. 
 And from one to other branch do constant flit. 
 With kisses I will ravish first thine eyes and then 
 
 thy lips. 
 Ellen. I'll be the wind that rustles through your 
 tops. 
 Upon them soft, like gentle rain I'll fall, 
 
69 
 
 Which to their stems shall be as pleasant drink, 
 And soft along the branches running down 
 Will reach and lose itself within the trunk. 
 Around thy foot like velvet grass I'll grow, 
 There feel thy shade and add unto thy beauty 
 I'll be a bird that builds on thee its nest, 
 There live and fill thee with my melody, 
 Or be a lake whereon thou *lt mirror'd lie, 
 I soft reflecting thee, thou seeing thyself in me. 
 Harras. O, no ! sweet love, we thus would 
 sever'd be ; 
 We '11 be as birds, our lot cast in one tree. 
 In jonied course we '11 wing love's pastures green, 
 
70 
 
 From off its trees we '11 pluck ambrosial sweets ; 
 We '11 tune our throats to wake the rosy morn, 
 And through the eve, we '11 smooth day's passing 
 
 way. 
 We '11 float our lives on one, long, liquid tune 
 Drawn from the pulsings of a magic harp 
 Whose strings are ever pluck'd by passion's hand. 
 Whose melting tones for aye responsive spring. 
 Our hearts shall be the strings, our love the tune, 
 Our hearts each play one sweetest melody 
 Whose rhythmic, vibrant measures loving join 
 To form a never-ending harmony. 
 O, love, your soft, sweet hand upon my cheek, 
 
71 
 
 Sits like a queen upon a bronzed throne ! 
 O, let me paint upon that hand, sweet love, 
 That hand 'fore whom the lilies shame to stand. 
 One fairest picture of our kindred love ! 
 My lips, the brushes, guided by my heart, 
 Each touch a kiss, each pause to breathe its name ; 
 And when in glowing, ruddy colors mix'd, 
 I 've painted there the likeness of my heart, 
 I'll draw my soul and hang it on thy lips ; 
 While in the labor fair, I'll catch thine own, 
 And thus our lips, two pictures fair will bear. 
 Mine hung on thine by thy love's silken web, 
 
;2 
 
 And thine on mine "by my love's endless threads. 
 
 Ellen. O, sweet, my hand within your own, 
 Doth seem to melt and blend itself with thine ! 
 Since, then, such background 's so unstable. 
 Hang both upon my lips, where 's room for two, 
 And paint them both with one, long, sweeping stroke 
 Whose endless confines, ever circling round, 
 May loving touch, yet never leave my lips ; 
 Or if, sweet love, thou wouldst not have it so. 
 Let shorter strokes make up the finish'd whole. 
 And choose the colors of such subtle shade 
 That all, distinct, shall seem to be as one. 
 
73 
 
 That they shall run as drops that form a stream, 
 And joining hands, in loving circles sweep 
 Like separate gems to form a bewildering chain. 
 Harras. Sweet Ellen, love return'd begets new 
 love. 
 Love, when return'd, doth take a deeper tinge ; 
 Thus half my love 's the offspring of thine own, 
 And thine in turn, is greater made by mine. 
 Sweet love, thou art the canvas, I the frame. 
 My love I'll never cease to paint to thee, 
 And thou, when thou hast join'd to it thine own, 
 Dost hang the picture up in me, its frame, 
 To there behold wliat is both mine and thine. 
 
74 
 
 Ellen. Ah, yes, but from my heart doth shine 
 An image precious, that is only thine. 
 In my love, sweet, you only see your own ; 
 For all my love was born of thine. 
 Look, love, how yonder sun, in western course, 
 Doth stoop to meet the gentle falling rain, 
 And as they meet, see how responsive springs, 
 Upon the glorious pathway of his life, 
 Yon soft, resplendent bow ! And so my love, 
 When first thine own did shine upon my heart, 
 Awoke to ever circle round your life. 
 My love is the reflection of thine own, 
 
7S 
 
 Cast, loving, back in soft, divided tints 
 Which yet so closely blend, thou canst not say 
 That this, mayhap, is thine, or this is mine. 
 Whence comes the perfume of this blushing rose? 
 Canst point the birthplace of its fragrance rare, 
 Or say this is the rose, and this the sweet perfume ? 
 And so our love can not divided be. 
 Thou, love, shall be my rose, and I thy breath, 
 My love that springs from thee, thy fragrance be ; 
 Or I thy rose, and thou shalt be my dye. 
 Thou seen in me, I beauteous made by thee. 
 Look, love, how yonder lengthening shadows, 
 
76 
 
 The heralds of black night, do ominous creep 
 To, jealous, draw thee from me ! Sweet, good- 
 night. 
 Come, night, I've still a light within my heart, 
 Whose endless day thy mantle cannot cover ! 
 
 Harras. Dear heart, good-night. Thy kisses on 
 my lips, 
 This parting, tender clasp of thy sweet hand, 
 Thy boundless gift of love that floods my heart, 
 All these do make the journey of the night 
 More light than day. Thy parting kiss, at night, 
 Still lingers on my lips to ope my eyes 
 At morn ; thy darling hand still clasps mine own, 
 Its tender pressure raises me at day. 
 My sweet, good-night. Peace guard thy bed till 
 day. {Exeunt. 
 
17 
 
 Scene 4. A forest. 
 
 Enter Robbers. 
 
 Robber Chieftain. This is the way that he should 
 
 pass. Within 
 These bushes we may crouch unseen, and as 
 The bird doth fly, we'll catch it on the wing. 
 We *11 do e'en as our lord hath bid ; but Ha ! 
 My lads, we now do care no more for him 
 Than for this youth. He was a master like 
 Unto ourselves, and under him we bore 
 An easy yoke ; but yet there still is one 
 
78 
 
 Whose hand is never felt. What say you, lads, 
 To owning none but Self ? 
 
 I Robber. We own but him. 
 
 Robber Chieftain. Ay ! lad, thou sayest right. 
 We are not yet 
 Such fools but that we know that which is for 
 Our good. We '11 throw our fortunes in the scale 
 That now doth swing our neighbors in the south 
 And sweep from out our fair domain such name 
 As lord and master. Now, from all, are you 
 Agreed ? 
 
 Robbers. {In chorus) We are, we are agreed. 
 
79 
 
 I Robber, Why dost 
 
 Thou doubt us, or dost think we have no heart 
 For such rich spoils ? Hast thou as yet ere shown 
 A way whose path we dar'd not tread ? 
 
 Robber Chieftain. I did 
 
 Not doubt your heart, my lads, but fear'd that 
 
 some 
 Might think that there was matter for offense 
 In joining with our neighbors of the south. 
 
 I Robber. No ! no ! not we. 
 
 Robber Chieftain, Not I, thou shouldst have 
 
 said. 
 I'll hear from all. 
 
 Robbers, (In chorus) We do take no offense. 
 
8o 
 
 Robber Chieftain. And do you all now swear your 
 fealty to 
 My hand ? 
 
 Robbers. {In chorus) Thou art our rightful head, 
 and we 
 Do own no other. 
 
 2 Robber. Nay ! my comrades, much 
 Too weak in swearing your allegiance. Let 
 Us now a more respectful homage pay 
 By making him our king ; he doth deserve 
 
 It 
 
 Robbers. {In chorus) Ay ! he doth ; we '11 have 
 
 him for our king. 
 
2 Robber. Down on your knees, my lads. 
 
 ( They kneel. 
 Brave chieftain, 
 thus, 
 We do salute thee king. Wilt have it so ? 
 
 Robber Chieftain. My lads, I catch the jest. I am 
 your chief, 
 Call'd by what name ye will. And now, this eve 
 Good subjects, I you all invite unto 
 Our forest court, where we may undergo 
 A fitting coronation. There we will 
 Display to you the sparkling jewels of 
 Our crown, and give to each a share. These gems 
 
82 
 
 Do lie within the vinous flagons we 
 
 This morn did overtake. Their lustre shall 
 
 A joyous levity impart unto 
 
 Our sylvan court — but Ha ! enough of this ; 
 
 Here comes our prey. To cover ! lads, quick .' 
 
 quick ! 
 To cover ! 
 
 (They retreat. 
 
 Enter Harras and Guard. 
 
 Harras. Good, my friends, when pass we *yond 
 This forest ? It doth bear a gloomy and 
 Forbidding aspect, and I like it not. 
 
83 
 
 How safely here, a hidden foe might lurk, 
 And swooping on us, unawares, might bear 
 Us off an easy prey. Dost deem it safe ? 
 
 • {^Robbers surround them. 
 
 I Robber. Didst speak to us ? We deem it safe 
 indeed 
 For those who dwell therein ; but as for thee, 
 We cannot so well answer. 
 
 Harras, Bring me to 
 
 Thy chief. I have a letter for him which 
 Will sharp rebuke this outrage ; and if he 
 Doth not a speedy reparation make, 
 He '11 find he hath call'd down upon his head 
 
V 
 
 84 
 
 A heavy foe whose arm will quickly stem 
 His insolence. 
 
 Robber Chief tarn. Sayest thou so ? We have 
 Prepar'd for him a lively welcome when 
 He comes. Let him oppose our strength ; he '11 
 
 find 
 Us no mean adversary. Now, unfold 
 Thy message and I'll tell thee what 't is worth. 
 What now ! Unhand thy word. We are not used 
 To brook delay. Unhand, I say, else we 
 Will tear it from thee. 
 
 I Robber. Chieftain, is 't the word ? 
 
 Shall we make way with him ? 
 
85 
 
 Robber Chieftain. Hold ! Hold ! Deal not 
 
 So rough ; his time is not yet come. I do 
 Intend this night shall be allotted to 
 The safe disposal of those gems whereof 
 I recent spoke. This youth we will retain 
 To grace our banquet ; business must delay 
 Until the morn. 
 
 Harras. Art thou the chief ? 
 
 Robber Chieftain. These, thou 
 
 Dost see, I claim as mine, I am their chief, 
 And chieftain, too, of all this coast. 
 
 Harras Dost thou 
 
86 
 
 Not, then, allegiance owe unto this hand ? 
 
 {Gives him a letter. 
 Robber Chieftain, This missive, here, doth indicate 
 that I 
 Its bearer shall allow an easy path 
 Across my lands. Wert thou so simple as 
 To pin thy faith on this ? I have receiv'd. 
 Ere now, a second message sent by this 
 Same Charles, which did suggest that I had best 
 Direct thee on a journey which hath no 
 Return. I tell thee, youth, thou hast been lur'd 
 Into a trap, and were it not that thou 
 
87 
 
 Art dangerous, I could have spared thee ; but 
 Thoii standest in ray way. I late have thrown 
 Aside allegiance to thy house, and do 
 Regard them as mine enemies. 
 
 Harras. O base 
 
 And cruel man ! wouldst snatch away the life 
 Of him who trusted thy protection ? O, — 
 Robber Chieftain. Away ! away with him ! 
 
 ( They bind him. 
 Hold ! Hold ! ye 
 are 
 Too savage. What, what Ho ! Bernardo ! 
 Bernardo. Ay ! 
 
88 
 
 Robber Chieftain. Bernardo, thou hast something 
 gentle in 
 Thy heart. Take thou this youth, and keep him 
 
 safe 
 While we do haste unto our coming revelry. 
 
 {^Exeu7it. 
 
 Scene 5. The same. 
 Enter Harras a7id Bernardo. 
 Harras. Two moons have pass'd and yet my fate 
 impends. 
 Each morn I say farewell to all I love, 
 And then the mournful sound doth echo down 
 The day until, at night, I say it o'er 
 
89 
 
 Again. This 'pon my spirit *gins to wear. 
 Bernardo, dost thou bear remembrance of 
 The time when we were boyish friends ? Let us 
 Renew that friendship for the time we may. 
 I well remember thee, Bernardo. Thou 
 Didst bear a frank and loyal heart, and I 
 Believe thou hast it yet. 'T is true the heart 
 That once was warm, may feel the chili of cold 
 Indifference, if from their tender stalks 
 The blooming flowers of love are sudden torn 
 Away ; but still the seeds remain, and want 
 But to be planted in fresh soil, when they 
 
90 
 
 Anew will shoot unto a living growth, 
 
 And change the unnatural winter of the heart 
 
 To an eternal spring. I trusted thee, 
 
 Bernardo. I do trust thee now, nor do 
 
 I blame thee for this seeming change. I'm still 
 
 Thy faithful friend. Wilt thou be mine again ? 
 
 Bernardo, hast thou ever felt thy time 
 
 Was come, and long'd for some companion who 
 
 A little might contrive to light the dark 
 
 De^-cent ? Perchance thou hast been near it. O, 
 
 Bernardo, life is sweet to him who 's bound 
 
 To it by tender ties of love ! O, how 
 
91 
 
 The heart doth yearn, and, writhing, to them clings 
 When it doth feel their slackening tendrils, 
 One by one, draw off and silently recede 
 Within a black, impenetrable gloom. 
 Dost think me weak ? 'T is not the change I fear, 
 That Cometh quickly ; but my dread doth lie 
 Within the woe that shrouds the long farewell. 
 Bernardo, I have spoken right ! I see 
 It in thy look. Thou 'st met some bitterness 
 In life, that hath crushed out the light, and sent 
 Thee on this reckless path to drown thy grief. 
 This lot can not have been thy choice. Thou art 
 
92 
 
 Too noble. In thy veins runs gentle blood. 
 Thou hast this fault ; thou art too hot withal. 
 Come, be once more my friend. How cam'st thou 
 
 here ? 
 Bernardo. Thou 'st read aright my woeful tale. 
 My friends, 
 My kindred, all are sudden from me flown. 
 For full six summers I have wander 'd here ; 
 But let that pass. What matters it since 1 've 
 Regained thee ? I was, I am, and ere 
 Will be thy friend. Thou thought'st me cold in 
 
 that 
 I did a chill indifference observe 
 Toward thy impending fate. This wore I as 
 
93 
 
 A cloak to hide that which, if open, soon 
 
 Had drawn toward us the glances of lyDx-e3'ed 
 
 Suspicion. Now, I will it lay aside, 
 
 And show thee what my heart, these last two 
 
 moons. 
 Hath purpos'd. List ! The question now doth 
 
 swing 
 On how to get thee 'yond this ruthless chief. 
 Thou shalt not go alone ; I '11 with thee leap 
 To freedom. 1 a plan have laid by which 
 We may betake ourselves beyond his, or 
 His savage vassals' reach. This night, we will 
 Tt put in execution. 'T is our last 
 Sure chance. I well do know, in this delay, 
 
94 
 
 He doth not study mercy, but doth swing 
 His hand above thy head to let it fall 
 At the uprising in the south. That time 
 Approacheth. On this night these ruffians hold 
 A customary revel, when, fear free 
 In this retreat, they '11 quaff the vinous draught 
 Both long and deep till it hath stol'n away 
 Their vigilance, and hid their cautious eyes 
 'Hind heavy lids. Then may we past them walk 
 Unnotic'd, and ere rising morn hath wak'd 
 Them from their slumber, we, from yonder coast 
 Whose sullen roar now breaks upon our ears, 
 
95 
 
 Will through this forest far advanced be 
 Toward inner country. This, have I been slow 
 Revolving up and down and round within 
 My mind, that I might hit upon a sure 
 And rapid course. 
 
 Harras. Bernardo, dost not think 
 
 It dangerous ? I could not ask thee this, 
 If by its chance thou shouldst thy life, with mine. 
 Imperil. 
 
 Bernardo, Nay ! *t will be an easy course, 
 And 't is my choice. I know this wood as well 
 As thou dost know the paths thou hast been used 
 
96 
 
 To tread around thy narrow home. I know 
 This chieftain's underlings, and where they, with 
 Their bands, do prowl by day, and where they lurk 
 At night. They turn their faces toward the north 
 Where branching highways run. We'll drop along 
 The south, and if some moving band, by chance, 
 We meet, we '11 say we 're on a mission bound. 
 And easy pass. They '11 know thee not ; for I 
 Will clothe thee in a forest garb. I '11 on 
 Thee bind this jerkin strong, with moving hood 
 Attach 'd, and round thy waist this belt will draw, 
 With many keen-edg'd knives stuck round. I 'II 
 o'er 
 
 1 
 
m 
 
 Thy shoulders sling this long-bow tough, and at 
 Thy side will hang this quiver well supplied 
 With barbed arrows fleet and long. Thy feet, 
 These buskins 'gainst the brambles will prepare. 
 The moon, e'en now, her starry course doth 'gin 
 To climb, and when she, towering overhead, 
 Doth mark the still, mid hour, we must make haste. 
 And through the thready wood betake our way. 
 'Tis at that time, when she doth laboring mount 
 Her arduous course, she stops to rest awhile 
 In heaven's centre, and thence, peering down 
 With kindly glance, doth scan the inky wood 
 
98 
 
 To see, perchance, if she may spy, and cheer 
 The heart of some belated traveler. 
 If we do catch her face, she '11 glad us to 
 The open. Thence, 't will be an easy pace 
 Unto our journey's end. Wilt trust thy guide ? 
 
 Harras. Lead thou the way, I '11 quickly follow. 
 Ah! 
 Bernardo, when we reach at last the home 
 That nestles in yon vale, we '11 celebrate 
 This meeting. Thence, will I not lightly let 
 Thee go again. 
 
 Bernardo. Ay ! friend, but now let 's don 
 Our sylvan dress. The hour approacheth. Hark t 
 
99 
 
 Dost hear the noisy mirth of yonder crowd ? 
 
 Do thou turn to the left while I do steal 
 
 A parting look to see if all goes well. 
 
 I '11 join thee 'neath the cover of yon pine. {Exeunt, 
 
 Scene 6. A room in Edgar s house. 
 Enter Charles and Ellen. 
 Charles. Fair Ellen, long 't has been since I 've 
 been made 
 The object of glad welcome from thine eyes. 
 In truth, it seems that some dark spell doth o'er 
 
100 
 
 Me hang, which spite of constant efforts to 
 
 It cast aside, still to me clings as if 
 
 Its earnest purpose were to bring upon 
 
 My head thy fullest measure of reproach. 
 
 This hanging cloud doth quick prevent my fond 
 
 Desire to claim thy fair regard, as friend 
 
 To friend. My heart doth bleed for thee when I 
 
 Do see thee draw apart to silent weep, 
 
 With none to whisper words of sympathy, 
 
 And wipe away thy tears. O, then I long 
 
 To clasp thy hand, to bow my head with thine, 
 
 And with thee weep ! But then I am recall'd, 
 
JOI 
 
 O, harsh reminder ! by the grating- on 
 My senses of my evil genius' voice — 
 " 'T is thon hast made her weep." 'T is not my will 
 But my misfortune that doth make my lips 
 The bearers of new woes to break thy heart. 
 There is none other to thee tidings bring, 
 And though the tale be one of woe, it hath 
 In it much more of mercy than wrought-up 
 Suspense that, sickening, smothers up the soul. 
 And grips the heart within a strangling grasp 
 Till heart and soul in gasping anguish writhe, 
 Borne down in torment. O, 't is better far, 
 
102 
 
 To know the depth and breadth of sorrow's core, 
 That we may rouse and arm our wills to brave 
 Its woe, and strongly grappling with it, rise 
 Above its power, triumphant in the fray. 
 O, look not sad ! My lips are blister'd, and 
 My tongue doth burn with shame that it must add 
 Another burden to thy load of grief. 
 Ellen. What now ? What next dark shadow hast 
 thou brought 
 To add unto my heaping clouds of woe ? 
 
 ( Tears open a letter and reads. 
 
I03 
 
 Charles. O, can thy tender strength stand 'neath 
 the weight 
 Of this last blow ? O, steel thy heart, and freeze 
 The fountains of thine eyes, lest that the sight 
 Of thy great grief should burst my swelling heart ! 
 O, dire event that robs thee of thy staff 
 Through life, and kills thy earnest hope in love ! 
 O, look not so, fair saint ! Thou art but weak ; 
 But I thy strength will be. Come, lean on me — 
 Ellen. Away ! black villain. Dare to touch my 
 hand ! 
 Thy loathed touch doth thick with horrors teem ; 
 The ground that bears thy form doth blush for 
 shame. 
 
I04 
 
 O, that I, but for one brief moment's space, 
 Might stand a man ! I 'd grapple with thy throat 
 Till I had chok'd thy last, vile, cursed lie 
 Back to thy wicked heart, and dragg'd thy life 
 Down through its cursed mire, down, down to hell. 
 Away ! thou hind of Satan, with the proof. 
 
 (Flings him the letter. 
 Charles. What means this sudden torrent of 
 abuse ? 
 What dark suspicion hath ta'en hold upon 
 Thy mind, that, blackening, falls upon my head ? 
 Ellen. Read ! Read ! and though I know thou 
 need'st it not 
 To tell thee of the lie thy lips have spoke, 
 
los 
 
 Thy crafty mind drawn up to holp along 
 Some black, insidious purpose sprung from out 
 The tainted chambers of thy evil heart, 
 Yet read ! that if there still remains within 
 Thy mischief-working mind, one atom of 
 Respect for man's opinion and God's law, 
 Thou mayst slink away and hang thy head 
 Beneath a never-lifting cloud of shame. 
 
 Charles. O, joy ! this letter, writ by his own 
 hand, 
 Doth swift disperse our heavy clouds of grief, 
 And through the rift appears a golden hue 
 Which hails the coming o'er our wintry woe, 
 
io6 
 
 Of sunny, gladsome hours made bright by an 
 Enduring sun. Fair Ellen, thou dost do 
 Me wrong. I 've been the victim of some grave 
 Mistake, and have been much to blame in that 
 I did too speedy credence give to dark report 
 Which swift doth fly from mouth to mouth, 
 
 and in 
 Its course a constant coloring receives 
 Till it hath swell'd its first dimensions past 
 All bounds, and by these false additions hath 
 Been chang'd beyond all semblance to the truth. 
 How little may be pinn'd upon the frail. 
 Thin fabric of report, I well did know ; 
 
10/ 
 
 But when my heart, wrought up by long suspense, 
 Did, trembling, call upon my mind for strength, 
 And found that it had ceas'd to hope, and when 
 Upon the heels of these dire omens, swift, 
 Came treading tidings that my fears did join, 
 My grief o'erwhelm'd me, and my mind did slip 
 Upon the brink of woe, and fell, bereft 
 Of power to rise and seek within the gloom 
 Due confirmation of their courier's voice. 
 That he doth say he was detain'd by bands 
 That owe to me allegiance, hinting at 
 My instigation, wrongs me much, yet not 
 
ioS 
 
 So much but that I can forgive ; for here, 
 He adds, he doth believe it not, and doth 
 Disdain to pin his faith upon the word 
 Of one inur'd to acts of violence 
 As 'gaiast a brother's love. No doubt this is 
 Some petty chief, who on the sight of such 
 Rich booty passing close within his grasp, 
 Could not restrain his itching palm, lur'd on 
 By thoughts of richest bounty offer'd for 
 His prize. O, well I know them, and upon 
 This rascal I will swiftly visit just 
 And heavy retribution. Fairest Ellen, 
 
i09 
 
 Dismiss that cloud that hangeth on thy brow, 
 And like dark night obscures beneath its wing 
 Thy radiant beauty. Let these strained bands 
 Of friendship, yet once more be mutual bound 
 To grace our coming joy, that we may not 
 Divided meet, but by a union fair, 
 Complete and doubly bless our new-found joy. 
 Ellen. Thou art too plausible, and think'st that 
 with 
 Thy oily tongue thou 'It quickly heal a breach 
 Made wide by countless, mean attacks upon 
 A simple, artless heart, I trust thee not, 
 Nor will I trust my hand to one who takes 
 
no 
 
 It but to scorn its clasp, and heap upon 
 It fresher insult. No ! time only o'er 
 The chasm can bridge, and if thou truly wish 
 It hold, build fast upon sincerity ; 
 But not till then, art thou a friend of mine. {Exit. 
 Charks. And must I now, when I had almost 
 caught 
 My fair one to my arms, be overborne 
 By fickle fortune ; to this sudden storm 
 Succumb, and soft give o'er my prize unto 
 Another's arms ? O, hated arms I What dare 
 I not, to quick prevent such galling fate ? 
 To have him steal the kisses from her lips, 
 
Ill 
 
 That first were mine, and she to whisper words 
 Of love to other ears than mine, to hang 
 Her arms around his cursed neck ? No ! No ! 
 First, will I grind that neck beneath my heel. 
 What if he 'scaped my faithless squire's hands, 
 Shall I stand idly by and fold my own, 
 And see him leap to joys I covet ? No ! 
 It must be done ! O, well I know the path 
 That he will take where he may soonest 
 Feast upon her charms. I did note down upon 
 The paper, he did beg that she would meet 
 Him at the arbor by the eastern gate. 
 
lu 
 
 I must dispatch, else she forestall me. Ha ! 
 
 I will take care he meet no arms of love. 
 
 If once within these arms, he' 11 never clasp 
 
 Another, and, Ha ! Ha ! then I will bide 
 
 My time to build the bridge which hath been call'd 
 
 Sincerity, and o'er it safely walk 
 
 Into the arms of my unwilling love. 
 
 I '11 stand aloof as she hath bidden, and 
 
 No counsel venture for his non-return ; 
 
 I well have learned my lesson, not to be 
 
 Precipitate. I '11 be the casual friend, 
 
 I '11 oft be absent, study unconcern ; 
 
"3 
 
 Yet still be so attentive that, at length, 
 
 My absence shall be felt, my presence needed. 
 
 Yet still I '11 curb desire ; for I 've been told 
 
 It doth take time to build that lasting bridge 
 
 Known as sincerity, and not till hope 
 
 Is long given o'er, and memory's page is dim, 
 
 Will I conclude my bridge is built and strung 
 
 Across the chasm my love mistakes for insult. 
 
 Then, will I boldly o'er it walk and crave 
 
 The boon which hath been promised, and which 
 
 makes 
 My fair one say " Thou art a friend of mine." 
 Ah ! then I '11 careful gather up the threads 
 
114 
 
 I Ve spun, and soon I '11 smoothly weave a web 
 
 Which shall enclose us both in fast embrace, 
 
 And then I '11 dare to whisper that its name 
 
 Is love. Then will I patient watch until 
 
 A new light springs within her eyes, and I 
 
 Shall claim her for my own. My own ! My own ! 
 
 How sweet that name — my own ! Ah ! then I '11 
 
 know 
 What bliss there lies in lingering o'er the breast 
 Of that sweet girl, by none but me possess'd, 
 And drink of bliss when she to me imparts 
 The precious secret of her female heart. 
 O, to be lock'd within her close embrace, 
 
115 
 
 To feel her warm breath glow upon my cheek, 
 
 To hear her gentle-whisper'd words of love, 
 
 Were heaven itself ! O, love ! sweet, sweetest love ! 
 
 But Ha ! enough of dreams ; I must about 
 
 The great decider of my course, and then 
 
 *T will be full time to dream on dreams which have 
 
 A sure foundation. First I must procure 
 
 Some aid which shall insure a surer end 
 
 Unto this business, then, to the arbor. {Exit. 
 
 Scene 7. A rustic arbor. 
 
 Enter Charles and Maurice. 
 
 Charles , Hast thou all things in readiness that 
 we 
 
ii6 
 
 May quick remove our object to a safe 
 Concealment ? Are the horses at the gate ? 
 
 Maurice, Ay ! all is ready at a moment's notice. 
 
 Charles. Hark ! 
 
 Do thou keep guard against the inner gate ; 
 But be not seen : I '11 tarry here. ( They withdraw. 
 
 Enter Harras. 
 H arras. {Sings) 
 
 My love is like a summer rose 
 That fills my heart with fragrance. 
 And stills my soul to calm repose 
 Upon a sea of love. 
 
117 
 
 Her eyes are like the sunlight, 
 
 And pour a thrilling radiance 
 
 That wafts my soul with sweet delight 
 
 Upon a sea of love. 
 
 • 
 
 ; Her voice is like the gentle rain, 
 My heart feeds on its gladness, 
 Its accents sweet, float me away 
 Upon a* sea of love. 
 
 {Charles stabs him. 
 O, treacherous brother ! 
 Maurice, Away ! Away [ 
 
 here comes another ! {Exit. 
 
 (Charles 'tumbles ^ and falls on his dagger. 
 
ii8 
 
 Enter Ellen. 
 
 Ellen. O, bloody deed ! O, villain ! thou hast 
 met thy just reward. 
 
 Charles. O, speak not so, thy words 
 
 Do scorch my soul ! Be merciful, and say 
 My shame may yet be washed away by thy 
 Forgiveness. See ! I, for my guilty load, 
 No soft extenuation seek to make. 
 And yet — I knew not what I did. 'T was but 
 My rising heart, tumultuous made by love. 
 That overthrew the justice of my mind, 
 And bursting forth, did laugh my will to scorn, 
 
119 
 
 And bore me helpless swinging in its train. 
 
 Ellen. O, wretched man ! if my forgiveness could 
 Remove thy guilt, thou hast it freely ; but 
 I fear it little can suffice. 
 
 Charles. Fair saint, 
 
 *T will ease my passing. O I die ! Farewell ! 
 Farewell ! {Pies. 
 
 Ellen. O, hateful passion ! O, 
 
 Tenderest love ! O, blackest crow, thus link'd 
 With whitest dove ! O, love ! my love ! my love ! 
 Alas ! that this blossom, so lately sown, 
 Might not a beauteous flower have blown ! 
 
I20 
 
 It liv'd but to be blasted in the bud, 
 
 Its tender leaves are dy'd in my heart's blood. 
 
 My peace is gone ! My only love has flown ! 
 
 My heart will not cease its loss to bemoan ! 
 
 I lov'd to lay my head upon your breast, 
 
 And thought 't was heaven when your hand my 
 
 hair caress'd : 
 Your loving eyes look'd through my very soul ; 
 Your footstep, on the path, thrill'd through my 
 
 heart ; 
 And O, to think tliat all has flown ! 
 Thy truthful kiss of love, I '11 ever miss ; 
 
121 
 
 Through the corridors of my heart will ring 
 No more, the impulse quicken'd by your tread ; 
 Within your arms no more, I '11 peaceful rest. 
 O, see ! the dagger that hath drunk his blood ! 
 O, cruel dagger ! do one kindly deed ; 
 For thou canst still this reparation make, 
 Though having parted, thou canst join me to 
 My love. {S^al^s hersdf) — He speaks ! 
 
 Harras. O, sweet, my Ellen 
 
 come, 
 And with thy warming lips, coax back to life 
 My breath, that I once more may look into 
 
122 
 
 Thy loving eyes, and feel thy tender arms 
 Around my neck, and from thy lips once more 
 Drink in the tender words of love. If thou 
 But giv'st me these, then shall I die in peace ; 
 For with them, it were peace to die. O, love ! 
 Thy lips are cold ! What hast thou done ? O 
 
 sweet, 
 I die ! i^Dies. 
 
 Ellen. O, stay ! but one brief moment, stay .' 
 O, bitterest sweet ! why, do I bid thee stay ? 
 O, sweetest pang of death ! My love — I — come I 
 
 {Dies, 
 
*^^ 
 
 '^^' 
 

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