5OTWW»aW^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 1^)7** @fcap. ©c^rroW ^o* Shel£?......._ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. DRAMAS AND POEMS. - BY / / ALEXANDER HAMILTON, OF "HEUVEL." U. S. VOLUNTEERS AND G. A. R. 182. NEW YORK: DICK & FITZGERALD, 18 ANN STREET. -ps 17*4- . H4- COPYRIGHT, 1887, BY ALEXANDER HAMILTON. All Rights Reserved, edward o. jenkins sons, Printers and Stereotypers, 20 North William Street^ Nezv York, DEDICATED BY PERMISSION TO REV. JOHN A. TODD, D.D., MY FIRM FRIEND, THROUGH WHOSE FOSTERING AID I AM ENABLED TO OFFER THIS WORK TO A GENEROUS PUBLIC. "CANONICUS," "THE LAST OF THE NARRAGANSETTS," IS PRESENTED IN POETIC PROSE, AS BEING MORE IN CONSONANCE WITH THE INDIAN STYLE THAN BLANK VERSE. "A'Becket" and " Cromwell n were so favorably received by the Press and coynmended at the time in lehalf of the Sanitary Commission, by President Li?icoin, Secretaries Seward, Chase, Stanton, a?id Wells, Rev. Dr. Bellows, a?id the Poets Pitz Gree?i Halleck, Bryant, Morris, Willis, and Lewis Gaylord Clark, that a reprint may not be unacceptable. THE POEMS, PUBLISHED IN TEE PRESS OF THE DAY. ARE NOW FIRST COLLECTED. MY ILLUSTRIOUS GRANDSIRE HAVING MADE HIS NAME HIS OWN, FOR ALL TIME — I ADOPT THAT OF HER, WHOSE PRAISE WAS EVER THE FIRST SOUGHT AND THE DEAREST, "MY MOTHER." ALEXANDER HAMILTON, OF "HEUVEL." ^ Takrytown-on-Hudson, June i, 1887. CONTENTS. DRAMAS. PAGE Cromwell ; - 1 Thomas A'Becket . 1 Canonicus 7 POEMS. To Dear Mother 57 Ox Mother's Death 57 The Shefherd 58 Lincoln's Act of Freedom ; 59 Hamilton 60 In apoleon and Hamtlton 62 Sonnet — " Contentment " e 62 Sonnet— To Grief . 63 To my Aunt, Susan A. Gibbes 64 The Buckwheat Flower 64 To Mary L 65 To Miss , A Fair Pianist 68 To 68 To Miss J. L 69 The Brook 69 On the Consecration of "St. Ann's" Church, Morris- IANA 71 The Hudson Riyer 71 Sonnet — Faith 72 Sonnet — To the Oak 73 To 1 73 To Elizabeth, October, 1842 74 (VI VI CONTENTS. PAGE To Elizabeth, April, 1843 74 To Elizabeth 75 True Love 75 To a Very Dear Friend 76 To 70 To Care Oppressing a Dear Friend 77 To E. S. N 77 To the Atheist 78 The Old Man to his Wife 78 To E. S. N '. r 79 To E. S. N 79 To a Cloud 80 To E 81 " St. Paul's " 62 To Mrs. George L. Schuyler 82 To . ,. ,.., 83 To an Ever Gay Friend 84 To E. S. N 84 Fair Woman's Smiles 85 To a Brook , 85 The Minstrel 86 Written in a Volume 87 On Weir's Painting, West Polnt 83 On the Painting in Chancel of West Point Chapel . . 88 To Elizabeth 89 To Elizabeth . , 89 To Cousin Eliza Schuyler. . . 90 To Elizabeth 91 To Elizabeth 91 To E 92 Christmas 93 Sonnet 94 To my Eldest Son 95 Antietam 95 Ciiancellorsville 97 Gettysburg 99 To E 101 A Legend of the Rhine 101 To E. S. N 103 CONTENTS. VI 1 PAGE To a Cloud 104 To E. S. H 104 To 104 Sonnet 105 To Emma 106 Zenobia 107 To E 108 The Troubled Spirit's Song-. . . 109 To Elizabeth 110 On Laurens Hamilton Ill On My Brother Laurens Ill To-Night 112 To E 113 Disappointment 113 To a Storm 114 The Walnut-Tree 114 Dying Child to her Mother 115 To Mrs. Susan A. Gibbes 110 To 117 To 117 To 118 To E 118 To 119 To 120 " The Death Blast" 121 To Julia S 122 On Our Mary , 123 To 123 On Leaving my Country Home for City Labor 124 " The Frolicsome Parson " 125 Zion Meetln'-'Ouse 129 To General Grant 131 Saratoga 132 CROMWELL. OLIVER CROMWELL. At length the world begins to understand what an honest, earnest, Grod-fearing man Oliver Cromwell was. Royalist writers have dwelt much upon his low origin and the humble pursuits of his early life. He had no occasion to blush for his pedigree. His father, Robert Cromwell, having married Elizabeth Steward, pur- chased an establishment which had been used as a brewery. A few years after this he died, leaving a young family to the care of their mother, who, by her skill and industry, not only provided funds to support her family in a respectable station, but even to supply her daughters with such fortunes as recommended them to suitable marriages. This estimable lady, like Charles the First, was descended from Alexan- der, Lord High Steward of Scotland, and thus they were cousins in the eighth or ninth degree. Born at Huntington, on the 25th day of April, 1599, and soon the only survivor of three sons, Oliver became a great favorite with his mother, who, though a woman of excellent sense, was of a too indulgent temper. " The love of truth," says a writer of his day, "will not permit us to extol either the docility of his temper or the literary triumphs of his genius — while at school, he being described as 'playfull and obstinate.' M Hinchinbrooke House, the seat of his uncle, Sir Oliver Cromwell, was generally one of the resting places of the royal family when on their journey from Scotland to the English capital. In the year 1603, King James, accompanied by his young son Charles, then Duke of York, afterward King Charles the First, paid a visit to Sir Oliver Cromwell, by whom they were entertained in the most sumptuous manner. Charles and young Oliver disagreed, and in a scuffle young Oliver drew blood from the royal nose. Sir Oliver reproved his nephew, when, it is related, King James rejoined — "Nay, nay, it will teach the boy to respect the rights of his subjects." Milton, the immortal poet, who knew him well, does not ascribe to him high accomplishments in literature. Bishop Burnet says, "he had no foreign language, and but a little Latin." He remained but about half the required term at the University, and was then sent to London to attend to the study of the law at Lincoln's Inn, " but making nothing of it," he soon returned home OLITER CROMWELL. Sir Philip Warwick, no nncandid judge of his manhood, gives a far from flattering account of his earlier days, but says: "After a time ho became converted, and declared himself ready to make restitution unto any man who would accuse him or whom he could accuse himself to have wronged. Soon thereafter he joined himself to men of his own temper who pretended unto transports and revelations." Residing at Saint Ives, he attended" the Established Church, and was intrusted with the civil business of the parish, but was not on good terms with the clergy. Having completed his twenty-first year, he married Elizabeth, the daughter of Sir James Bouchier, of Essex, by whom he received a consider- able addition to his fortune and regained the affection of his uncle, Sir Oliver, and his relations the Hampdens and Barringtons, whom he had alienated by his thoughtless or undutiful conduct. The next seven years of his life we can learn but little of, except that he became very rigid in his manners and devoted much time to religious duties. His house was ever open to the Xon- conformist ministers, whose consciences did not permit them to comply with the ritual of the Estab- lished Church. He preached in support of their principles and joined them frequently in public prayer. This paved the way for his popularity at Huntington, and soon pro- cured him the honor of representing that borough in the third Parliament of Charles the First. Milton says, " That being now arrived to a mature and ripe age, all which time he spent as a private person, noted for nothing so much as the culture of pure religion and an integrity of life, he was grown rich at home and had enlarged his hopes, relying upon G-od and a great soul in a quiet bosom for any, the most exalted times." In his domestic life he was happy. His affection for his wife and family, being marked and tender, was by them heartily returned. . He was always active when matters of religion were brought before Parliament, and his course at an early day shows the bias which his mind had taken and the ground on which his opposition to Government was thenceforth to be maintained. Sir Philip Warwick describes his appearance in Parliament in 1640, "as untidy in his dress, his stature of a good size, his countenance full and reddish, his voice sharp and untunable, but his eloquence full of fervor." Discontent with Charles's administration of the Government soon lead- ing to overt acts, we find Cromwell, at the age of 4;), on the side of the people, at which period, in 1G42, the play opens. CROMWELL: A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. Oliver Cromwell, Commoner, General, then Protector, Ireton, \ Ingoldsby, I His sons-in-law. Fleetwood, ) DesborouGh, his brother-in-law. £ Hampden, [• His friends. : < Hollis, ) f Oliver and Richard, Cromwell's sons. General Lambert, his friend. Gentlemen of Norfolk, Suffolk, Hertford, Essex Whitlocke, Whally, Lenthal. Bradshaw, Harrison, Martin, Grimshawe, Ludlow. Ashe, Allen. Sir Harry Yane, Colonel Oakey, Sir Arthur Hazelrigg. Mr. Love and Mr. Peet, Rich, Staines, Watson. Major Salloway, Carew, Lisle. Lord Mayor of London. Ambassadors from France and Spain. Colonel Jephson, Ashe, Sir Charles Pack. Attorney-General. Quaker Fox, a great merchant. Speaker. King Charles. \ Reginald Hastings, >■ His friends. and others, ) Lady Cromwell, wife of Cromwell. Lady Elizabeth Cromwell, his daughter. Lady Alice Lambert, wife of General Lambert. Patience, an attendant. Tradesmen, Citizens, and Soldiers. Scene — England, mostly in London — a. d. 1642-1 G5a OEOMWELL. ACT I. SCENE FIRST. A street in London. Citizens enter from opposite sides* FIRST CITIZEN. Which way, my friend ? SECOND CITIZEN. Unto the Commons. What for ? THIRD CITIZEN. SECOND CITIZEN. To seek redress. FIRST CITIZEN. To seek redress for what ? The last taxes drained our purses, robbed us and ours of our homes — why needs our King more moneys ? — we have no wars. SECOND CITIZEN. The Pope, who rules this wife that rules Our King, exacts new tributes. THIRD CITIZEN. Down with the Pope ! if needs must be, The Queen ! CROMWELL. [ACT I. FIRST CITIZEN. And the King too ! THIRD CITIZEN. Nay, nay, we love the King ! he's Stuart blood! Let's to the Commons ! [Exeunt SCENE SECOND. The House of Commons. Pym, rising. Fellow- Commoners of England ! her bulwark And her boast, with love and loyalty to King Charles I rise — if sad my visage, sorrow is at my heart — To state that he would violate all his bonds Demanding further supplies of us. [hollis. And I deny that we should grant Them to him. At the very outset of his reign, More a Papist than a Puritan at heart, Charging that we, his people, sparingly doled out our supplies, He, in defiance of all law, his firs" Parliament dissolved. A second be convoked, but finding that Still more intractable, its speedy dissolution Was its fate; and he, without the show Of legal right, fresh taxes raised, and the chiefs Of the opposition into the cells of felons threw. Is this the meed of patriots? HAMPDEN. My friends, we may not yield to these demands ; The Star-Chamber we have swept away, The High Commission, and the Council of York. Thomas Wentworth, late Earl of Strafford, has expiated SCENE IT.] CROMWELL. 7 His great crimes by axe and block ; Laud is immured in yonder Tower ; The Lord Keeper finds refuge in a foreign land ; And King Charles has bound himself never To adjourn, dissolve, or prorogue this Parliament, Which here doth meet, without its own consent, To serve its God, its country, and its King ! REGINALD HASTINGS [Moi/allSt). Ay, its wronged King! — robbed of age-founcled Hereditary rights ! He loves his country. PYM. Indeed ! then now what mean these discontents In Ireland ? The Rebellion of the Roman Catholics In Ulster has been planned nearer home. Our Queen one of that faith, our King of no faith At all, though Protestant avowed. REGINALD HASTIXGS {Royalist). If Church and King no reverence command, In gentle courtesy leave our fair Queen at peace. Heed ye well, that when the Church shall fall, then falls the State. Oeomwell enters and takes his seat on L. II., nearest foot- lights. ceomwell, aside. Two fierce and eager factions it would seem, And nearly matched. Be the King wise and true, All will be well with him and his tried friends, While we, perforce, must seek our homes in other climes. But he will fail, the people's rights must triumph, And henceforth two great parties in this realm CROMWELL. [ACT I. Shall ever contend for the mastery. PYM. I move that a remonstrance be presented To the King, enumerating all the faults Of his administration, expressing the distrust With which his policy is still regarded By the people, and their inability To endure fresh taxes — but let it be expressed In love and true allegiance. HAMPDEN. I second this. cromwell, aside. My thoughts ! my sentiments ! tho' gemmed in eloquence. The current of events I'll note, and use them As befits me. SPEAKER. The motion ye have heard. All in its favor rise — \All rise except Royalists. 'Tis carried — by eleven votes majority. HOLLIS. His Majesty promises well ; but yestere'en Falkland, Hyde, and Colepepper were invited To become the confidential advisers Of the Crown. PYM. We'll see how he will keep his promises. But lo ! whom have we here ? Enter the Attorney- General and the Sergeant-at-Arms. SPEAKER. What would the Attorney-General of the realm, Of England's Commoners? SCENE II.] CROMWELL. 9 ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Our Liege commands that I do impeach Before the House of Lords — Lord Kimbolton, Pym, Hollis, Hampden, Hazelrig, and Strode, Commoners of England, far high treason. Great commotion.'] Sir ! sir ! [From several voices, Cromwell, rising and advancing . Do I hear aright ! The King would impeach These gentlemen ? ATTORNEY-GENERAL. You do — the Sergeant-at-Arms, In the King's name, demands of the House The persons of these six gentlemen. CROMWELL. By your leave, we will consult On this. You may retire. [Exit Attorney- General. My friends, this is too true. * Here are private lines, just borne to me, Which counsel that you instantly consult Your safety. The King himself approaches With an armed band. Great outcry.'] The King ! the King ! [From several voices. HAMPDEN. We'll but retire till the whirlwind's past, And then prepare for storms — where is the treason now ? CROMWELL. 'Twerc well — retire. [Exeunt six members. Aside.'] Oh, Thou ! to whom, in humble, heart-felt fealty * Prom the Countess of Carlisle, sister to . Northumberland. — Hume. 1* 10 CKOMWELL. [ACT I. I knelt in early youth ; unto whose helping hand I've trusting clung in manhood's stormy hours, Nerve me with lion's strength, that singly I may brave My country's foe, and save her from this tyranny. Turning to Commoners.] Be not dismayed, my friends. He's but a man, Like one of us. Now must we prove unto the wide world For every age — that steadfast, true, God-serving hearts Are never left to fall. Hark ! they do come. King Chakles enters tcith armed attendants, CHARLES. Where are those whom I would impeach ? cromwell, advancing. In safety. Sire. How so ? CHARLES. CROMWELL. God keeps them, Sir. Charles, aside. *We battled in our youth, and he o'ermastered me, Must we now war in onr age till he o'erpowers me ? cromwell, advancing. My Liege and royal kinsman, is this nobly done ? The forest's m march, royalty's best type, Singly pursues his prey, never in troops. CHARLES. Cromwell, I am — *King James paid a visit to Sir Oliver Cromwell at Hinchinbrooke House, in September, 1G04:, taking with him his son Charles, when lie and the future Protector disagreed, and Oliver so little regarded the dignity of his uncle's royal visitant, that he made the roj~al blood flow in copious streams from the Prince's nuse. — " CromwtU and his Times. 1 '' SCENE II.] CROMWELL. 11 CROMWELL. My King, whose surest safeguard Is his people's love, and that he best secures — Else— His office. CHARLES. Cromwell, you are our kinsman ; cromwell (bowing), aside. The Sheriff's deputy would fulfil My Liege, I'm, as you know, But a plain country gentleman, not used To courtly phrases, nor the arts that cloak The thoughts of courtiers. I would counsel You in love, and beg you'd learn of nature, And behold how the majestic monarch Of the mount maintains his proud estate, Spreading afar his roots in o-enial soil. He on his own strength relies for vigor To sustain his outstretched arms. He never seeks From arid rocks sustenance to imbibe, Else would his branches die, his foliage fall ! The source of all your strength, your people's purse, Is well-nigh drained — although their cup of loyalty Still to the very b:im is full. Deem me not rude, But banish this hired troop — 'tis a rough setting, And out of keeping with your royal heart, Whose richest casket is your people's love. CHARLES. I thank you, Cromwell, for this truthfulness, Though verily it grates ; for I have feasted On flattery so long, that frankness 12 CROMWELL. [ACT I. Is a new dish and out of course. I would That you were with me, not against me. CROMWELL. So am I, and would ever be, reigned you yourself, Not food for parasites, who'd sap your strength, Your very life, for self-advancement. CHARLES. I would those gentlemen would wait on us. Counsel this, in love to us, and come with them ; We should together prop up the Stuart House, Sprung from the self-same source— I would consult with you. CROMWELL. Our consultation were a futile act, Old counsellors still about you. CHARLES. But come, though I'll not yield in this. \JExit Charles and attendants. CROMWELL. There goes a noble heart, but so bewitched, And so long trained in course of fell deceit, That even I dare not trust him, lie is So hackneyed in these Romish ways. I'll see my friends and serve them if I can, Save them I'm sure to. do — For this have I resolved t Here has Charles wrecked all hopes, all chances Of success. Commoners of England ! now assert SCENE III.] CROMWELL. 13 Your rights. Compliance to his will ceases To be a virtue. Each to his home In London ; our fortress that, well garrisoned With tried and loving hearts ; urge them with prayer True succor to entreat ; and legions from the Lord Will join our ranks. Proclaim aloud throughout the land Unto the wide, wide world, "That where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is Liberty.'' We are but as one man in this, I believe — - Is it not so ? All exclaim, retiring, But one ! but one ! cromwell, going out. Let's on ! Where are the friends thou hadst, My King, but one short hour ago ? This thy last act has made each man thy foe ! [Exit. SCENE III. Street in London. Ptm, Hampden, cm<7 Hollis, stand on one side ; deputations from various trades pass, exclaiming, " Privileges of Parliament ! Privileges of Parliament !" PYM. It all works well. The Mercers these! And here another comes ! HAMPDEN. The Porters these ! — a God-fearing, honest Class ! Another yet ! 14 CROMWELL. [ACT I. HOLLIS The Apprentices ! bold and reckless dare-devils Are these, but honest as the sun. HAMPDEN. Stand ye apart — the King ! [ They retire one side. The Beggars come The other way — we'll note their salutation As they meet him. King Charles enters with attendants, and they pass on. Deputation of Beggars pass, exclaiming, " Privileges of Parliament !" and one calls, as they 2 )ass ou h To your tents, O Israel !* HAMPDEN. Wormwood to you, my King ! My pity for you drowns your wrongs to me. This is Cromwell's bouse. We must with him consult ; Long have I known him ; he is of all " The man for the times," in spite Of his rough exterior. If he lives, he'll be The foremost man of every age. [Meeunt. SCENE FOURTH. Interior of CrouiwelFs House. Cromwell, alone, strides across the stage. This fire at my heart o'erheats my brain ! Would I could piny the woman, and in tears Weep out my rage — no ! no ! they would but scald * The words employed by the mutinous Israelites when they abandoned Rehoboam, their rash and ill-counselled sovereign. — Hume. — Clarendon. SCEXE IV.] CROMWELL. 15 My furrowed cheeks, and sear with life-long scars. * * * * * To think that men so gentle and so pure, So elevate in nature, that they look On earthly pride and pomp, as shines the sun Upon tins tinselled scene, mere work of men's weak hands. Should be thus hunted down like wolves, While, lamb-like, spite of all their wrongs, They are bleating out their love for him, And urging gentle treatment of their tyrant King. lady cromwell enters. My Lord, my loving Lord ! what moves you thus ? CROMWELL. My dearest wife, thy love ever was the brook Whereat I slaked my thirst and cooled My fevered brow. By nature I was never gentle : Rough and uncouth in form, unhammered iron Both my heart and hand — I am overwrought to-day ; But now thou comest, I shall grow calm and cool, For you can mould me as you will, dear love. LADY CROMWELL, But what is this, my Lord ? CROMWELL. Hast thou not heard, how, mid the hot debate Upon his new demands, — Pym, Hampden, Hollis, and our friends, urging a mild remonstrance To his will and wishes, — first there comes A message from the King, that they should be impeached, And then a secret letter sent to me, Informing that in person he would seek them, Of which I instantly advised. 16 CROMWELL. [ACT I. Scarce had the Attorney left the Commons, when the King, Forgetful of all promises, all pledges, Forgetful of his honor as a man, Forgetful of the sacred office of a king, And all its great attendants, rushed in With a rude band of hired menials, And did demand the persons of these gentlemen ! LADY CROMWELL. You did not yield them up ? CROMWELL. No, but I told him That God kept them, as He ever does the just ; That He would preserve them. LADY CROMWELL. Spake you thus unto the King, my Lord ? CROMWELL. I did ; in what is he more than mortal like us ? LADY CROMWELL. His power ! CROMWELL. He has no power now. He had Until this hour; till now the Commons inclined To him, despite of all their wrongs. But this last act awoke the slumbering fires At their hearts ; the ebullitions of their rage Burst forth as the long smothered volcano's flames, And swallowed all things up. The streets of London Are with hot lava filled ; none but spirits kindred To them may safely sojourn there. Enter Pym, Hampden, and Hollis. Gentlemen, you're welcome, very welcome ! Here SCENE IT.] CROMWELL. 17 For a time you're safe ! [Shouts heard.] What means this outcry And this violence ? PTM. Our wrongs have taken voice : All London is aroused. HAMPDEN. And we must seek How best to quell this turbulence. CROMWELL. True, true ! It were not well that it should spend itself; We yet may need some little fire to light Us on our way. Hampden, we have too tamely borne Our wrongs, more like weak children, 'neath the brutal rule Of some tyrant guardian, than the people's friends, Intrusted with the care of their dearest rights. Strike not these shouts with leaden weight upon your hearts, Upbraiding as they fall ? HOLLIS. They do ; and we must act For them, if Charles dissolves not our Parliament. cromwell, much excited. Dissolve this Parliament ! He shall tear This form limb from limb. Till that the weak pulsation of this heart Shall be sole sign that ever it was mortal, Ere he shall dare do that ! We have been too tame ! * ♦ # * * * I have advised that Parliament seize the town of Hull, 18 CROMWELL. [ACT Where there is now a rnaorazine of arms ; • ? That Goring, at Portsmouth, be required To obey no commands but theirs ; And instant arming of the Londoners Take place. That Essex be made General Of Parliament — but here is Ireton! Iretois" enters.] What news, my son ? IRETON. The people all enraged, the King has gone To York, whither the nobility, in crowds, Do follow him. CROMWELL. Nobility ! The tinselled nobles follow him. He Is their only hope. I would he had them all ; Their touch but taints ; The true nobility are ours ! What more ? t IRETON. Essex is made General of the Parliamentary forces, And news is just received that Charles has raised His standard at Nottingham. CROMWELL. 'Tis well ! England is born again ! After a slumber of six hundred years,* The Anglo-Saxon shall awake to life ! Where was thy guardian angel, treacherous King,f When thou compelled st that small b;md Of peaceful spirits who had embarked For the new world to disembark, and, toiling, here, Drag out a mean existence, when plenty, Peace, virtue, Eeligion, there were free, As God first made them unto all mankind ? Since thou wouldst have me great, thou must not murmur * A'Becket/s murder. f 1G34. SCENE IV.] CROMWELL. 19 That thou madest me so. Though I may never tread New England's virgin soil — bear through her wondrous wilds The banner of the Lord — teach the Red Man That his Great Spirit is ours — that we are but one — I'll sow such seeds that ages yet unborn, Throughout the world, shall bless the day Cromwell from peaceful intents was torn, And forced to be a Man. But much there is to do ; King Charles's army will be in bright plumage decked ; Rupert is a master-spirit in the charge, — He has trained troops, while we have, at best, A rabble crew, will never stand the onset Of the foe! Gentlemen, do you each to your Several homes. Hollis, in London, enroll The stoutest artisans of our faith. Pym, there are many kindred spirits will follow You where fiercest is the fight ; drill them Into strict obedience, for a steady front Is what we most shall need. Hampden, my friend, At your own home there are at least a thousand True and steadfast hearts ; hasten you thither, And prepare them all, and let each and every man Account himself the Lord's. Ireton will to his friends, And raise a troop of horse; while I'll to Ely, And arouse all mine. * * * Pardon me, gentlemen, In counselling thus the choicest spirits Of the land, — myself an humble citizen, Though servitor of God, — I do presume too much. HAMPDEN. We came not, Cromwell, for honeyed words, 20 CROMWELL. [ACT I. But counsel, and you counsel give, — such counsel As we sought. The whirlwind bows all trees Of weaker growth ; old England's oak still holds His head erect, an emblem for us all. Be thou that oak ! CROMWELL. Then since you've sought from me, let us, Each and all, distrustful of his single strength, Seek from our God His guidance and support ; And with a pledge, that, as we shall strive But for our England's honor and supremacy, So when her peoples rights are well secured, We'll lay aside our arms. [Exeunt Pym, Hampden, and Hollis. Enter, on opposite side, his daughter Elizabeth, son Oliver, and Lady Lambert. My own fair daughter and my gallant son ; And thou ! most lovely Lady Lambert, dost thou brave This scene, venturing through London's waves tem- pestuous, To see how fiercely they are chafing here? [Striking his breast. My children dear, ever does kind Heaven send Its comforts with its cares. LADY LAMBERT. My husband absent, It were biit fitting that his glory's partner Should learn what griefs assail our cause, That she might timely forewarn him in words ^ Of gentlest love, not let them rudely burst Upon his ear, too oft assailed already ; Emboldened by these thoughts, your most fair daughter, Venus-like, ushered me to the light of day, Thou England's Sun! SCEXE IV.] CROMWELL. 21 CROMWELL. Grace in your speech, no less Than in your form ! — henceforth shall Cromwell E'er in heaviest hours welcome you, Dearest lady, amidst these his best counsellors (As such, my wife and children ever proudly owned). My son, it seems the will and pleasure Of the Lord that I, who his servitor So long have been, should take an active, It may be, foremost part with my long well-tried friends In England's cause. OLIVER. Father, the King ! CROMWELL. Reigns, son, but for himself. He doth forget the trust God hath reposed in him, Thus choosing him His Vicegerent. Go you with Ireton, Your brother now— a father in my absence he will be To you. Ireton ! my eldest son, — the hope and love Of manhood's earliest hours, the pride of present years, And promise of my age, — I do intrust to you ; Make him a soldier, but a soldier in the Lord ; A warrior like yourself, I ask no more ; Now take him with you, and enroll your horse. IRETOX. Father, it shall be so. OLIVER. Come, Ireton, I am eager For the fight ; I'll not disgrace my lineage Or my name. CROMWELL. Well said, my son, may Heaven be with you. 22 CROMWELL. [ACT I. IRETON. Hark ! " Cromwell" fills the air as well as gilds the walls ; All London's streets proclaim the people's will, And call to arms. [Exeunt Ireton and young Oliver. CROMWELL. Not theirs, but God's ! His high behest I must, I will obey. [Exit Cromwell. LADY ELIZABETH. dearest Lady ! what a rived heart is mine ; My duty weighed against my love. I may not pray For either cause. LADY LAMBERT. Cheer thee, dear girl ! Your father Is no foe unto the King, but unto his dishonor. LADY ELIZABETH. Think you that he will hearken to our love ? LADY LAMBERT. You are as nobly born as this Young Charles, But custom sanctions not an honorable love Between the prince and subject. LADY ELIZABETH. Sweet friend, That is the worm that gnaws ! No other Ever could be mine, — none other would Charles have ; He loves me purely, worships me as though 1 were a saint from Heaven. LADY LAMBERT. I pray thee, think no more of it, Insatiate — it is man's way — but satisfied — beware ! He is by birth a King ! They deem all creatures Made but for their pleasure and their will — ay, SCENE IV.] CROMWELL. 23 Even earth's fairest, such as thou, sweet girl. Beware ! beware ! [Exeunt. SCENE FIFTH. A Large Tent. — An Encampment. — Night — Table, Books, and Taper. CROMWELL, Is this a dream, or dread reality ? Have those strange thoughts I dwelt on in my youth Thus taken form and shape ? or have I on visions So long feasted that my mind, o'erwrought, wanders Mid quicksands will my hopes ingulf? 'Tis night ; no sound, save the trusty sentinel's tread, Who keeps his watch, humming some holy strain, And praying God to guard his earthly hopes As he shall guard His cause. It is no dream. A nation's wrongs have forced a nation's heart To burst the cerements of kingly love, And make a bold assertion of their lights ; Rights born of Heaven, conferred by God ; Not to be lightly or unvalued worn. Kneeling .] His hand I see in this — to whom I kneel In humble supplication for His aid, His counsel, and His care. A distant tread — A challenge — they have passed ; It is those valued friends I summoned here. 1 summoned here! — Why would they make me first ? Essex and Fairfax are of nobler rank, Though not more nobly born. For am not I A kinsman of the King ? — might have been King myself! might have been king myself? I see no weird women on this heath : 24 CROMWELL. [ACT I. There are no spirits in the air, I know, To whisper this to me ! It is no whisper, Though it sounds as though 'twere thunder-born, And drowns my every thought but this : That I might have been king ! And so I might, As well as he who now doth wear the diadem : From Alexander, Lord High Steward of Scotland,* Both are sprung — Charles traces back through a long line of kings, His ancestor being the elder son ; while I Am scion of that noble house, descended Through my sainted mother, eleventh in succession From that Lord's third son, while Charles is but the twelfth From his eldest born. There glares the curse of primogeniture ! The times have changed, and so must human courses. I will be king — king in the service of the King of kings, And reign pre-eminent o'er the hearts of men. [Sinter several gentlemen escorted by the sentinel^] My friends. GEXTLEMAN. Cromwell, your messenger urged All haste, or we had not intruded on the night With the day's business. CROMWELL. You're very welcome, And I thank you heartily. So long unused To every public charge, — my little knowledge Being but from books, — this glittering harness But uneasily fits, and, like an untutored steed, I must be trained to it. But now I learn That Lord Capel advances upon Cambridge * Xoble. SCENE V.] CROMWELL. 25 With both horse and foot ; that many Of the old nobility are hastening up in arms. Aside.~\ I'll sound these gentlemen ! — "We must consider seriously, my friends, how acceptable " A service to the King ours would be, " To keep five whole counties in his obedience." GENTLEMAN. Is there then hope of him ? CROMWELL. There is always hope with life. Bad counsellors Are his curse. We must be a sheet-anchor To the State ; fast holding amid the gales That fiercely assail her now ; but see What honors, what rewards, the storm o'erpast, We then may justly claim for such true loyalty. " What troops are there in Essex now, who have " The honor and happiness of the King at heart ?" GENTLEMAN OF ESSEX. Three thousand ; two of stalwart hearts on foot, One thousand the best mounted in the land. CROMWELL. I know your stables are most choicely filled ; Your riders are ? GENTLEMAN OF SUSSEX. A God-fearing, prayerful, preachful set — CROMW r ELL. In our cause chief elements of success. And yours of Suffolk ? GENTLEMAN OF SUFFOLK. Two thousand — all well-armed, brave artisans. 2 26 CROMWELL. [ACT CROMWELL. A brawny race — I've met with them. And yours Of Hertford ? GENTLEMAN OF HERTFORD. Three thousand and three hundred When all told — with most delicious voices And great prayers. cromwell, smiling. Less music shall we need, then. 'Tis very well — for 'tis expensive, and all we save We gain. And how of Norfolk ? GENTLEMAN OF NORFOLK. Jockeys in Norfolk, — Every man's a horse. Some fifteen hundred Chanting cherubs, with good steeds, And fifteen hundred well mounted as at their birth. CROMWELL. You're pleasant, sir ! GENTLEMAN OF NORFOLK. It is but pleasure that I've entered on- A game of chance — 'tis true, a boisterous game. The winner — who can tell ? cromwell, aside. 'Tis a shrewd fellow — what does he mean ? Ironically.] Gentlemen, you deserve Much love and many honors from your King. Meet me here with your best speed, six days From this, with all the forces you can raise. Bring all your saints from Hertford, and Norfolk's Chanting cherubs ! [Exeunt Gentlemen. A saintly crew — I'll use them. SCET^E T.] CROMWELL. 27 Sentinel enters and hands paper s^\ What now ? from London ! from Hampden, too ? Heads.~\ " Spare nor goad nor spur, but speed to London ; Now the Commons sit in consultation Upon proposals made by the Lords in favor Of a peace. Haste, or our cause is lost " Lost ! Lost ! no, no ! thou noble spirit, tried friend, And truest gentleman that England boasts. No cause is lost, with Hampden on its side. God watches with the virtuous — they ne'er fail ; Though they may fall, 'tis but as sets the sun to-day To rise the brighter on to-morrow's morn. True virtue never fails My horse — my fleetest horse ! My Ironsides, an' you will General Lambert enter s.~\ Remain you in command, My trusty friend, for I must post to London. Read this — it is for thee alone ; observe The strictest discipline — religious exercises Thrice a day ; with purest sentiments inspire The men ; let them have no time for idle thoughts Or ribald jests. And this, the " Soldier's Bible,"* give to each, Where, from the Holy Scriptures, — the charters Of the liberties or ma^klnd, — selections Most appropriate may be found ; Thus may each daily say or sing The praises of his God. The morn now breaks, And I must speed away on matters of great moment * Cromwell had appropriate quotations made from the Holy Scriptures, printed upon a sheet folded into sixteen pages, a copy of which was given to every soldier under his command. 28 CROMWELL. [ACT II. To our cause — [Distant Reveille heard. " What is to do ? I know not what I would have, Though I know what I would not have." GENERAL LAMBERT. You have not rested now for some three nights ; Nature will be outworn — CROMWELL. Good friend, my country calls ; I may not rest for many a night — Aside.] It may be never more. Farewell ! God speed you all. Lambert walks back towards the tent. Cromwell exits. Curtain falls slowly. End of Act I. SCENE I.] CROMWELL. 29 ACT II. SCENE FIRST. Room in Cromwell's House. Lady Cromwell, Lady Alice Lambert, and Lady Elizabeth Cromwell, enter, LADY CROMWELL. Hark, how the shouts of a maddened populace Come like the surges of a raging sea, Lashe7E 17.] CROMWELL. 43 IRETOX. Concealed in a saddle — they will be sent To a certain tavern on the coast near this, And thence to France. CROMWELL. We will dispatch some trusty friends To seize them — yet stay, we'll be those friends Ourselves. Come, you are ever ready For the scene of danger. We'll seize this saddle Ourselves. It may not prove an easy one To Charles. We'll borrow some troopers' cloaks And morions. Come, away! [Exeunt. SCENE FOURTH. A Camp. — Parliamentary Officers advance. — General's tent in front. FIRST OFFICER. So a deputation has been sent to Scotland To negotiate a treaty. Our lamb-like Parliament Are sick of war, ere they have heard its sound. Our troops too, all unpaid, as well as we — Where is our General Cromwell ? He is the man For times like these ! Essex and Fairfax Are too tamely given. SECOXD OFFICER. Too true, alas ! — for now the battle Of Naseby is fought, and Colonel Monk has joined Our cause — but here comes Ireton, and Cromwell too. Iretox and Cromwell enter.] 44 CROMWELL, [act II. Cromwell, with a letter. Weak and perfidious tyrant ! Here has he sealed His own destruction. Forsooth he is courted Alike by both factions, but rather thinks To close with the Presbyterians. His French Madam, Her whom they ycleped our Queen, reproaches Him with making too large concessions To those villains ; — and here he writes : iC But, dear heart, rest thou assured That I shall in due time know what to do With these rogues, who, instead of a silken leash, Shall befitted with a hempen cord." Look to it, Charles, thy head is not so firm On thy shoulders as it was an hour since. IRETOX. It may be he thus speaks to please his dame. CROMWELL. And so would hang us some fair dny, By way of gallantry to his spouse ! There is no longer a King in England! Her monarchy died within the hour, Though it be aged sixteen hundred years. Harrison, return at once to camp ! Arouse Our troops ! rekindle the stifled flames Into a blaze ! — restore the confidence Of the army in its leaders ; assure them We have abandoned all intention In favor of this King. Ireton, what said SCEXE IV.] CROMWELL. 45 The Parliament to the conditions I would propose Unto the King ? IEETO^". They did address them to him, And he returned an obstinate refusal. CROMWELL. What then ? Speak quickly ! IRETOX. The vote of non-addresses was passed. CROMWELL. Then is Charles in fact, though not in words, Dethroned ! We will keep down by military awe The majority in Parliament. IRETON. But blow after blow on all sides falls upon us ! The Scots invade ! The fleets in the Thames Have hoisted the royal colors ; risings In Norfolk, Suffolk, Essex, Kent, and Wales ; Divisions among ourselves — Fairfax, Governed either by his wife or by his rigid Presbyterian principles, refused to lead Against the Scots. May it not be suspected That these movements are contemplated With secret complacency by a majority Of the Lords and Commons ? CROMWELL. What of that ? He is not the only general in the land — We'll find another. The Master Genius Of the times shall rise, and against all 46 CROMWELL. [ACT IT. Alone suffice ; — who greater, purer, than our Hampden ? Hasten you unto Fairfax ; govern him ; See that he suppress the insurrection In the South. In Wales I will subdue the revolt ; And while they think me there, I will to Scotland. I'll drive them to their hills — these Highland Chiefs. Haste ye to the South ! keep up the drooping spirits Of our troops. IEETO^. It shall be done. Fare you well. Giving letter.] But ha ! I did forget — I found this letter In my tent — it is addressed unto the troops. CROMWELL. Ha ! Ha-a-aa ! What devil's work is this ? Ho, there ! Soldier enters.'] Are my brave fellows prepared for the review ? We soon shall meet the foe. The victory must be ours. SOLDIER. They but await their General. CROMWELL. I will attend. [Exeunt Cromwell and others through his tent. SCEIS T E FIFTH. Scene changes to troops drawn up in line prepared for the Review — Let this be done by drawing aside the General's Tent. Cromwell advances with Officers — a letter in his hand — and says : Ha ! My brave soldiers in the Lord — What ! Discontent ? What ! Fears ? Whose lines SCENE 7.J CROMWELL. «*7 Are these would stir you to revolt ? To revolt Against whom ? Against yourselves — for 'tis yourselves Who would fall, if you fail. Has not " The Almighty set his Canon against Self-slaughter ?" 'Tis this it bids you do — A suicidal act — No ! no ! it cannot be — The bare thought of such a dreadful deed Strikes terror in your hearts, and tears, I see — Tears of contrition, the only tears The Independent soldier ever sheds, — Steal mournfully down your cheeks. I can no more — You never will, I know, desert your Lord ! Desert your wives — your babes — your homes ! Desert your General and this holy cause ! TROOPS. Never ! never ! never ! Rear high our standard — lead us to the fight ! cromwell, unfurling a flag. The victory is won ! — " The Lord of Hosts is with us ! The God of Jacob is our refuge." — On, Ironsides, on ! TABLEAU. Curtain Falls. 48 CROMWELL. ACT IIL SCENE FIEST. Streets of London— Whitehall. A crowd of Citizens. FIRST CITIZEN. The King ! the King ! SECOND CITIZEN. What king ? THIRD CITIZEN. Why our King, King Charles, Escorted now from Hurst to Windsor By our Colonel Harrison. FOURTH CITIZEN. What, have ve earthed the fox at last, Despite of all his cunning ? "He who publicly recognized* The houses at Westminster as a legal Parliament, And at the same time made a private minute In Council declaring the recognition null. FIFTH CITIZEN. Ay, and publicly disclaimed all thought Of calling in foreign aid against his people ; At the same time privately soliciting it From France, Denmark, and Lorraine. SIXTH CITIZEN. He denied that he employed Papists, at the same time Privately sent to his generals, directions to employ * Macaulav SCENE I.] CROMWELL. 49 Every Papist that would serve ; publicly Took the Sacrament at Oxford, as a pledge That he never would even connive at Popery ; Privately assured his Popish wife that he intended To tolerate it in England, and authorized Lord Glamorgan to promise that it should Be established in Ireland- — and then attempted To clear himself at his agent's expense, Who received, in the royal handwriting, Reprimands, intended to be read by others, And eulogies, to be seen but by himself. Why, even his most devoted friends complain Among themselves, with bitter grief and shame, Of his crooked politics. His defeats, they say, Give them less pain than his intrigues." SEVENTH CITIZEN. A prisoner, he will seek to cajole And undermine our Cromwell — who now returns Triumphant from the North. SIXTH CITIZEN. Let the poor king Pass privately to Windsor — admiring crowds Will yet attend his way, SEVENTH CITIZEN. Ay, ay, his way to heaven or — SEVERAL CITIZENS. All hail to Cromwell ! — Cromwell comes — Cromwell, Our hope, our trust. Cromwell enters, with Soldiers and great state.] Thanks — thai iks, My friends and fellow-soldiers in the Lord; 3 50 CROMWELL. [ACT III. The fight is fought, the victory is ours. Praise and thanks to Him, the God of battles, Who smiled upon our arms ; not unto me — His humble instrument. Give thanks, give thanks ! TROOPS AXD CITIZENS. Amen ! Amen ! Amen ! IRETON. Onward, brave troops. [Soldiers and Citizens exewit. To Cromwell.] — General, the King has gone to Windsor. CROMWELL. Is sent, you mean-— [Aside.] — and thexce ! ! To Iretox.] — Bid Whitelock, Widdington, Lenthal, and Dean Unto a private conference. IRETON. Where ? CROMWELL. Where ? Where but here, at Whitehall ? [Exit Ireton*. Charles at Windsor ! Cromwell at Whitehall ! Charles king in title, but in power how fallen ! And I, Oliver Cromwell, master of this realm. It is a vain and idle thing in me To strive to keep my thoughts among the herd, When all will have me great. It has been whispered That the King must die ; some men of blood, Warriors austere, who've ruled the nation Now for many months, meditate a fearful vengeance On the captive Kmg.* Where was engendered * U'.it or/ of InJepency. Part II. SCEXE II.] CROMWELL. 51 This most horrid thought ? Where could it be But in his most unrighteous acts, who, wrong On wrong upon his people heaping, has reared A power crushes beneath its might all reverence And all love. I will not harp on this, Nor ever will consent to shed that royal blood — A deed inexpiable, and which will move The grief and horror of the world. Some call Me hypocrite ; I am no fool. Charles the First Dead — vengeance all wreaked — his faults all flown With him, Charles the Second— next of the royal line — Will rise in youth and innocence, and veiling All his fathers faults, that sainted blood will cry Aloud to Heaven for vengeance on his judges. I ne'er will sanction this, have I but power To save him.* \E:dt Cromwell. SCENE SECOND. Scene changes to Room in Whitehall. — A Royal Bed. — "WhitelocKj Widdington, Lexthal, and Deax, writing at a table. Cromwell e?iters. ALL. General, you are welcome once more to London. CROMWELL. Thanks, my friends, thanks. Would that myself Were the less kindly greeted, and my poor King Had but his measure of his people's love. WHITELOCK. General, that thought was idly born, though born In reverence ; nothing will now suffice But— * Heath. 52 CROMWELL. [ACT III. Cromwell, throwing himself upon the royal bed. Nay, name it not ; there ever are expedients left, Asked in sincerity in a virtuous cause, Heaven-sent. I would devise some plan For the return of the secluded members To their duty in Parliament. An answer Of the Lower House to the messages of the army, Counselling gentleness, and a Proclamation Drawn, to be issued by the Lords and Commons For the settlement of the nation. I pray you Have this speedily done. \Exeunt. cromwell, alone. What am I now to do if this should fail ? I would not that his royal head should fall; And yet it may not reign. The people all are mine ; The soldiers too ; but only mine while I am Charles's foe. Thus far has Heaven smiled Upon the Independents' cause — a cause By their forbearance sacred made ; but let That royal blood be spilt, each drop that falls Will cleanse out an offence. My Ironsides name must e'er untarnished be ; In our rare camp, no drunkenness or gambling e'er is seen ; No rights of peaceful citizens disturbed, And woman's honor is most sacred held. Hampden and Pym are in their graves — Alas for England, and for me ! — Hampden fell [genets, On Chalgrave field, and Pym now sleeps with the Planta- While Buckingham, Strafford, Laud, lie in their bloody graves. ireton enters. General, a missive — {Handing a letter. SCENE fl.] CROMWELL. 53 CROMWELL. Nay, a letter. IRETON. 'Tis from the Queen. CROMWELL. The Queen ! what Queen ? This curse of queens Has brought his royal head unto the block ! Ireton, my son, I see it all. It shows as black as yonder stormy cloud, And laden with Heaven's wrathfulness. They shall not kill my King. He yet shall live. What would this Queen ? BRETON. A pass to return to England. CROMWELL. Nay, nay, that would be fatal. Her Popish name Would whet the axe. Her presence give the blow. IRETON. The States of Holland, too, have interposed. CROMWELL. Unwisely done ; they have interposed ere now As England's foes — this is too fresh in memories Of the people and the troops. IRETON. Colonel John Cromwell, Commissioned by the Prince of Wales, Would wait on you. CROMWELL. Go tell him I may not see him. Tell him I know his errand. He knows 54 cromwell. [act hi. I would have saved my King — would he have saved Himself — will save him if I may. \Ireton exits. I see it all; there is but one man left in England, The world asserts it ; that man is — who ? One Oliver Cromwell, late a plain country gentleman. What trick would Fortune play me ? Fortune, 1 The heathen's boast. In this enlightened age, The Scriptures teach, man has no fortune But a destiny; clothed with due powers, Guided by an almighty hand, so long As Virtue's plain ways and walks, by Conscience Sentinelled, are trod, no foes can come, And his great charge fulfilled ; God's appointed end Is reached. If in his trust he faife, he falls Forever ; if he is true, he lives till the doom Of time. There is a leaden weight about my heart ; A pall enshrouds my thoughts. ' May Heaven give me strength in this dread hour. bradshaw enters. General, there is no treating with this Charles. He will be King, or nothing. Harrison and Grimshawe enter.] HARRISON. That shall he be Before to-morrow's sun. cromwell, rising and advancing. Nay, nay, my masters ! Such unseemly haste betokens malice, not justice. Since 'tis your will his royal head must bow To dust, remember he has been our King. Let this our deed, at which the world shall stand SCEME II.] CROMWELL. 55 Amazed, at least the semblance of justice wear. Deposed, dethroned, tried in the face of all the world, For wrongs against his people and his realm, He as a King- should die, — a warning For all after times. Remember, He whose servitors We are, was by the accursed unbelievers Dragged unto His ignominious and most bitter death ; Remember how Xature yawned ; how the sun Shrunk from earth, in horror at the sight ; And the whole world convulsed. Remember, too, How, God Himself, He rose ; how His blessed name Drowns every sound where'er 'tis heard, when Every head in reverence bows, and every knee is bent; How they, in theirs, are wretched wanderers through the wide, wide world, — No land, no home, not even one resting-place ! I counsel, that you ponder well on this, Lest that, too late, you learn your fatal error. HARRISON. General, are you against us ? The troops — CROMWELL. Are MINE ! BRADSHAW. General, sign here our sentence — CROMWELL. Our sentence! — nay, nay ! — not mine, not mine! Oh ! I would stay your suicidal hands ; You know not what you do ! [Exit Cromwell. BRADSHAW. Our General not with us ? Have we raised A power we may not curb ? 56 CROMWELL. [ACT III. HARRISON. Fll hasten, and stir up The troops ; if they demand it, he will yield. His heart is with us, 'tis his hand that fails. GRIMSHAWE. It never failed till now. He would not have Us act so unadvisedly. 'Tis for ourselves, Not Charles, he counsels this. Let hut the people And the troops require, and he will sign the sentence. BRADSHAW. Then each unto his several friends; insist Upon our sentence being passed, and executed Without delay. [Exeunt. SCENE THIRD. Cromwell's Room. cromwell, alone. Is it come to this ? that I, who ever sought But paths of peace and righteous ways, must steep My soul in blood, or lose my life ? There's nothing left But this. My life ! and what is life, that I should weigh it Against eternal death — deepest damnation — For this murder foul — for murder sure it is ! Who comes? — [Ireton enters.~\ — Ireton, my son, what means this haste ? IRETOjS". The troops are murmuring that you stay their will ; The populace cry out, that they will have his blood. CROMWELL. So have they cried before from the oldest time, SCENE III.] CROMWELL. 57 Yet rent the air (their act scarce o'er) with waitings. Ireton, my son — Charles the First dead, Charles the Second Lives, most potent of the twain. Charles the First Living (imprisoned, an' you will), there is no Charles the Second, And the Commons are rulers of the realm ! IRETON. The Commons now are rulers of this realm — Cromwell their General — soon their King. [Cromwell starts at this. For we, your troops, are masters of the land. cromwell, looking earnestly, fixedly, and sternly at * Ire- ton, goes tip to him. There have been spectres, witches, weird women, In the olden times, so teach the nursery dames ; Which of all these art thou ? — wouldst drag my soul To ruin, offering thus the diadem For a blood-stained hand ? Canst thou be Ireton ? — My son ? Father to those darling babes Caressing, fondling, call me grandsire ? My daughter's husband? — art a man ? Put out Thine hand, — 'tis flesh and blood ! Let me but gaze Upon that face, — those locks ; — they live, as I have seen Them in the battle fierce, bristling with fury. Those eyes, — so cold, so china-like, — are thine. There are no smiles. [Half aside.] I never saw a smile upon his face. This hand — this cold and clammy hand — * * * How didst thou win my daughter's love? Xay, nay, Hast thou not entwined thyself about my heart ? Thy serpent beauties sure are basalisks ! * * * * Ireton, "the man of blood." — Clarendon. 58 CROMWELL. [ACT III. *The vision, Ireton, said not I should be King, But " greatest man of England." IRETON. How such, but King ? — See, here is Grimshawe. grimshawe, entering. General, the people All, with one accord, demand his death. CROMWELL. Grimshawe, the troops are there to preserve The law, which knows no populace And no partisans. harrison, entering. General, the troops are with the tradesmen siding, And all demand his death. Here is the warrant, wanting but your signature. CROMWELL. Is it come to this ? — leave it, pray leave it ! Leave me all, awhile. \Exeunt all, save Ireton, icho goes to one side. Richard Cromwell, enters.] Ha ! what wouklst thou, son ? Com'st thou to urge This bloody act ? Why am I thus encircled by fierce hearts ? RICHARD CROMWELL. Father, you are o'erwrought — you mistake my purpose. CROMWELL. Nay, nay ! you, like the rest, would rather be great Than good. I tell you, Virtue's is the only crown That's worth the wearing. * Clarendon. SCENE III.] CROMWELL. 59 RICHARD. So have I learned, From the first lesson that I conned with you Till this dark hour of melancholy tasks. Father, upon my knee I do beseech you, sign not that ! I'd rather toil from sun to sun in the far Western wilds, — the turf my couch, the sky my canopy,— Than have this dear hand stained by an unworthy act, Much less give warrant for our monarch's death. cromwell, embracing Mm. Richard, my son — thou art my son — indeed Thou art ; I never prized you at one-half Tour worth. [Seeing Ireton.] Ireton, he reads a lesson Unto you, and them — those bloody men. IRETON. He knows not the world. He is too young — The age of lovers, when, with mincing steps, They track fair maids, with silvery tongues ; This their high ambition. Here comes your fairest daughter. CROMWELL. Go ye, and learn the people's and the soldiers' wills ; I would be alone with her. [Iretox and Richard exeunt. It may be she would unfold the delicate leaves Of her young heart unto her father's love, As doth the tender flower to the ever-cheering sun. Elizabeth enters.] My dearest child ! LADY ELIZABETH. Father, your looks are sad, your eye is heavy, 60 CROMWELL. [ACT III. And on your brow the clouds of care, not anger ! Half aside.] I augur well from this. CROMWELL. Why so ! what wouldst thou ask ? LADY ELIZABETH. A life ! CROMWELL. A life ! Whose is it that I hold the tenure of? Sure I am grown great, when life is in my gift — But I ne'er sought this power. LADY ELIZABETH. My King's. CROMWELL. Alas ! it is not mine to give or keep. All that I may do I have done ; I am no longer Master of myself, but slave to thousands. Hark to the rabble's cry! — a cry for blood ; Hark to the murmurs of my troops ! Most melancholy sounds that ever fall Upon a leader's ear. LADY ELIZABETH. Better hear this Than Conscience's upbraiding voice should break The silence of the midnight air, bearing The shrieks of mothers, daughters, children grown, Ay, infants, too, ever to your restless couch. CROMWELL. Stay ! stay ! No more — no more ! LADY ELIZABETH. One thing, and I have done : You ever said, you loved me best of all. SCENE III.] CEOMWEIL. 61 I have loved you as never other loved ; And I would make you partner in my young heart's hopes, Which you may turn to joy or bitterness Which shall il be ? It is your daughter, Father, asks you this. One word, and life and love, Or misery till death ! CROMWELL. Nay, nay ! how so ? Speak, speak ! LADY ELIZABETH. I love our Liege's son, and he loves me ; His father saved — and thou canst do it — Your daughter his son's bride — my father lives In honor and in glory ; the glory Of a great, a virtuous dee 1 ! Spurn this base rule ; Tis but a mob's, who'll turn against you, Gratified or no. CROMWELL. But Charles has sought my life — would seek it again — And with my life my country's liberties. Great Brutus slew his best friend for Rome ; Should Cromwell do less for England, thou noble girl ? LADY ELIZABETH. Ay, father, this is true ; but, Caesar slain, Was not the curse of blood upon their heads, And early, ignominious deaths their lot ? 'Twere best to ponder on it. Oh, now I see You're moved ! Give me that hideous paper T Whose words gleam out like peace-pursuing nends. CROMWELL. Nay, touch it not! If Charles and England 62 CROMWELL. [ACT III. Both can live, he shall ; if one must die, His was the smallest evil of the two. The times, my child, are changed — England is new-born. The spirit of the far Western clime new nature Has infused into us all. We must move on, Untrammelled by old customs, which do bind The hands, as Popery binds the soul. The Priest has fallen ! The Spirit of the Lord Is in the land ; and where He is, there is Liberty. Daughter, I would that I might grant thy prayer ; This Charles is e'en a noble boy ; if I may save His father, child, I will. First England — then ourselves. But hark ! what notes are these ? — a funeral dirge — What other of the heroes of the age has fallen? Ireton enter s^\ To Elizabeth] — Daughter, pray retire. [Elizabeth exits. Speak, Ireton, speak! what means your grief? ireton. Cromwell, my father ! you are a soldier, And a Christian, too. Rally around you All your strength, for you have need of it. The bolt has fallen on your house. CROMWELL. My house ? my house ? My son ! my son ! Where is my Oliver ? Harbison, Grimshawe, and others enter, escorting a bier. What noble form is this? My child's ! [Falls on it. Almighty God, have mercy on me now. My boy ! my boy ! speak, speak ! — no voice to answer Mine, that ne'er was heard in vain. SCEXE III.] CROMWELL. 63 IJushed is the sweetest music I e'er heard ; Fallen the noblest form I e'er beheld. HARRISON. General — CROMWELL. Can ye not spare me but a little while, My masters ? Surely, the State's service Gives me time to weep my first-born, And most fondly loved. How happened this, And where? HARRISON. Hastening to London with a small force, Sir John Elliott, with a troop of the late King's Horse, Assailed him. A Cromwell living, he a Cromwell Died — most bravely fighting to the last. Upon the news being brought, I hastened With full force, and found my boy — For he was mine, as yours — all England's — - For all loved him — honored him. His murderer Is ours — is to die ere set of sun. His purpose Was to hold your Oliver a hostage for the King. The King suggested this ; so say these lines. [Showing Cromwell the papers. CROMWELL. In Charles's hand ! Give me the warrant; Blood Avill have blood. He who slew the son Can have no mercy at the father's hand. [Signs the Warrant; then kneels by the bier. My son ! my son ! TABLEAU. Curtain Falls. End of Act III. 64 CROMWELL. [ACT IV. ACT IV. SCENE FIRST. The House of Commons. — The Statue of Charles thrown down, and on its pedestal written, ' ; The Tyrant, the last of the Kings, is gone."— In session. Bradshaw and Grimshawe advance. BRADSHAW. So amazement sits upon the land, and discontent Broods everywhere. GRIMSHAWE. ' 'Twas thus that Cromwell, Who now is away in Ireland in our service, Told us it would be, and charged upon us Moderation. BRADSHAW. He signed the warrant for King Charles's death. GRIMSHAWE. Who had not done the same, like circumstanced ? Open and secret threats — letters anonymous — his son thus sacrificed. BRADSHAW. He who foresaw the storm, should best know How to still it. A resolution has passed the Commons, That as the Lords seceded during the trial Of their King, so henceforth we shall make Uo more addresses to them, nor receive Aught from them; that, as the existence Of the Upper House is not only useless, SCENE I.] CROMWELL. 65 But dangerous, it ought forthwith to be abolished. I also move the extinction of monarchical Government in England, and declare it High treason to proclaim, or any otherwise Acknowledge Charles Stuart, commonly called Prince of Wales. Let all in favor now in silence rise. They all rise, uncovered.} BPvADSHAW. The Lord doth smile upon our acts. Amen. ALL. Amen. BKADSHAW. Hereto, then, I affix our great seal, whereon Is inscribe 1 — " On the first year of freedom, By God's blessing restored, 1648." Let now a Council of State be formed, To consist of forty-one members, of whom I do propose that Cromwell, Fairfax, St. John, And the younger Yane shall be ; upon them Shall devolve all the duties which formerly Attached to the Crown and its ministers In the two Houses. GRIMSHAWE. I would add you, friend Bradshaw, To the same, and now do put it to the vote. SPEAKER. All in its favor rise. V^ IV V r? - se * Our Government is formed, and we adjourn. [Exeunt. 66 CROMWELL. [ACT IV. SCENE SECOND. Whitehall. Lady Cromwell, Lady Alice Lambert, Lady Elizabeth Cromwell, lady alice. Dear Lady Cromwell, hast thou no news from Ireland ? Some three months have already passed ; No tidings could be trusted from your Lord And mine. LADY CROMWELL. No news direct, but rumors of success ; Success such as has ever crowned Our Crom well's arms. Come, my fair Elizabeth, Thy song, thy voice, should be attuned to joyful measures, Thou peerless child of greatness. LADY ELIZABETH. Nay, of griefs! There is no balm in gold or grandeur To the wounded heart ; mother, I have not sung For months, except his dirge. LADY CROMWELL. Fie, fie ! why must thou be A puling girl, and weep for thy boy lover, Forgetful of the greatness that surrounds thee ? LADY ELIZABETH. Mother, thou hast crossed o'er the stream Upon whose bosom Love's bark floats, and left Its flowery banks for the thick chaparral, Where the acactus, with its go:geous hues, Hides the sharp stings await the venturous foot. SCEXE II.] CROMWELL. 67 This gorgeous grandeur blinds your eye sedate ; Fear lest its dazzling glories lead to ruin. LADY CROMWELL. Thou bird of evil omen ! yet most fair Of my fair brood, why flew the barb from the sole quiver Could most deeply wound, that pierced thy bosom— A wound must rankle, never to be healed by him ? Nay ! cheer thee, child ; there are a hundred heroes Woo thy hand ; ay, titled, and with wide domain, Thou shouldst be mother to a race of men; I would be grandani to the sweetest crew That ever revelled o'er a gay parterre. LADY ELIZABETH. Tou might have been grandam to a long line Of kings ! LADY CROMWELL. And will be yet. LADY ELIZABETH. The dream was to my father, and no more. Attendant enters.] PATIEXCE. Madam, some gentlemen await on you. LADY CROMWELL. My Lady ! Girl — will you never learn ? admit them ; Daughter, receive them graciously. Bradshaw, Grimshawe, and Martin enter.'] Ah, worthy Master Bradshaw, and my friends, Grimshawe and Martin ; your smiles betoken news — Good news ; haste give it me ! LADY ALICE. And me ; for I am trembling with loving eagerness. 68 CROMWELL. [ACT IV. BRADSHAW. Temperance, fair dame, is next to chastity In maiden hearts. LADY CROMWELL. Pray ye, what says my Lord ? BRADSHAW. That Ireland is ours — Drogheda, Wexford, Duncannori, Waterford, Estionage, Carrick, And Passage Fort are won. The first-mentioned Four, with loss of life; the last, surrendered. All of your friends are well ; Lord Broghill Did good service to our cause, and the wild Irish Fell. LADY ALICE. It was Lord Cromwell's voice that won him over. LADY ELIZABETH. My father's voice was ever wisest. BRADSHAW. Sweet child Thou sayest well, and soon may thank him for us all ; I'd have no sweeter spokesman than yourself, To render him the homage of our hearts. LADY CROMWELL. Why soon ? Surely the war is not yet over. BRADSHAW. His services are needed nearer home ; The Parliament have summoned him ; Our General Ireton is with him now, And well may take command, though Cromwell has Full liberty to appoint whom best it pleases him. The Council waits, and we must take our leave. SCEXE II.] CROMWELL. 69 LADY CROMWELL. Farewell, gentlemen. My thanks to yon. \Exeunt Gentlemen. Sweet Lizzy, see — I am mother of great men, If not of kings : " Onr General Ireton !" I would that Richard loved an active life, Not pondering o'er dnll tomes— a carpet knight. Alas ! my Oliver ! He was a hero from his birth. A trumpet and peoples cheers. LADY ALICE. Hark ye, the shouts ! It is our General comes. Cromwell enters, saluting each. My honored wife, my Lady, and my love — How glorious shine your beauties at this hour ; A joyous greeting for your truant Lord. LADY CROMWELL. Who should have come with lute upon his arm. Such sweet words on his lips. How fare you, My dear Lord ? CROMWELL. A little weary, though right well. How does our honored Lambert's lovely wife ? He bade me bear you this. \Kissing her. I need not ask ; A garden of sweetest flowers by moonlight seen Scarce rivals you. LADY ALICE. Nay, pardon me, but rather By the light of yon bright orb, just resting Now upon the throne of day — a herald Unto thee, our General and our Lord, it shows thy way. ^0 CROMWELL. [ACT IV. CROMWELL. Be but a harbinger of peace, and I shall thank You, sweet one. Turning to Elizabeth^ — My fairest child, Where is thy smile — thy kiss ? lady Elizabeth, kissing him. There, my great father — pardon me ! CROMWELL. What means This coldness in you, who ever rushed Into my arms — or stood on tiptoe, eager To embrace, when stayed in your approach ? What ! can it be that I am grown so proud And great (if I am, I did not know it), That even my best-loved daughter is awe-filled ? If so — away with honors, glories, fame, and power — I'd rather rule by love than majesty. [Tunis away. LADY CROMWELL. Nay, she has grown timid, Sir, of late ; She sings no more — nor smiles. Aside to Elizabeth.] Thou foolish girl ! CROMWELL. I see it all. Farewell, domestic joys — the innocent joys Of home ! My generalship I purchased With my dear son's blood ; my country's safety, With my daughter's love ! Why, what a bawble is aggrandizement ! The serpent eye of Jealousy — the soft voice of Deceit — The blandishments of men who favors seek — Eye-service everywhere — but nothing from the heart ! SC^XE III.] CROMWELL. 71 I had it once — all that the heart could ask : My son's, my daughter's. Charles stole his life ; His son, her love — I know not which the weightiest loss : Hers, 'tis a lighter grief to miss him here, a warrior In heaven — than see her like a delicate flower Lose her bloom, and perish leaf by leaf — My girl ! My boy ! my brave, my noble boy, My Oliver — why should I weep ? He serves In heaven now, while I am serving Heaven Upon earth. I must attend upon the Council. Exeunt Ladies the other.'] [Exit one side. SCENE THIRD. Grand Council-Chamber, Westminster — Counsellors seated — A Trumpet. BRADSHAW. Hark to the trump ! Our General comes ; He has proved himself a gallant officer — The General of the age. GRIMSHAWE. As he has proved Best Counsellor m our cause — Welcome unto our General ! As Cromwell enters, with Officers and armed Attendants, the Counsellors rise. CROMWELL. Thanks, my good masters — fellow-Counsellors! Thanks for this welcome of my humble self, — The honored instrument of Heaven's will, To whom all honor, power, glory, is given. They all uncover their heads.] 72 CROMWELL. [ACT IV, BRADSHAW. On earth as heaven. Amen. CROMWELL. Oar arms victorious — Ireton, my son, I have left in Ireland, supreme. In all my sieges, battles, storms, assaults, I deemed that mercy best would be consulted By speediest termination to our war, And therefore pray ye think, if you would harshly judge My course, " How much the evils attend Upon a few instances of severity In the outset, are compensated By the cutting off long years of obstinate resistance." Finding the Irish such a wild and savage race, I felt that I was forced to string myself Even to acts of seemins: cruelty and horror ; Their arms not turned upon their foes, They turn upon each other — with scarce a cause of wrong. GRIMSHAWE. In Henry the Second's reign, Cambrenses Wrote — "that the only way to civilize The Irish was %o exterminate them And seize their estates." CROMWELL. Nay, my good masters ! I would not have that Emerald Isle, The great capital out of winch our debts Are paid, our services rewarded, our acts Of bounty performed. Win them to p^ace And love, by gentlest arts; now that they, knowing, Fear your power, teach them that 'tis not your intention SCENE III.] CROMWELL. 73 To extirpate the nation — for now in flight They seek a refuge from their wrongs ; at least Some fifty thousand have already left the land. I would that they were taught the peaceful arts, Then plenty soon would follow in their train, Poverty be a stranger to that land, most blessed On earth, and virtue reign lord paramount. BRADSHAAV. We will debate on this, and act as you may counsel. But now we have received news from Scotland : They have proclaimed young Charles their King, And King of England, Ireland, and France. CROMWELL. But have they made him such ? Best as it is — Better that now while our troops are flushed With victory. Trouble not, my masters ; We will dispel their force as sun the mist. BRADSHAW. Thou dauntless man — now learn what for thy services The House appoints. [Cromwell botes. The Palace of St. James thy residence, With such attendants as beseemeth thee And them; large grants of land To their victorious General, Most full approval of your every step, And, with entire confidence in your ability And faithfulness, they, on behalf of all England, Give their thanks. CROMWELL. Nay, my good friends, Whitehall is well enough. BRADSHAW. For you, 'tis true, who love the tented field. 4 74 CROMWELL. [ACT IV. CROMWELL. Nay, would I were out of the trade of war, And here in council with you at Westminster. BRADSHAW. Till then thy wife and children are our most valued guests ; While you are caring for the State away, Here must we guard them cheerily. We have sent To learn Lord Fairfax's will as to the conduct Of the war in Scotland, and he declines Assuming the command — 'tis thought, at instance Chiefly of his Presbyterian wife ; but says That should the Scots England invade, he would be ready To lay down his life. cromwell, aside. How all things tend to my advancement ; I could devise naught better. Aloud.] " Notwithstanding his unwillingness, I pray Ye may continue him General of your army, For I would rather serve under him, than command The greatest army in all England." LUDLOW. Fearing your views Were such, we've sent a committee to advise With him. [Cromwell going. I pray you do not withdraw yourself, Nor yet, in compliment and humility, Obstruct the public service by your refusal. Stay yet awhile, and learn what Lord Fairfax Further says ; our committee come. committee enter. Still on his purpose bent, SCENE III.] CROMWELL. 75 Lord Fairfax's Secretary at the door awaits To surrender his commission, if we Think fit to receive it. CROMWELL. Did ye remind Him that the Scots had invaded England Since the recognition of the solemn League And Covenant, And in direct contravention Of its letter as well as spirit ; that now They meditate another inroad, under the banners Of Charles Stuart, whom, without the Commonwealth's consent, They have proclaimed Sovereign of the three kingdoms ; And therefore if there must be war, 'twere best To choose the enemy's country for the scene, Than permit a hostile army to penetrate Into the heart of this nation, already wasted By the ravages of our own civil dissensions ? COMMITTEE. We did, my Lord. He still refused. CROMWELL. Then, my masters, if ye do receive surrender Of his commission, which I would counsel Te temperately to consider, though /know not What else to do, since he will die to all his former glory. "And become the monument of his own name,"* Which every day'll wear out, there should For his past services recompense be made Aside.'] (Their future General may require the like), A liberal recompense. BRADSHAW. So let it be ; receive we the commission, * Cromwell's words. 76 CROMWELL. [ACT IV. And grant to him two thousand pounds a year. LUDLOW. Two thousand pounds! — scarce enough, my friend; for you or us It would suffice. CROMWELL. Greatness, my masters, brings Great charges in its train ; make it five thousand pounds a year; Now, I pray ye, excuse me. [Retires one side. BRADSHAW. Our General counsels well ; so let it be. Admit his Secretary. Secretary enters.] Young Sir, we do accept Surrender of your Lord's commission ; Bear this to him, with our be^t thanks — A settlement upon him for his past services Of five thousand pounds a year : so would our General Cromwell. This being disposed of, now I would propose That our Lieutenant-General be Captain-General Of all the land forces ; that his commission Be instantly drawn up ; and that the Council of State Hasten the preparations for the Northern expedition. all. ' Let it be so. BRADSHAW. The commission is prepared; I will affix The seal. Captain-General, I salute you — now — my friend ! Cromwell bows to them, token they retire, and then ad- vances with commission in his hand. CROMWELL. Captain-General of all the land forces of England, SCEITE III.] CEOMWELI. 77 Then supreme ruler, under Heaven, of the realm ! Why am I raised to all this honor ? I sought it not. It must be that I am by high Providence Selected for the accomplishment of great purposes ; " May it not be as instrument of the will divine, As writ in Holy Scripture, which shadows forth The triumphs and felicities of the Messiah's kingdom?" Ludlow enters?^ Ha! Ludlow, my friend! Aside.] I do not understand this man. LUDLOW. General. CROMWELL. Thou art cold — why so ? Hast thou suspicion Of my integrity, as servant of the public ? Dost thou suppose that I would be their master, Seeing I am grown so great in power ? Believe me, I am but Heaven's instrument. LUDLOW. Enough, enough ! I should not doubt you. CROMWELL. No, you should be the very last to do so. Incumbent it maybe on me many things to do, Even extraordinary in the judgment of some men, VV ho, now opposing, would bring ruin on themselves, On me, as well as on the public cause. But here I do declare that all I do Shall be but for the people's good, for whose welfare I am prepared to sacrifice my life. LUDLOW. We may not doubt you, General, in this. 78 CROMWELL. [ACT IV. CROMWELL. You should not, with, the past proofs you have ; All my desires are to settle the nation In a free and equal commonwealth. There are no other means to keep the old rulers out ; And, in all reverence and humility, I must say I feel it is the Lord's design His people To deliver from every burden. HlS WILL AXD WISE DECREES TO ME I READ In " that the Lord at thy ri^ht hand shall strike Through kings in the day of His wrath ; He shall fill the places with the dead bodies ; He shall wound the heads over many countries ; The people shall be willing in the day Of thy poiver — thou art a priest forever." There have I my commission. I will reform The clergy and the law ; the sons of Zeruiah Are still too strong for us. Wilt thon not aid me To fulfil God's will ? I need the services Of such as thou, godly and gallant gentlemen. LUDLOW. Most gladly, General, if in God's service. CROMWELL. It is ; wilt thou accept the Lieutenant-Generalship Of Ireland? LUDLOW. I will — most sensible of the honor You now do me. CROMWELL. Then hasten preparation. SCENE III.] CROMWELL. 79 Ireton has returned, and I would you were there. Farewell. [Exit Ludlow. He may be troublesome. I would remove — During my absence in the North, where, should reverse Befall me — the more violent republicans, Of whom he is one ; they might take advantage, And place the power of the State in other hands. Oh, curse of greatness ! — I do already feel That I have more to dread from former friends Than enemies avowed. The army I will make Subservient to my ulterior plans ; I'll separate the interests of the soldiers From those of their old commanders ; I will dismiss many of the " godly party," And give their places to men who make Arms their trade. While Fairfax stands an empty name, I'll mould the army To my mind — " weed out the godly," they are Bad fighting: men, and fill their rooms with such As make no question for conscience' sake ;* But I must do it gently, and unperceived By the eyes of men. I need no " agitators ;" They are as two-edged swords — I must not cast Them only to one side, but have them under foot, And, if needs be, grind them into powder; So shall I distribute all my fanatics far apart la different regiments. We will have No convocations now of saints. Ireton enters.'] Ha, Ireton, what news ? IKETOT7. Bad — as ever. * Cromwell's words. 80 CROMWELL. [ACT IY. CROMWELL. Give it me. IRETON. Three of our bravest captains are arraigned For a conspiracy against your life, And now are before the Council of State, in the Adjoining chamber. CROMWELL. My life ! what would they with my life ? They value it at more than I do, if they'd steep Their souls in perdition — their good names In infamy. Who are they, and their cause for it ? IRETON. Rich, Staines, and Watson — they have confessed That in a dream they were advised to it, In words of Scriptural cant. CROMWELL. In the adjoining chamber, Do you say ? Not yet condemned ? I'll make An example of them for all time. Come with me. [H&ceuntm SCENE FOURTH. Room adjoining Council-Chamber. Rich, Staines, and Watson, before the Council. cromwell enters with ireton. What meaneth this, my goo 1 masters — and ye, My weil-tried captains, conspiracy against my life ! Why would ye take it before the eyes of men ? SCEXE IV.] CROMWELL. 81 Te who might have had it tens of thousand times, Unseen by all save the unseen eye of God ? My body-guard, ever in the closest fight ; Ye easily had mistook me for a foe ; My sentinels, at silent hour of night, When all about me slept save ye yourselves — Ay, and my ve;*y cup-bearer wert thou, my Rich, \Then I was faint at Xaseby — fie, fie, Sirs ! Shame on ye, pitiful, sneaking, and poor knaves That ye are ! see how ungrately ye had been to me — How treacherous, cowardly to yourselves ! What would ye further with them, Sirs ? BEADSHAW. A hempen cord ! CROMWELL. Your pardon, my good Bradshaw 3 And my thanks, my friends, in that you deem My life worth three — with your good leave, I have A condign punishment for them. BEADSHAW. Pronounce it thou — against you their offence. CROMWELL. 'Tis this : that ye be taken hence — what ! do ye start And tremble ? ye poor weak fools ! do ye fear Death now ? ye who ne'er knew fear before ? I have oft marked ye well, Sirs — I say, shall be taken Hence — taken to my troops — all your bonds loosed — - Conscience awakened from this dreadful lethargy, Ye shall your deed anticipated see In all its naked horror — upon the rack — Ye tremble — see what mean things a guilty conscience Makes, e'en of the stoutest and the bravest hearts ; — 4* 82 CROMWELL. [ACT V. Upon the rack, I say — ay, upon the rack Of conscience ye shall lie — a living testimony Of my judgment, and show unto the world The vengeance Cromwell takes upon his private foes. But woe to those whom he shall find the State's. Go hence, and let me hear no more of this. When that ye deem my country needs my life, Come then and take it — 'tis freely hers. Release their bonds. BRADSHAW. Thou great and glorious soul, The State would thou shouldst have a private guard. CROMWELL. I have it, friends ; but in the private thoughts, The secret heart of every Englishman. With God upon my side, these canting fools Will prove a better bulwark than ten thousand guards. Now join in prayer and thanks to Heaven, my friends, Then will I unto Scotland. [They kneel* and curtain falls. End of Act IV. SCENE 1.1 CROMWELL. 83 ACT V. SCEXE FIRST. Council-Chamber. Bradshaw, Grjmshaw, and Martin, martin. What news to-day from Cromwell ? BRADSHAW. Our foes dispersed at Derwent, Dunbar, Indeed, where'er he met them ; at Edinburgh, He lies sick with a grievous fever ; Two skilful doctors to bis aid I've sent, And, by God's providence, I trust he may be saved. The State can spare him not ; though here he writes, " Indeed, my Lord, your service needs not me — I'm a poor creature, have been but a dry bone, And am still an upnrofitable servant To my Master and to you." But, Heaven Be praised ! our Goddard writes, he mends ; And the same hour brings advice that the young Charles In arms towards England comes. GRIMSHAW. And this from Cromwell ; Which doth intimate that all his forces Withdrawn beyond the Forth, temptation thus Is thrown in Charles's way, to confide himself And cause to the English nation, whose loyalty He would test. He our General further entreats that we, 84 CROMWELL. [ACT V. The Council of State, collect what force We can without loss of time, and give Charles check Until he shall overtake him. Lambert, with the cavalry, Is sent to join brave Harrison at Newcastle, To watch their motions, and straiten them on their way„ Though not to risk a battle. Enter an officer.} Ha ! what news ? OFFICER. Major-General Massy and the Earl of Derby Have been repulsed by Lilburn at Wigan, And Charles has entered Worcester, where He has solemnly been proclaimed by the Mayor, Amid the loud acclamations of the gentlemen Of the county. BRADSHAW. Charles at Worcester! — haste ye and rouse our friends ; Bid them use all speed to meet our Cromwell, And aid him in his " crowning victory ;" For such shall this fight be. Haste ye, and urge on Our supplies and men. Haste all ! [Exeunt. SCENE SECOND. Troop before Worcester. — Hour, Daybreak. Troops enter and form in line of battle, crying, "Long live the Commonwealth of England!" "Long live Crom- well !" who enters with Iretox and Officers. CROMWELL. Thanks, thanks, my brave friends and fellow r -soldiers. What news, my Ireton ? SCE^E II.] CROMWELL. 85 IRETON. The Bridge of Upton, held by General Massy, Lambert has carried against fearful odds, Leaving their General wounded on the field. TROOPS. Praise be to God ! — long live our gallant Lambert ! IRETON. Fleetwood has forced the passage of the Team. A bridge of boats over the Severn at Bernhill Thrown; at Powick, too, a fierce attack was begun, And pike to pike they fought at set of sun. CROMWELL. Day dawns, my troops — nay, 'tis the sun himself; [Sun breaks through clouds. Nature has veiled our brave intents ; So " let the Lord arise, and let His enemies Be scattered."* Martial Music; cannon at first near, then more distant. They charge upon the enemy / fresh troops come on the stage, and charge after charge. On, my brave troops ! on ! on ! They break — their King doth turn — Ha ! ha ! brave boys ! I profess they run. The victory is ours ; The Commonwealth is safe. Let all our thoughts Tend to His honor, who hath wrought So great salvation, and let not wantonness And pride follow this crowning mercy. Officer enters and presents papers, OFFICER. From the Council of State to their General Cromwell. [Retires. * Psalm lxviii. 80 CROMWELL. [ACT V. CROMWELL. The fight is fought ; the victory is gained ; The Scots subdued ; their Charles the Second fled ; What now remains to do ? — Much, much — there is A war within this heart, far fiercer raging Than all outward foes. Down, fell ambition, With your fiend-born crew, which feast upon its members Ere 'twill die ! Now, as I have in arms, So must I seek in peaceful arts to raise The power of England. Looking at the paper s.~\ They do salute me here As though I were their King, and would escort Me in great state to London. My home, a palace — And in each address greet my ears with loftier adulation Than e'er was lavished on the scion Of an hundred kings ! Iretok" enters J] Ha ! Ireton — 'twas bravely fought — r A word with you. The power of Parliament Must be lowered! — its duration limited — All political offences committed Before Worcester's fight must be forgiven, Except some certain cases. IRETOZS". This is well thought; 'twill make you friends. It is decided Parliament be dissolved Three years from this. [Exit CROMWELL. Three years ! — but see, here are Enter Wiiitlock, Whally, Desborough.] Our friends. Ha! Whitloek, Whally, Desborough — SCEXE II.] CROMWELL. 87 What think ye, Gentlemen — Were it best to perpetuate the Commonwealth On fixed principles, or re-establish a mixed form Of monarchical government ? WHALLY. General, onr friends, The army, will not have a Monarchy. WHITLOCK. I would advise revival of the ancient Constitution — King, Lords, and Commons — 'tis better adapted Than a Republic to the laws, the habits, The feelings of Englishmen. CEOMWELL. Well spoken, learned friend , But pray, whom would you recommend unto the throne ? WHITLOCK. Charles Stuart or the Duke of York, provided They submit to our conditions. CEOilWELL. Aside.'] Humph ! [Aloud,] Methinks They never will. 'Tis true, somewhat Of a monarchical government would be most effectual, If it could be established with safety To the liberties of the people as Englishmen And Christians. Methinks I have heard you do propose Reduction of the army and of their pay. By your leave, deem you this wise ? — pray you, Weigh it well, as also in all other retrenchments. Rather let speedy and effectual means Be taken for the propagation of the Gospel, 88 CROMWELL. [ACT V. And all arrears due the array be paid forthwith. Remember you their services and privations In the course of a long war. See ye not, my friends, That this paltry junto of statesmen who preside At Westminster, the miserable remains Of that illustrious body first met in 1640, Actuated by no feelings but the love Of power and emolument, intend To keep the precious fruits of victory To themselves, in their own hands, and condemn The army to poverty and degrading insignificance ? 'T would be unjust, disgraceful, that men Who never saw the tented field, nor suffered In the long campaign, should enjoy Those things for which the army have so often Shed their blood. Let them now be in possession, They never will resign ; but, in defiance Of the people and our soldiery, exclude From all share in the government every man Of truly patriotic principles. Whally, pray you draw up a petition To this effect, and vindicate your rights. WHALLY. We will. DESBOROUGH. Ay, and hasten to present it. \Exeunt Whally and Desborough. WHITLOCK. General, may not this course be deemed, To say the least, hasty and unconstitutional, Thus to address the Parliament — in either hand The sword or the Petition? scexi: II.] CROMWELL. 89 CROMWELL. You, Whitlock, are a lawyer, Who by your code must work ; men of the world And soldiers, let their natures teach. You are a very faithful, most efficient Lord Commissioner, But, I fear much, look not into the root of the times. You have met oar officers, learner! their views — " What think you, if a man should take upon himself To be a king ; would it not cure all ills ?" WHITLOCK. The remedy, I think, were worse than the disease. CROMWELL. Why think you so ? WHITLOCK. As to your own person, The title of king would be of no advantage. You have already the full kingly power. It might awaken jealousies — besides, The King of Scots yet lives ; the people look Upon him as their natural King. CROMWELL. The King of Scots — [Aside.] — why died he not at Wor- cester ? "WHITLOCK. I would propound your Excellency should send To him, and have a private treaty with him ; Secure yourself and friends ; make yon and your posterity Forever great — the name of Cromwell an example For all time. He will accept any condition, — Besides, there is a rumor in the land, That there's a link binds Charles to Cromwell's House. You have a daughter — pardon me — most fair; 90 CROMWELL. [ACT V. This Charles is young, and once did consort with her — [Cromwell starts. Wherefore not wed them ?* Then your right to rale, As his Prime Minister, no man could dispute. CROMWELL. He has already sought my daughter's hand;f But have I the right to jeopard my dear child's peace, and prosperity, By trusting one so profligate, so prodigal, So loGt to all fair fame as he ? I cannot think of it. I have refused her hand. Meantime, I would suggest That the sovereign power be placed In the hands of a Commission of forty persons, Chosen from the Army, the Senate, And the Council of State. What think you of this ? Some of our friends do counsel it. WHITLOCK. I fear 'Twere dangerous to dissolve the House ; besides, Your Excellency, the formation of the proposed Commis- sion Is quite unconstitutional. CROMWELL. Ever the lawyer, Whitlock. I thank you for your friendship, and when you have Leisure from the cares of state, which I know Weigh heavily on you, will further counsel take. Good day, my friend — my honest friend. [Exit Whitlock. He wed my daughter ! That may not be. 'Twas by my act his father died. This Whitlock * Russell. f Pictorial History of England. SCT3XE III.] CROMWELL. 91 Is very honest — the spokesman of the times. None but a Stuart can, it seems, be king. The vision said, I should be greatest man, but did not say the King ! We'll look to this. Ingoldsby enters?^ Ha ! Ingoldsby, my friend ! I^GOLDSBT. Advised of what your and the army's feelings Are, the Commons now are urging through the Bill For their own dissolution, encumbered With all the provisions to which the military are opposed. CROMWELL. Did none object to this ? Had we no friends there ? I3TGOLBSBY. Harrison most sweetly and most humbly Conjured them to pause, while I came here To counsel you to act. Your presence is much Needed there. CROMWELL. Thou hast well done, — now is the time To act. We'll hasten unto Westminster. Call Colonel Worsley and my Guard. [Exeunt. SCENE THIRD. House of Commons in session — Westminster. Cromwell enters with IinGOLdsby, and takes his seat on one of the outer benches, and beckons to Harrison. CROMWELL. Harrison, I judge the Parliament now ripe For a dissolution. 92 CROMWELL. [ACT V. To St. Joex.] My friend, my friend, I have come With a purpose of doing what grieves me To my very poul, and what I have earnestly With tears besought the Lord not to impose On me ; but there is a necessity, in order To the glory of God and the good of the nation. HARRISON. Sir, the work is very great and dangerous. I desire you seriously to consider before you Engage in it. CROMWELL. You say well ; we will consider on it. SPEAKER. The Bill for the dissolution of this House, With due restrictions on the military power, Having been well debated, I move the question Now be taken. CROMWELL (tO HARRISON'). This is the time — now must I do it. Addressing the JEToitse.] My friends, my friends, have we fought and bled for this ? Left we our homes, our wives, our babes, to make The sward at best our beds, if not our graves, While you, self-seekers and profane, denying justice, And oppressors all, lapped in luxuries, Found uneasy rest even upon your downy pillows — We fasting when you feasted — the elements Fiercest beating on our unprotected heads, While you sat sheltered by your blazing hearths, Idolizing the lawyers, constant advocates of tyranny? And for what did we this ? Returning Victorious over every foe, to find reward SCEXE III.] CROMWELL. 93 In glory, honor, ease, and plenty ? Homes where We might rest our wearied frames, and nurse Our racked joints to health again ? Was this our return ? No, no ; not so ; no comfort for your tools ; Months of our pay in arrears ; our crying babes, Crying but for the crumbs fall hourly from your tables ; Our weeping wives, heart-riven by their sufferings ; While we, disabled in your cause that ye might feast, Have not wherewith to break our fast. But, Sirs, Tour time has come. The Lord has disowned you ; He has chosen more worthy instruments To perform His work. SIR HAEEY VAjNTE. Sir, Sir, I never have heard Words so unparliamentary and offensive, And uttered, too, by our own servant, Whom we have so fondly cherished ; whom, By unprecedented bounty, we have raised To the elevation on which he now stands. CROMWELL. Come, come, Sir; I'll put an end to your prating. This must not, shall not be. Te shall disgorge A portion of those rights which ye so long Have preyed on. Ye would be masters ; fit masters Ye shall be, but of yourselves alone. Here die your tyrannies, ambitions, robberies, And oppressions of the public. Ho, there! without! [Soldiers enter. Behold tour masters ! jT, their and God's instrument. For shame on you, vile leeches that ye are ! Go, get you gone ; give place to honester men; To those who will more faithfully discharge 94 CROMWELL. [ACT V. Their trust. You are no longer a Parliament ! I tell you, you are no longer a Parliament ! The Lord, the mighty Lord, has done with you ; He has chosen other iustruments for His work. SIR HARRY VANE. I do protest against this proceeding. cromwell, laughing. Oh, Sir Harry Vane ! Sir Harry Vane ! A vain protest — most vain. The Lord deliver me From Sir Harry Vane — ha ! ha ! ha ! Taking Martin by the cloak.'] Thou art a lecherous knave — retire ; We must have modest men here ! To another.'] Thou art an adulterer — begone ! You taint the very air. To another.] Thou art a drunkard and a glutton — Away ! a very beast ! To another.] And thou an extortioner- The rack were thy just doom. Millions hast thou Kept on it. God gave even you a conscience. Go — for now you'll find it — go to your solitude, I have your ill-gotten, heart-wrung gains. Ye are dishonest and corrupt livers all, A shame and scandal to the profession Of the Gospel. SPEAKER LEOTHAL. I do refuse to withdraw, Unless I am compelled to leave this chair. Harrison" leads forth two of the military, at a sign from Cromwell, to make a show of force, and, laying his hand on Lenthal, assists him to descend. About eighty, *CENE IV.] CROMWELL. 95 among ichom is Algernon Sidney, follow this example, and move towards the door. CROMWELL. It is you who have forced me to do this. I have sought the Lord night and day, that He would rather slay me, than put me on The doing of this work. ALDERMAN ALLEN. It is not yet too late To undo what has just been done. CROMWELL. This from you, Sir ? You, who have defrauded the public to the amount Of some hundred thousand pounds, as Treasurer Of the army ! Take him into custody, Until he answers for this peculation. Fixing his eyes on the mace.] What shall we do with this fool's bawble ? Here — carry it away. He snectches the Act of Dissolution from the hands of the Clerk.] Lock fast the door, and bring the keys — I will unto Whitehall. [He retires, and the door is locked. SCE^ T E FOURTH. "Whitehall. — Council of State — Council of Officers waiting Cromwell's return. Cromwell enters. My friends, my fellow-sol- liers, I have been sorely tried ; I did not think to have done what I did ; 96 CROMWELL. [ACT T. But, perceiving the Spirit of God So strong upon me, I would no longer Consult flesh and blood, but let the Spirit act- Behold the spoil — the mace, the keys of the lower House, The Act of Dissolution — the Parliament is no more. OFFICER. How mean you, General? The Parliament no more? This course can only lead to ruin and confusion. CROMWELL. Leave that to me. Have I ever yet failed ? I will do much more good to the country Than ever could be expected from Parliament. Aside.'] Ireton, a word with you. [They retire one side. COLONEL OAKEY. Means so hypocritical, the end will sure be bad. What could be passing in the General's mind, When he praised the Parliament so highly To the Council of Officers, and yet proceeded Immediately afterwards to eject them With so much scorn and contempt ? DESBOEOFGH. True, true ; if ever the General drolled in his life, He has drolled now. We must look to this. CROMWELL. Gentlemen, if you are here met as private persons, You shall not be disturbed ; but if as a Council Of State, this is no place for you; and since You cannot but know all that was done at the House But this morning, so take notice that the Parliament Is dissolved. SCEXE IV.] CROMWELL. 97 BRADSHAW. Sir, we have heard what you did At the House in the morning, and before many hours All England will hear it ; but, Sir, you are mistaken To think that the Parliament is dissolved ; For no power under heaven can dissolve them But themselves. Therefore take you notice Of that. SIR ARTHUR HAZELRIG. Ay, indeed ; this is true. MR. LOVE AJSTD MR. PEAT. Ay, true ; most true. CROMWELL. Ye too, Gentlemen ! I thank ye, Sirs. All England soon will hear it ; and, hearing, know That the Parliament would have sent their officers And soldiers into private life, upon diminished pay, And stripped of all influence those who had made Them great, and England to be feared. The Army and the Navy both, in their addresses Unto me, declare that they will stand or fall, Live or die, in support of these my measures. The populace throughout the land will thank me For it ; ay, and chant hymns of triumph O'er your fall ; magnify the name of the Lord, Who has broken the mighty, and cast The proud down to the ground. Aside] Ireton, 'tis well "We have done what we have ; these statesmen Are fast becoming adepts in our policy. Had but the Bill for dissolution passed, Those neuters — those, I mean, of the Presbyterian interest, Who had not consented in our measures — 98 CROMWELL. [ACT V. iRETOisr, interrupting him. The King's death and the Army's measures. CROMWELL. Ireton, no more of that ; name it not, Name it not ! "When memory calls it up, My heart is blanched, and what I have to do I do by halves — those hated hours shadow All my days. IRETON. The wisdom of your acts Refutes all charges, and should dispel such thoughts.- CROMWELL. It may be so; but enough of this. By interposing ray authority just when I did, The dispute I limited to a body Of men who, for reasons various, had ceased To be longer popular — call it as you may, My good fortune or my great political wisdom. My friends, let now a Council of State Be appointed, to watch over the peace and safety Of the Commonwealth, and superintend The present management of public affairs, In number thirteen — nine military and four civilians ; A Scriptural number, and vouchsafed to us By Him whom here Ave seek to serve. Sir Harry Vane, Pray you be one of us. SIR HARRY VA^E. Thank you, General ; though the reign Of the saints is begun, I shall defer my share Until I go to Heaven. CROMWELL. Or to , as it best pleases you ; SCENE IV.] CROMWELL. 99 All have a right to choose their company. Beckoning them to one side.] Good Major Salloway, and Carew, my friend, Prithee, your care and counsel. I know not how I can sustain this weight now falls upon me. Thoughts of the awful consequences make me tremble. Free me, I prithee, from the great temptation Laid before me. Go ye, I pray, forthwith Unto Chief-Justice St. John and Mr. Selden, And together draw some instrument of government, Which may take the power out of my hauds. SALLOWAY. The way to free you from this temptation Is for you not to look upon yourself To be under it, but to rest persuaded That the power of the nation is in the good people Of England, as formerly it was. CROMWELL. Thou speakest well ; My many cares at times obscure my thoughts. I pray you, then, summon onr chief officers To meet me at Whitehall forthwith, where they may consider What 'tvrere best to do. SALLOWAY. We will. CROMWELL. Do it forthwith. 'Tis well. Some private business calls me now — Prithee, attend to this. [Exeunt Carew t and Salloway. Ireton, read ye their thoughts'? We must be wary. 100 CROMWELL. [ACT V. IRETON. Ay, and bold ; the power is yours. CROMWELL. And I will keep it. I will conclude the treaty With the Portuguese Ambassador, suspend The four Judges do offend, and make Two new appointments ; nominate new Commissioners Of the Treasury and Admiralty ; continue The monthly assessments of • one hundred and twenty thousand pounds For an additional half year. For form's sake, I will submit it to my Council of State ; It will sanction it in the eyes of England. 'Twere well, I think, too, for form's sake, That we and our Council of State Should nominate a Parliament Of holy, pious men. Did our ministers In the several counties send returns Of persons faithful, fearing God, And hating covetousness, who may be deemed Qualified for this high and important trust ? I'll choose, say, an hundred and fifty to serve for certain places In the three kingdoms. IRETON, showing a list. They did — are here — and I have chosen them. cromwell, laughing. 'Tis well — a goodlie If not Godlie company. There are an hundred and fifty, w T e, That is, you, my Ireton, and I, know to be true And faithful. You will observe SCENE IV.] CROMWELL. 101 They did appear personally at Whitehall On the Fourth Day of July, 1653 — This shall be hailed throughout the world As Freedom's Birthday. Attend on them ; Go you, and send me instant word how they conduct. \Exit Ireton. Enter the Quaker Merchant Fox.] Most worthy friend, What would st thou have ? A merchant prince, Most honored of God's instruments — link In the priceless chain of peaceful arts That bind all climes together — source Of England's glory — God's treasurer on earth — Trustee immaculate of the wealth He gives, In charity's sweet offices to dispense — Mid heaviest charges e'er has Cromwell's ear. FOX. My ship from India — her cargo priceless — Is by the Spaniards, in the Channel, taken. CROMWELL. Your ship ! Truly thou say'st her cargo's priceless — 5 Twas England's honor that she convoyed hither. And in the Channel too ! — at our very doors ! But what matters that ? Were it in farthest seas, Our flag should be immaculate. Their wealth Has made these Spaniards arrogant. 'Twill prove the curse and ruin of their land — Misused, abused, the trust forgotten. Thou shalt be recompensed ten days from this ; Make out your charges; 'tis England's cause; Our Blake shall straightway seek their argosies. Monuments of your goodness fill the land, Which the most loses in your loss. 102 CROMWELL. [ACT V. FOX. My duty — nothing more — no praise in that — My habit and my home I have — 'tis all I need- The rest is for the State. So do I humbly take my leave. CROMWELL. God's peace be with thee. [Mcit Quaker Fox. An Office?* enters and hands a note to Cromwell, saying, " From General Ireton, my Lord ;" then retires, Cromwell cdone, takes the note and reads. The Parliament are met — my goodlie, Godly Parliament — no, no, not mine, but Barebones'. What a name ! They would o'erturn all known forms Of law and government, would I but let them. I have failed indeed in this. They are worse Than were the Danes or Normans. Those fellows, Preaches, Feakes, and Powell, preach, that Cromwell Is the Man of Sin — the Old Dragon and the Beast Foretold in the Revelation. IVe had enough Of this fooling. Ireton ! Ireton, I say ! — There's terror in his looks and name — Iretox enters.~\ My son, go to the House, Forthwith — bid the members repair to Whitehall, And give back their authority into the hands Of him from whom they had received it. If these reformers, who are some thirty — I know them all — ask for a warrant, call in A company of soldiers ; take my own guard, If needs be ; clear the House, and hither bring The keys. It must be done — this the best way To do it. SCENE IV.] CROMWELL. 103 IRETON. And shall be. CROMWELL. He likes this service. What a stout heart that is ! My Oliver's was even such, But Richard's is a gewgaw for fair dames. Carew enters. General, the Military Council have decided That, finding Parliaments such unstable And unwieldy things, that you be solemnly Installed the Lord Protector of the Commonwealth Of England, Scotland, and Ireland, and do await Tour presence in Westminster Hall. They beg You'll pardon this lack of ceremony, But the State requires it. CROMWELL. Thanks, my good friend ; I will attend, though I would rather not assume Fresh cares. \Exit Caeew. Ireton enters with Speaker, bringing keys. CROMWELL. Ha! Gentlemen; welcome, Gentlemen ; With ci smile.~\ My son, you did escort them in due form. SPEAKER. We would resign the power you conferred on us, Unworthy instruments, unequal to the task, And pray for your dismission. CROMWELL. Xay, my good friend, Why so? How is this? You have scarcely entered 104 CROMWELL. [ACT V. Upon our service ; but if it needs must be> Why, it must be. I have appealed to God Before you already. I know it is a tender thing To make appeals to God. Then fare ye welL [Speaker exit one side; Cromwell anc? Ireton the other. SCENE FIFTH. Westminster Hall. A Chair of State, with a rich carpet and cushions. — A Commissioner of the Great Seal at each hand. — The Judges on both sides. — The Lord Mayor and Aldermen on the right, and the members of the Council on the left.— Triumphal Music. — Cromwell enters with a splendid retinue. jCROMWELL, My loving, honorable, and much honored friends, "Why would ye suronzon me, an humble citizen, To leave the calm and equal walks of privacy, For the toilsome and uneasy race of greatness ? I thank ye for the honors ye would confer ; But pray ye to confer them on one worthier. IXGOLDSBT. Cromwell's the name, the worthiest England Ever bore, to wear the honors that her people give. LISLE. Here is the institute of Government, Duly sealed, and here am I to administer The oath gives unto England's sole and only use Her worthiest son, as Protector of the Realm. cromwell, raising his hand. Since such is your and the people's gracious will, Here do I swear, in all humility, SCENE V.] CROMWELL. 105 Her honor to preserve by land and sea, From pole to pole. The Lords Commissioners deliver up to Cromwell the Purse and Seals. LORDS COMMISSIONERS. The purse and seals, your Highness ; Pointing to the Chair of State.'] And that your seat. LORD MAYOR OF LONDON. This too, with London's love and loyalty, my sword. CROMWELL. Nay, Sir, as Cromwell's friend, keep this. In greatest stress the Londoners e'er proved true ; So may I find them ever. Advances.] Protector of the Realm — in all things King, save name ! The wide world envies me — the air is rent With praises of my deeds — each act a virtue, And many great acts mine that never yet I dreamed of. So runs the world ; a few short years Protector of the Realm, a few short minutes May be your span of life. But for this mail, [Strikes his breast. Some secret foe had long ere this probed My heart's mysteries, and unveiled to earth What Heaven only knows ; for all my deeds, Ay, even my motives, yet shall be unfolded To the world, though it may be not until Long hereafter ; but probed they will be. Regicide one age, the next I shall be lauded To the skies as Godlike, Freedom's Father! Strange destiny is mine — an humble wanderer In a savage clime, I thought to be, 5* 106 CROMWELL. [ACT V. When he, whose head paid forfeit for the act, Compelled my sojourn here, and made me More than King ; for I've o'erleaped all wonted forms, And out of the line direct, though of royal blood, I reign entire master of the Realm — Its meanest and its mightiest, officers to my will. attendant, advancing. Ambassador of France, my Lord. CEOMWELL. Give him admittance. AMBASSADOR. France sends her greeting unto the Lord Protector, And woos his friendship and his favor. CROMWELL. We thank His Majesty, and trust the love Our people and ourselves now entertain For him may be preserved. Say this is From Cromwell unto Mazarin. Prithee, Your presence at our feast to-day. • Presenting him to Ladies.'] Our Lady Cromwell, And our friends, fair Sir. Officer hands a paper.] From Spain an Ambassador Attends. France and Spain — France or Spain — Now come the troubles of our greatness. Portugal too doth wait ; and from the Netherlands There is an embassy; the United Provinces Now sue for peace, on terms most favorable To us — which we will grant, for our great Blake » Has swept the seas even of Von Tromp And his masthead broom. The triumphs of our flag Shed a glory on our rule unequalled SCENE V.j CROMWELL. 107 By the past- — if Cromwell lives, never to be equalled In the great hereafter. I'll have no foreign wars, our foes subdued Or peace insured ; for there are troublous tongues Enough at home. Though scarce established As their Lord Protector, idle, venomous spirits Do menace me — even the Preachers dare denounce me. The system I in Ireland adopted, speedily worked My ends ; I'll try it here. Ireton, I have heard That our late friend, Harrison, wags his tongue Against us. He was a master spirit in our cause ; May prove such against us, The Tower Were the safest place for him. There's likewise A stubborn, wrongheaded schoolmaster called Vowell, Who has been most treasonable in his course ; He is not of much note, and has few friends To feel revenge — let him be hanged — 'Twill give their idle brains somewhat to muse Upon ; and that young fellow, Gerald, I've seen the boy, a murderer by his looks — Let him swing for it — be instant — No paltering now. \Exit Ireton. Faith, I would rather have taken A shepherd's staff than this Protectorship. My Genius hates this show of greatness. New England should have been my home ; No shadows would have crossed my pure intents. There the untutored savage I might have moulded In the true ways of life ; in nature and association They're prepared. Here, every tree And stone, ay, every star tells men of Princes And their pageantry. The history of all times Teaches of despots and despotic rule. 108 CROMWELL. [ACT V, Though for some short-lived season men may have tried Self-government, 'twas e'er to fall under an iron hand, That crushed them into obedience. I have been swept along By the swift current of fierce events, and find Myself upon a throne — a throne of cares and fears — My myrmidons, jealousy, hate, deceit, And all the fellest passions of the human heart. Men do not love me — why, they cannot say, Save that I have o'ertopped them. [Enter Ingoldsby. Ha ! Ingoldsby — What news ? ingoldsby. Great discontent among Our quondam friends. CROMWELL. Why so ? Have I not told them I would not be lord over them ; but one that is resolved To be a fellow-servant, to the intent Of this great affair ? INGOLDSBY. True, true ; but now the House debated, whether They should consent to have the Government Vested in a single person and a Parliament, And carried it but by five voices. Enter Ireton.] CROMWELL. Indeed ! what more ? IRETON. One said, that as God had made him Instrumental in cutting down tyranny In one individual, so could he not endure SCEXE T.] CROMWELL. 109 To see the liberties of the nation shackled By another, whose right to the Government Could not be measured otherwise than by the length Of his sword, which alone had emboldened him To command, his commanders. CROMWELL. And yet they thrust it on me. What more was said ? ESTGOLDSBY. Another as the Prophet Unto Ahab said — " Hast thou killed and also Taken possession ?" CROMWELL. Such words of me! I had not dreamed They thought it. Killed, did they say ? You know I did not do it ; it was ordained by them ; My signature wrung from a father's bleeding heart, At sight of his eldest son a corpse transfixed. If this is my reward For years of toil — for fondest hopes crushed At their consummation — for Heaven's own ways (Mine were then most pure), all set aside, And worldly courses taken — hereafter I will be ruler of myself and of this realm — Preserve my life, though at the cost of myriads. I have made England great, greater than e'er before, And I will rule. Ingoldsby, let them say on, Ay, gibe like monkeys — I tell you, Sir, The time will come when they will offer me The crown. Go you, and order three regiments To march into the city ; seize the most noisy Of these brawlers ; place a guard at the door Of the House, and lay this recognition 110 CEOMWELL. [ACT 1 On a table in the lobby, for their signature. I have foreseen all this, and now will hnow My friends. This binds them neither to propose Or consent to alter the Government As it is now settled in a single person And Parliament. I will have my spies In every regiment, in almost every house, And in the very bed-chamber of this Charles II., As they clepe him — at Cologne and at Paris. I have done with peace and rest — there is No rest for me but in the grave — the grave. This kingdom I will divide into military governments, To arrest, imprison, and bind over All dangerous and suspected persons, Without the power of appeal to any But the Protector himself and his Council ; And all who have borne arms for the King, Or were of the royal party, shall be Decimated. There will no longer be a cant Of liberty. They are not fit for it, Who fatten on distrust, and, gorged, Would fill the realm with it. There now are In the ports a hundred ships of various sizes ; — Penn and Venabies shall hasten to the settlements Of Spain and seize on them ; Thence to James River, and reduce to allegiance Unto me, those colonies which dare adhere To Charles, cleping themselves the "Old Dominion ;" I'll give them a new rule, whose seeds shall yet * OVrtop the world; — while Blake shall add To his well-won honors, and seize Spain's treasure-ships. France must be our friend, even though Spain Is our foe ; yet now proposes I should be seated SCENE V.] CROMWELL. Ill On the throne. Ireton, go yon and give my order That Penruddock and Groves be beheaded at Exeter; Jones and his friends be hanged ; the residue Who were concerned in the rising at Salisbury, Be sent to Barbadoes and sold as slaves ! Issue my declaration, prohibiting All sequestered clergymen of the Church Of England from preaching or using the Liturgy, As minister^ either in public or private ; And command all Roman Catholic priests To quit the kingdom under pain of death. Forbid the publication in print of any news Whatever, without permission from the Secretary of State. There are three argosies in port, taken by Blake ; See that Friend Fox be recompensed — this done, The residue retain for England's honor. Thus Cromwell seeks redress. Send instantly an embassy to the Duke of Savoy, ' To intercede in behalf of the persecuted Vaudois. Our brother of France unites in this — we will it so. Then let him haste to Rome, with our command That all persecutions of God's elect shall cease, Or Cromwell's cannon's roar shall echo Through St. Angelo. \Exeunt. Enter Colonel Jephsox, Ashe, and Sir Charles Pack. COLONEL JEPHSON. My friends, what may we do to stay These plots against our General and ourselves, Which rise on every hand at every hour ? ASHE. Make him our King ! — beseech him that he will be pleased To take upon himself the Government 112 CROMWELL. [ACT V. According to the ancient Constitution — Then will their hopes and plots be at an end. SIR CHARLES PACK. This was my thought ; and here have I prepared An humble address and remonstrance Of the knights, citizens, and burgesses now assembled In the Parliament of the Commonwealth, Praying lie will accept this power. The title I have left blank — shall we present it ? JEPHSON. Ay, and fill the blank with King. We'll find him In the Tapestrie Chamber. Come, we'll present it On the instant. . \Exeunt. SCESTE SIXTH. Whitehall. Enter Cromwell, Lambert, Fleetwood, and Desbor OL T GH. CROMWELL. 01), what a troublous thing is greatness ! I once knew peace — sweet peace of mind — but it is fled Forever. There is no safety now for me From dastard cut-throats, save an armed guard, And ail the attendants make kings slaves. Free in my nature, I would have been free, Free as the wild deer roves New England's woods. He stayed me in my course of usefulness, And made me what I am now, what I am yet To be. Fleetwood my son, my brother Desborough, And my friend Lambert — they would have me king, These lawyers and civilians — what think ye SCEXE VI.] CROMWELL. H3 Of this name ? The power I have is greater Than any king's for ages past DESBOROUGH. Nay, Cromwell, entertain it not ; There is more matter than you perceive in this ; Those who would put this on you, sure, are no enemies To Charles Stuart. FLEETWOOD. Methinks it would draw ruin on yourself And friends. General, eschew this act. CROMWELL. Oh, ye are a couple of precise, scrupulous fellows. Lambert, what say you ? LAMBERT. As do these friends, your kinsmen, — Touch not the diadem. CROMWELL. Well, well, I would do naught without consent Of the army. Hasten to the House, and put them off From doing any thing further in this matter. But lo, whom have we here? Eater Speaker and others, SPEAKER, My Lord, herewith do I present to you The humble petition and advice of the Parliament, Setting forth the advantages of regal government/ And the nation's confidence in a new Sovereign— Yourself their choice. CROMWELL. My gentle friends, I thank you, but must decline. 114 CROMWELL. [ACT V. speaker, presenting the diadem. Here is the diadem. CROMWELL. What ! would ye tempt me With this golden bawble, which at the best Is but a feather in a man's cap ? I should not be An honest man, did I not tell you that I Cannot accept of the government, nor undertake The trouble and charge of it. I, who have tried it More than any one — indeed, I cannot undertake The government with the title of King. This receive, I pray you, as my answer To this great and weighty business.* SPEAKER. This must we to the Parliament relate, Who'll much regret refusal to their will. CROMWELL. Give them my thanks ; — as Lord Protector I will rule the realm as God directs me. 'Tis a weighty trust ; I pray ye lighten it As best ye may, by your collected wisdom, Unto which I'll bow, so long as England's welfare Is your aim. My thanks to one and all ; My friends, at even I will meet ye. \Exeunt. The diadem of England mine ! Her fleets, Her fortresses, her coffers, armies, all are mine ! All save her people's love — that which I most Had prized — and yet they'd have me take The name of King — that bane of greatness. I sought it not, and ne'er will own it. I have made England great, Scotland and Ireland too, And won a name which shall be mine alone * Cromwell's words. SCENE VI.] CROMWELL. 115 For every age throughout the world. I made My people free — redressed their wrongs, and placed The power in their own hands — but ah, alas ! I found them ill prepared for self-government ; They are so trammelled by old ties and customs. Whitehall and Westminster, St. James, the Tower, All speak of regal rule; old laws and usages Are seared upon their hearts ; they cannot walk In the new paths I've marked ; paths must be laid out In a new land, where there is naught but freedom To be seen. There in Xew England I might have fixed The People's Rule— a rule that shall o'ermaster Every other form, and last till the last trump Shall sound, if men but unto themselves be true. Ah ! that dread tertian ague seizes now ! Why comes this sickness on me at this hour ? Thou bleeding form, thou canst not say I plucked Thy diadem to perch it on my brow. Years Now have numbered their troublous minutes o'er, And yet thou visitest me, thou murdered King. I will descend unto your charnel-house, And gaze upon your slumbers — peaceful slumbers. Shall such be mine ? [Takes a light. Iretost enters.] Ha! Ireton ! what now ? Thy brow doth lower portentous as the thunder-cloud. IEETON. An old and faithful soldier of your guard Craves instantly the Lord Protector's ear. CROMWELL. Give him admittance. He should have said His General's. I hate these titles from my long-tried friends. 116 CROMWELL. [ACT Y. Soldier enters.'] Ha ! what wouldst thou, my brave fellow ? SOLDIER. Full credence to my tale, and instant action, To cut short a deed too dreadful to be thought on. CROMWELL. What deed ? Speak ! speak ! — how every tale unmans me ! SOLDIER. One Dr. Hewett, Sir Henry Slugsby, and he Who was brave Colonel Sexby, with him Who is called Snydercombe, gave me this purse And these bright jewels, in order to procure Admittance to the chapel at Whitehall. CROMWELL. They are my friends. You did accept and gave it them. Was it well done ? I saved your life at peril Of mine own at Drogheda, striking aside The pike was at your throat — and you'd risk mine For a paltry bribe ! SOLDIER. Ay, those wild Irish — CROMWELL. Nay, nay, not so ; — they are a gallant and a misused race. See their condition now under just laws ; Their land is teeming with productiveness. This I, Cromwell, did. But for your story. SOLDIER. Into the chapel they have but now borne Combustibles, and placed a match to secure SCENE VI.] CROMWELL. 117 The conflagration of the palace before midnight, While they, with arms prepared, shall shut you up Within the flames. CROMWELL. Oh ! horrible, most horrible. Ireton, Take this ring. Seize them at once ; let instant death Be theirs, if that his tale prove true. IRETON. I have them, one and all. Fleetwood and Desborough Now await your will. \JEhit. CROMWELL. My gallant guard, take this — a trifling gift. Your self-approval be your best reward. But for myself, I'll make you captain in my guard, With treble pay. Attend on General Ireton In this melancholy task. \Exit soldier. Who would be great, if blood must be its price? Or I must let these bloodhounds tear me Limb from limb, or wade myself in blood. Charles, Charles, thou art avenged! Could I, I would not wake you into life. I almost wish To lay me by thy side. I will once more Look on thee in thy rest. [ Takes the light, and retires slowly. 118 CROMWELL. [ACT V. SCENE SEVENTH. Vault — King Charles's Tomb. Elizabeth Cromwell enters, dressed in white, toith flowers, and, singing, streios them round, and lags them on the tomb. Thou sleepest in peace, thou murdered innocence ! I told my Charles I would do this. Nightly I've decked His couch with flowers most fair, year after year. Alas ! poor king — father to my heart's Lord. This tender office ere long, I feel, must fall To other hands. Sleep on — sleep on — sleep on ! A step — who comes ? It is my father — what does he here ? I must be gone. [Elizabethans round to one side, then across the back, and escapes. cromwell enters. I heard a voice — methought a seraph's voice, And perfumed air did greet me as I came. Do angels watch his bier ? What ! flowers Blooming all about his marble couch — the tenderest Springing from it. He sleeps in peace, Or sure these sweet attendants all would fail And fade away — theg are the ministering spirits Of the blest. If such his happy end, Why may I not look for a release From all life's cares and toils ? Was his hand bloodless ? Mine's incarnadined ! They w^ho sought his fall, And now seek mine — these demi-devils — That they might gain their ends, sure forged the tale That my son's death was planned and urged SCENE VII.] CROMWELL. 119 By hiru, that they might damn "my soul. King, kinsman, royal master, rouse from thy slumbers, And smile on me forgiveness ! Think of the agony A father feels, his butchered son before him. Opens the lid of tomb.'] What ! can it be that envious time has leashed Its ravenous worms, that thus thou lookest As when thou livedst, and on thy face that smile Thou worest, uttering thy last "Remember!" Men doubt thy meaning — alas ! I read it well ; For ne'er have I forgotten thee. By day, by night, At feast, at fast — waking or dreaming, in court Or camp, in peaceful council or dread carnage — There, before me, ever rose thy august head, And, bleeding, lisped " Remember." [A shriek. Hark, that piercing shriek! — that seraph's voice — my child's — It is my child's. She comes — what would she here ? Elizabeth enters wildly. Blood, blood, blood — nothing but blood ! My dearest brother's, my most honored king's ; And now my reverend, reverenced friend's Must swell the turgid stream. Who are you Have usurped my place, and keep your vigils By this sainted form ? Hence, hence, hence ! This is my fond prerogative, given me By my loving lord, that should have been — The king that yet shall be. Come, come, I pray thee, Come ! I know thee not ; and yet, there is a majesty In thy mien betokens power and compels my reverence. Come, come ; thou yet mayst save him. Come, this way, This way. [She, retiring, beckons to him. 120 CROMWELL. [ACT Y. cromwell, following. Oh ! woful sight. It hath o'erpowered me. Scene changes to banqueting hall. Elizabeth enters^ beck- oning to Cromwell, who folloics. My child, my child, what means this frenzy ? Whither, say, whither wouldst thou lead me ? What, what wouldst thou ? Elizabeth, looking wildly. Blood, blood ! No, no, not blood ; that thou canst give me. But life, dear life — the life, once taken, gone Forever, never, never to be returned. Awakening to consciousness.] Father ! is't thou, my father ? my fond, my doting father ? My mind has wandered ; but I know you now. The child of thy tender love kneels for a boon — The boon of an old man's life — a life worth But a few brief years at best. Thou knowest What 'tis to die. I saw you there — I know 'twas you — Where death sweet office long hath given me. CROMWELL. Ah me ! ah me ! How all my honors shrink To nothingness, my glories fade from sight, And memory pictures horrors to my view ! What is it thou askest, my fair, though faded child ? ELIZABETH. Ah ! now thou art my father. Tender tones, Long, long unheard, though never yet forgotten, Are ushered in by smiles — my father's smiles, The smiles were sweetest to my infant heart, Though, to my woman's, strangers. Why wert thou SCENE VII.] CROMWELL. 121 Ever great ? Was to be goodness not enough for you ? Give me his life — my friend's — old Dr. Hewett's. He has been guilty of no crime, I know. CROMWELL. Crime ! thou sweet innocent. Thy life was doomed. Was there no crime in that ? Thy mother's, sister's, Brothers', father's — all ! He would have made Whitehall — one hecatomb. ELIZABETH. Oh, horrible ! Art sure ? I thought that he loved me. I loved him ever. CROMWELL. Most sure. Thy uncle, Desborough — - Thy brothers, Fleetwood, Ingoldsby, and Ireton, Took him and others in the very act, And now they die — Thunder heard.] Hark ! how the elements are rent at bare recital Of their dread intent ! The lightning quivers Through these vaulted domes, and horrid echoes Chase from room to room. ELIZABETH. Their shrieks ! their dying shrieks ! Ah me ! ah me ! Father, I have borne much — could have borne more ; But this his treachery takes such horrid form, I shrink at thought of it. My heart ! My Charles ! my brain ! Lady Cromwell, Lady Lambert, Ingoldsby, eider as she is swooning in Cromwell's arms. LADY CROMWELL. My child! my child! \They place her on a couch. 6 122 CROMWELL. [ACT V. cromwell, sinking down by the couch. My child ! my child ! Support her, Heaven, And preserve her senses. Ha ! Ingoldsby, what news ? Thunder heard again."] INGOLDSBY. The elements are racked ; Disjoined, our loftiest buildings topple to the dust ; St. Paul's spire, reeling, groans. The rooks And daws make black the air, and even The tiny martlet quails the heart With its shrill cries, driven from its ancestral Moss-grown home. CROMWELL. What day is this, that man and nature, Thus conjoined, do rack earth to its foundations? LADY CROMWELL. My lord, it is your day, your own auspicious day— The third day of September ! cromwell. Ah ! is it so ? [Turning to Doctor. How does my child ? Elizabeth murmuring low words.] DOCTOR. The wild delirium feasts upon her brain, And burns up every sense, save some dark, Dread memories. She raves of Charles — of blood. CROMWELL. My dearest daughter and fair nature — both Whom I've best loved and worshipped, next to God — ■ SCENE VII.] CROMWELL. 123 Both crazed and mad ! Ah ! my old sickness comes upon me. " O Lord ! thy miserable servant Bows to thy will in all humility, And craves thy grace. Bless thou this people. Thou hast made me a mean instrument To do them some good, and Thee, I trust, Some service. Many there are have set Too high a value on me, though others wish, And would be glad of, my decease. However thou dost dispose of me, my Lord, Continue to do good to and abide With them. Give them consistency of judgment — One heart and mutual love, to go on With the work of reformation, and make The name of Christ, a name at which every knee Shall bend and every head shall bow, Glorious throughout the world. Teach those Who look too much upon thy instruments, To more upon Thyself depend. Pardon all those (They are thy people) would trample upon the dust Of this poor worm, for our blessed Redeemer's sake."* Iretox enters, taking his hand.] How now, my Ireton, How is my child ? IKETO^. She is dead ! cromwell, caressing Elizabeth. Dead! nay, nay. Gone ! gone ! gone home ! I too shall go. Her sainted spirit heralds mine. * Guizot. 124 CROMWELL. [ACT V. My friends — Let Richard be ray heir. Guard ye him well. At ray interment, I pray you, have no vain ceremonials. Tis but the form that dies. Publish to the world that Cromwell's last words Were, that " Where the Spirit of the Lord is, There is Liberty," And that 'tis cradled In New England now, to grow a Hercules Shall bestride all earth. So Cromwell's teachings yet shall rule the world. Mankind shall say, in times to come, that here died a The best thing ever England did."* A fearful peal of thunder and flash of lightning. Ireton struck dead. Hark to that fearful peal, As though heaven crashed Seeing Ieeton.] Thy knell, my Ireton. Thus only couldst thou die. A brilliant light from above thrown upon Cromwell, kneel- ing by Elizabeth. His head drops on her form. The Gates of Glory open stand, And I am summoned. f tableau. Curtain falls sloioly. * Carlyle. f The Court of France went into mourning, wearing dark-blue velvet. — Guizot THOMAS A'BECKET. THOMAS A'BECKET. A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. Thomas A'Becket. Sir John of Salisbury, bury, ) . ' [ His : ~j friends. Sir Peter of Blois, Albert and Hugh, his attendants. Henry II. of England. Lord Fitzurse, Henry's favorite. Lords De Broc, De Morevtlle, De Tracy. Sir Richard Brito. Reginald De Warrenne. g-eryase de cornhill. Earls Leicester and Cornwall. Bishops of London, Salisbury, Worcester, "Winchester, and York. Sir Richard de Hastings, Grand Prior of England's Knights Templars, then TO years of age. Philip of Rome, Legate. Sir Guy de Lusignan, Knight of Flanders. Knights of France. Lucille, Niece of A'Becket. Matllde, Cousin to Lucille. Lords and Ladies. Reign of Henry II. of England. A. D. 11 63-11 10. Scene lies in England. Flanders, and France. A'BECKET. ACT I. SCENE FIRST. Sea-shore after a storm — Fragments of a wreck. Sir Richard Brito and Lord Fitzurse enter from oppo- site sides. BRITO. What means this haste, my Lord ? FITZURSE. Hast thou not heard ? A'Becket and the King are foes. BRITO. A'Becket and the King ! those late dear friends ! They cannot long be foes : A'Becket is too great Not to forgive his wrongs ; the King too weak, In these wild troublous times, in men of mighty intellect- He feels it, Sir ; we feel it, Sir, though we do hate The man who so o'ertops us. Ton, in the brief recital, Teach this fact — saying, " A'Becket and the King Are sworn foes" — see, how the priest comes first ; So stands he in the thoughts of every man. FITZURSE. And yet I've heard that he was humbly born, But rose so fast, that, like the young fledgling, Soars too high at first — singeing his wings THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT I. He weakened them, and now, full grown, They will not bear him up — hunter and hawker As he is — this churlish priest, born for the torment Of the Anglo-Norman race. A tradesman's son, No more — BRITO. A tradesman's son ! Know, my young Lord, His father was a warrior too, as honest, Sir, As brave — and honesty makes any trade An honor ; and more, his mother, tho' of another clime, Owned gentle blood. When a mere boy, He was sent to Rome by Theobald, Archbishop Then of England, and straightway from His Holiness Bore letters, prohibiting the crowning Of the late King Stephen's son — thus firmly Seating Henry on his throne : — thereafter Soon appointed England's High Chancellor And prince Henry's preceptor. Courtier complete, Unbounded revenues, with seven hundred knights And twelve hundred horsemen in his pay — A regal state — he made the campaign To Toulouse. Next he was to Paris sent, to treat Of an alliance between the young daughter Of France's king and our Prince Henry. Ay, and re- turned With her to England. He never failed. A tradesman's son, you say — his craft he ne'er forgot. Then Theobald died — whom to the primacy Could Henry raise but him, the great A'Becket? First primate sprung from Anglo-Saxon race ; Honored and treasured by all of Saxon blood ; Received by Welsh with the most loud acclaim, Their first Lord Primate under Norman rule — For though I hate him, I must own him great. SCENE I.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 7 The King till now did love him well — What is the cause Of strife ? ITTZURSE. Unto the Pope he hath complained Of the laity's infringement of the Church's rights, And his assent refusing to the Constitutions Of Clarendon, has fled to France. The King At Northampton holds his court to-morrow ; His counsellors are all summoned. BRITO. This I for many a day have feared. Go you not to the chase ? our Liege at noon Rides forth. Yet stay — who have we here ? Lord Salis- bury, Storm-worn and sad ! Enter Lord Joh^ of Salisbury. You here, my Lord, in this dark hour ? Methought the air of France ere this did fan your brow. What news from Lord A'Becket ? SALISBURY. None, none ; but adverse winds Have raged since England's Primate set sail For France. How fares our Liege to-day ? BRITO. Right well. He's for the chase at noon, whither I haste To wait on him — let's on, Fitzurse — Farewell, Lord Salis- bury ! [Brito and Fitzurse Exeunt. SALISBURY. Farewell, most valiant lords — mad King, sad minister ; Oh ! where will this day's business end,, his favorite ! THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT I. Long, now fallen and fled ! These Norman lords Ne'er loved the Saxon priest — but his great genius Bowed them to his will. Queen Eleanor Never loved her King — hates him — While she lives, she'll never cease to work their ill. Meet helpmate has she proved to England's King ; Her uncle's mistress and the Turk's light of love — For this, repudiated by Louis " the young." Our Norman King, to rule her wide domains, After six weeks made her his queen, Bartering his honor and his happiness. I see her hand in this ; she wooed A'Becket's love, And won his deep despite — return like this, No woman e'er forgave. Here have I sought Since yesternight for those would brave the fury Of the storm, and bear these letters to my wronged friend, England's great Primate — great in his youth In feats of arms, learned in legendary lore, Foremost in the court and camp, and first in Henry's favor Till he bade him wear the Primate's robes — Then he foretold this hour ! It's now three days Since he set sail for France, in all which time A tempest fierce hath raged, with winds adverse To him — as though fate would not he should leave His land. But lo ! a sail ! Mayhap it bears him back. I'll to their aid. [Exeunt. Sir Peter of Blois enters, his garments wet and soiled. SIR PETER. A'Becket shipwrecked on his native shore ! He who hath piloted through so many a storm ! It augurs ill for him. Is there no end To his great cares ? Alas ! I fear me, none, SCENE I.] For e'en the elements seem opposed to him. Xo sooner had we left this mighty realm, Albion's white cliffs slumbering in virgin beauty, Than, robed in mist, all faded from our view, And fierce old ocean, with a lion's roar, Struck panic 'mid the seamen. So we who hoped In France to feast to-day, must break our fast In turmoil and in strife. Salisbury enters. Who comes ? What! you, my friend? SALISBURY. Welcome, thrice welcome, tho' in such sad plight ! Thank Heaven, you have weathered out the storm. How fare you, Sir, and our great friend, A'Becket ? BLOIS. As well as ever, though in wisdom wiser. We left the port with favoring gales, But soon the scene was changed ; an angry sea Tossed our poor bark, like bittern, o'er its waves, While she with true heart breasted all their force, And still obedient to the helmsman's rule, After three days' fierce conflict with the storm, Though stranded on yon shore, is sound as ever, Ready again to cope with them. This was for us, my friend. It bids us brave The storms of fate, though we are backward driven By their force. What did you here ? SALISBURY. I waited Till the storm should lull, these papers to dispatch to you. The King had just rode forth unto the chase, When news was ta'en him, A'Becket and his friends Had fled to France. Thereon he ordered 1* 10 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT I. A great council to be held at Northampton, And questioned why he left — asking If the same realm could not contain them both. BLOIS. No, Sir John, never while things are thus ; A'Becket must yield or combat with him manfully ; The last it must be. There is no choice but this. [Pauses. Heard I aright ? Gone forth unto the chase ? How can he wear a heart so light in hour Like this ? 5 Tis ever thus among the great In power, that one man's sorrow proves Some other's joy. So he now revels — riots In his misery. Who have been with you Since I left ? SALISBURY. Young Lords Fitzurse and Brito. BLOIS. Fitzurse ! You entertained him as a friend ; Though in the service of a foe, his heart Inclines to us. SALISBURY. Even so methinks, my Lord ; But come — let's to A'Becket's home, where all Do anxiously wait news of him. BLOIS. We will — when there, we must prepare a numerous suite To wait on him to Northampton. 'Twere well To make a goodly show of friends. [Exeunt. SCENE II.] THOMAS A 5 BECKET. 11 SCENE SECOND. Gothic Hall. a'becket — alone. So much for being willing slave to power ! Had I but sought my pleasure and my weal, Forgetting bis, whose shadow I have been, ±s ot his thought my thought, his every wish my act, All had been well ! But no, not so ; I, to enhance His glory, wealth, and power, to jealous envy Have exposed myself, and now must fall Even like Lucifer, lost in the radiance I have heralded ! Be firm, my heart, be firm ! 'Tis envy speaks ! The tale while told sounds loudly, But palls when probed, bringing dishonor On the babbler's head ! 'Tis weightless as the story The old man tells, walking in second childishness. Why should I be moved ? Silence, thou petty voice, I will not deign to note their idle words. But, ha ! a step — No gentle, sylphlike step ; I hoped my child's. They do approach — Retires one side.] I'll note them here. Fitzurse enters, looking round. fitzurse. How reverend is the air pervades these halls ! How like their great inhabitant, time farrowed ! Firm they stand, ready to cope with fiercest elements. 12 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT I. Oh ! 'tis a noble house ! fit home for such a heart ; Would it were tuned to softer measures, That his step might move in harmony With his king's. Gone, gone to France. I would It were not so — for something tells me that my fate And thine, great soul ! are linked together. A voice ! a step ! [A'Becket conies forward. What ! thou, our Lord Archbishop ! Welcome, my reverend father, to your own land ! No home like this for you. a'becket. Much moved.~\ Thanks, thanks, my son. My Liege — How fares my Liege ? FITZUESE. Well ; save in wanting you. a'becket. My King ! my King ! to think it should be thus ! But he required I should assume this office — And I obeyed amid the formal greetings Of the Lord Bishops, who ever hated me. Then with my office I straightway changed My robes, my habits, and my home ; fasting Where I had feasted ; no more proud Norman's favorite ; Saxon born, I was the people's friend. But stay, whom have we here ? Matilde and Lucille enter^ with cloaks on. matllde, embracing him. My uncle, my dear uncle ! What ! bravest thou the storm ? FITZUESE. Angelic maids ! SCENE II.] THOMAS A'BECKET. 13 a'becket, embracing Lucille, Thou too, my fair Lucille ! What did you there ? LUCILLE. I sought, with dear Matilde, tidings of you, my Lord. FiTztmsE, aside. And then, to wend to heaven. a'becket. My blessings be with you. Daughters, my Lord Fitzurse ! FITZURSE. Fair ladies, at your service. Fitzltrse, Matilde, and Lucille retire one side; on the other enter Richard de Hastings and Phillp of Rome, with attendants and great show of friends. HASTINGS. Our service, my Lord Archbishop. a'becket. Aside.] This Norman Lord ! To them.] You're welcome, Sirs. Pray, what may be your errand ? A noble one it should be, that is borne By the Grand Prior of England's Knights Templars. HASTINGS. 'Tis from your King I come ; grieved deeply By your hasty course, and much moved withal, His language is, " That his loyal subjects Ever observe his will ; " — that he requires Your consent to these the Constitutions Of Clarendon. [Produces scroll. TJien reads — ] " Which do provide, that all control of church as well as 14 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT I. state, should be intrusted to the civil courts. Her clerks, accused of any crime, be tried by them. No clergy leave the realm without consent of King. That excommunicates should not be bound to give security for their continuance in some fixed abode. That all appeals, in causes spiritual, be carried from the Primate to the King, making his judg- ment final. That the Archbishops, Bishops, and other spirit- ual dignitaries should be regarded as Barons of the realm, possess their privileges and be subjected to the burdens of that rank — to attend the King in his Great Councils and as- sist at all trials criminal. The revenues of vacant Sees to belong to the King ; and that the clergy no longer pretend to the right of enforcing payment of debts contracted by oath or promise, but should leave these lawsuits, equally with - other, to the determination of the civil courts ; and that the sons of villeins be not clerks ordained without their lord's consent." a'becket. Requires he this ? My Lords, you know not what you ask ; Go, raze our churches, chapels, convents, ay, our homes, Expel the clergy from his vast domains, And you could do no worse ! Nor is his message Couched in gentle words, although, my Lord, In your delivery it loses its sharper part ; Still would I that you had not borne it. Your office is not raised in my esteem — Degraded to the messenger of an angry King, For passion urges this, and as kings are Above their fellow-men, so should they be Above their frailties ; but I would learn What further he designs. HASTINGS. Pray, be not moved, my noble Lord Archbishop : First, he commands you, his late Primate — SCENE IT.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 15 a'becket, hastily. His late Primate ! who may lie be ? Who was the Primate is the Primate still. HASTINGS. Such was his word, and he requires you surrender Instantly the Castles of Eye and Berkham, With all their honors, and deliver up The culprit, now in your hands, charged With such grave offence, in wedding Lord Rupert's daughter. a'becket. Unequal birth his only fault — would at some mightier's gate No graver lay ! does he so soon forget fam'd Rosamond, So fair ! so frail ! the only daughter of De Clifford, Our great Saxon Lord, the prop and stay Of his old age, degraded to the leman Of his Norman King, to whom he was too faithful ? Accursed was the day when Harold fell, For sin hath shadowed all our ways since then ! But stay, bear this from A'Becket of Canterbury To Henry of England, King but by accident Of birth : say that I neither will surrender aught, Nor yield unto his will. Whence is his power That he should trample upon me, in all His equal, save in honors ? PHILIP OF ROME. My Lord Archbishop, pray be advised ; Beware a breach with King so powerful. a'becket. Philip of Rome, we, Anglo-Saxon born, Are free by nature, as the wind that blows ; 16 THOMAS ABECKET. [ACT I. We bow no suppliant knee to power, Save 'tis the jiower of mind! The poorest hind may bear the proudest head That walks un sceptred through the land. Genius may rear her throne beneath the hovel's roof, And there her worshippers in crowds will kneel. I am the people's friend, the lor dungs' foe, When arrogance marks their steps — go, Sirs, And tell the King I will not yield ! HASTINGS. I fear, Archbishop, this is ill advised ; He is enraged with what has passed already. a'becket, much moved. Well, let him be enraged : what's that to me ? Why should I heed his anger ? Leave him awhile, And he'll grow calm and cool. The hardest steel Not long retains its heat ; the mettled steed Will soonest tamely yield, outworn by his own spirit. HASTINGS. Those honors, my dear Lord, they are of mighty value. Pray be advised ! We would not have you lose Your high estate, and all its great attendants. a'becket, aside. They are moved, the coward hearts ! 'Tis for themselves They fear. My privileges curtailed, where are their own ? Aloud.] My high estate! my honors ! Who can disrobe me of them? They were born with me, with me shall die ! My office I would resign as easily as I lay aside This robe — [aside.] In faith, I find that it is somewhat worn, I would a newer, if not plainer guise. SCENE IT.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 17 HASTINGS. All England, Sir, would mourn your loss. a'becket. And so she should, for England holds me in her chains ; I am the veriest slave that ever lived. ~No mother ever felt more pangs, than I For England — there's not a churl in all the land, But I am bound to him by bands of adamant, My heart-strings webbed in his — King's gifts I value not. To Philip of Rome.] What say you, Prelate ? PHILIP OF ROME. Give him his way. a'becket. Never ! So help me Heaven ! Enter Earls of Leicester and Cornwall. What would ye, noble Sirs ? CORNWALL. That you should let King Henry have his will. a'becket. You too, my Lords ! I had hoped else than this. In you I had confided, till the waters rose E'en to their highest height. Aside.] Ah ! well I know A dove's upon the wing, comes from a storm-proof ark. Aloud,] I may not give him way — for nothing then will satisfy. The Barons all are his — the Bishops, overawed, Dare not oppose his will. Leicester and Cornwall, Ye know not what you do. 18 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT I. Hastings casts himself on his knees before A'Becket. HASTINGS. Father, upon my knees, I do beseeech you yield. I never knelt before To any man. a'becket. Arise, and never kneel again, Save unto God. [Hastings rises. What judgment tells me's wrong, Entreaties never will make right. HASTINGS. If you regard your or your Church's safety, Provoke him not — 'twere vain, my Lord — fruitless, All opposition. He, on his purpose bent, Will have revenge on all who dare oppose. a'becket. My Lord, you know me not. I have no fears — To yield my will, of all things, most I dread. A dangerous precedent it would be Both to myself and King ; for unto me Succeeding trials would each easier seem, And I should yield, until my resolution All was lost — while unto him 'twould be Removal of the sole restraint upon his lawless will. My Lords, I love my King (we were as brothers Till this hapless hour), and cannot see him leap Into the gulf of his mad hot desires. \Lords confer aside. a'becket, aside. Should I now yield, what will my country gain ? Yet is it wise, beggared to be of power, — That which, of all things, least I'd bear to lose ? I cannot, will not, whatsoe'er the cost. SCENE III.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 19 HASTINGS. My Lord, you are alone in this. a'becket. My Lord ! 'Tis virtue ! and I would rather be alone With her, than compassed round by all the hosts Of vice. Of all my friends, are there none left ? Not one. [Aside.] The wise man to the whirlwind bows His head. [Aloud] I will attend the Court. Farewell! farewell! [Exit Lords on one side — A'Becket and friends on the other side.] SCENE THIRD. Grand Council Room at Northampton — Throne with steps — Range of seats for Lords. BRITO. Where are your thoughts, Fitzurse ? FITZURSE. In heaven. BRITO. In heaven ! that's strange, indeed, in you. What took them there ? FITZURSE. The sight of one newly come thence To earth — the fairest being ever eye beheld. BRITO. Indeed ; whose house may't be is worthy such A visitant ? FITZURSE. Thou'lt rival me, I fear. 20 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT I. BRITO. Indeed, not I ; who is this paragon ? FITZURSE. None other than A'Becket's niece. BRITO. A'Becket's niece ! Banish that thought, my Lord. The King will frown On this new fancy. FITZURSE. Well ! let him frown ! I live not in the fear of kingly ire. BRITO. Love makes you bold, young Lord. Oh, clip its wings Before it takes too wild a flight — Lo, where he comes, And angered too, 'twould seem. FITZURSE. 'Tis with A'Beeket. [Aside*] Oh cruel, cursed fate ! That my youth's follies do compel this service To the King, while fair Lucille, A'Becket's niece, Reigns my heart's queen. [Aloud.] My Liege. Sinter Henry and his Court. lie ascends the throne. HENRY. Where stays this priest ? Summon him hither on the in- stant — Kings wait not on their subjects' pleasure. FITZURSE. He comes, my Liege, clothed in his robes of office As Lord Archbishop — bearing the silver cross. HENRY. Why comes he thus ? FITZURSE. It is St. Stephen's Day. SCENE III.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 21 HENRY. So hath it been for years, yet never came he thus. Bishop of London, preside you here. My Lords temporal, Attend on me — the judgment we will await Within — or I to be the King shall cease, Or he to be Archbishop. As Henry leaves the throne A'Becket enters, holding the silver cross before him, and takes his seat in silence; Ms friends behind him, cdl magnificently attired* LONDON. My Lord Archbishop, why do you come Thus armed with the silver cross ? LORD. "lis in defiance Of our Liege, your coming thus into his Court. But he has a sword whose point is sharper far Than that of your pastoral staff. a'becket. Where is my King ? He should preside to-day ; 'Tis so prescribed by " Customs of the Realm." LONDON. Displeased with your approach in such unseemly mode, He doth pass judgment in the inner Court. a'becket. Unseemly mode ! the Church protects her own — She is my Counsellor — unto her I trust. Justice hath fled this realm. [Leicester enters. LEICESTER. My Lord, enraged, he swears He'll be revenged. Oh pray, have pity On yourself and brethren. Provoke him now No more. 22 thomas a'becket. [act I. a'becket. What words are these before the Great Council Of the realm ! Aside.] Nay, rather let him not provoke me more. Cornwall enters. CORNWALL. It is determined, by the King's privy council, You be impeached of perjury and high treason. The first, in that you observe not the Constitutions Of Clarendon— the last, in that you disobey His orders. a'becket. What ! have I then no friends ? ' CORNWALL. Tou have your King, for this he doth reject, And but demands that you shall subject stand Unto the Court's judgment, in the pecuniary charges. a'becket. This, too, I do refuse — the judgment Of no temporal court will I obey. Fitzurse enters.] What more ? fitzurse. My Lord, the King's permission By the Bishops is besought, that, on the score of perjury, They to Rome, against you, may appeal. To this He doth consent. a'becket. The Bishops, say you ? Am I then prejudged without a hearing ? 'Tis enough, I mark what you do say. Aside.'] Ay, mark it well. 'Tis fitting, very fitting, You, whose features wear her lineaments, SCENE ITT.] THOMAS A.'bECKET. 23 Whom Henry wronged, as me, he wrongeth now, Should bear this message of his tyranny — Thus searing our wrongs upon my heart. Alas ! poor Rosamond ! LEICESTER. The Peers, besides, do you pronounce Guilty of perjury and high treason ; But still, the alternative allow Of rendering your accounts, and settling Any balance now against you. Do this, my Lord, Or hear from me your sentence. a'becket, starting and rising. My sentence, ere you've tried me ? Why, I Can charges bring will crush you with their sounding, Though ye are backed by hosts of friends, While I've but one — my well-known " Truth," Which is far stronger in its single strength Than all King Henry's power. § Tho' I have ventured On an unquiet sea, I'll brave its utmost fury. The adder is not malignant, yet, too closely press'd, May turn and sting the heel. My sentence ! Ye vain, proud Lords, ye have not words In your vocabulary to frame my fitting judgment ; Ye minions of a King who has roused a lion That he dare not face ! My sentence, Sirs, is written in the skies ; It is recorded on the azure vault of heaven ; Its letters the glittering stars — heralds Of my future glories. As easy might Yon angry sea, whose wildest waves, 24 thomas a'becket. [act I. E'en in its fiercest rage, are stayed by this rock-bound shore, Strive to wash out what is recorded there — I have no measure for such meanness ! ALL. Do you hear him ? A'Becket tarns to go, when a clamor is raised against him. He steps hack and says — What noise is this ? Oh, were it not forbidden By my orders, with arms I would defend myself. TJie doors of the apartment in which the King is sitting are now thrown open, and A'Becket discovers a body of Knights, with their garments tucked up and their sivords drawn, when Heistry approaches him hastily, and exclaims — HE NET. So ! so ! Sir Priest. What ! this unto ourselves ? My Lords, we deem it fitting we should revive The customs and usages of our grandsire. What think ye, Sirs ? * LORDS. We do assent. a'becket. And we — saving the honor of God, And of the Holy Church. . # HEjVTRY. There is venom Li that reservation. We will no more with thee. Here is a special messenger from the Pope, In answer to my prayer. He, with letters Apostolical, enjoins all prelates, and more Especially you of Canterbury, to accept and Observe all the King of England's laws. SCENE IIT.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 25 Choose here upon the instant — Compliance, Exile, or death. a'becket, pointing to heaven. My Liege, my hour has not yet come. Aside.] All armed, And ready for the act ? A forced compliance Will not bind " the rights of our order" — and as on them Hangs the sole hope the Anglo-Saxon people have Against this Norman monarch's fierce assaults, I'll wear these robes, proof-armor in their cause, And with religion on our side, the sole true friend Of Liberty, I will assert — maintain their rights. I will consent — straightway to France, and thence To His High Holiness, appeal from this. Aloud to the Court.] Prepare these Constitutions. HENRY. ALL Long live our King ana Bishop. End of Act I, This is well. 26 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT II. ACT H. SCENE FIRST France — An Anteroom — Gold and Blue. Matilde enters with Lucille. MATILDE. In faith, Lucille, our refuge here in France Doth seem more like triumphal entry of hero fam'd Than fallen favorites' flight — such troops of friends Attend us on our way. Oh, banish, sweet, From thy once radiant brow the sombre hue Now rests there. You'll make me sad, dear girl. Indeed you will. LUCILLE. Never, dear cousin, with a willing heart. MATILDE. Willing or no, it matters not, Lucille, My heart is ever mirror unto thine. So cheer thee, love — thy suitors would not know The face they once adored. What's the romance The gay Lord Fitzurse [Lucille starts] sang, when last we feasted By sweet Avon's side ? Sing me one line, 'twill bring To memory all those scenes of joy in which we revell'd, And, as gay lark's song heralds the smile of dawn, Wake from its dreams thy mournful pensive eye. These knights of France are rich in all may win "the heart of beauty, and well I know Full many a lance will break for thee, Lucille. SCEXE I.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 27 LUCILLE. And break in vain ! MATTLDE. Why so ? How ? Sighs and tears ! What is the cause of this ? Of late I've mark'd You're much alone, in shady walks, or where The silver moon sheds her pale light. What is't ? Dost love? Thou'rt moved! Who is the knight whose badge Thy heart doth wear ? Tell me, sweet girl ; I know Thou lovest I LUCILLE. 'Tis true, and am beloved. Nor were I sad, but he in whom I live Now mourns by Avon's bank his absent love. His name, Matilde, I long have long'd to tell, But that my heart's so jealous of his worth, I would not e'en the air of heaven Should know its precious secret. MATILDE. Know I its lord ? If so, how sweet we shall commune together, Unfolding to each other our hearts' treasures ; For I a secret have, dearer to me than life. It shall be thine — thine given me in turn. LUCILLE. Is't so ? Fitzurse — his name. MATILDE. The noble, generous youth We love so much ? He who cours'd o'er the heath Of Hounslow to our support ? LUCILLE. The same. 28 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT IT, MATTLDE. Why, thou hast known him but one little month. LUCILLE. One little month? So full of joys it was, That, when I count them o'er, all else of life Seems but one little speck, except, except The last few days, which are as centuries. Dost wonder that I am sad ? MATILDE. Nay, dearest, rather wonder I that floods Of tears marked not our swift departure, • When, all so unprepared, thy heart was rooted From the soil it loved, to pine away afar. But cheer thee now, thou shalt not miss him long; He shall be summoned to attend our train. LUCILLE. Thanks, thanks, my dear Matilde ; but he, you know, Doth wait upon the King. MATILDE. Nay, nay, you say the Queen of Beauty Rules his heart. She owns not a divided service. If Fitzurse loves thee, what is Henry's will Weighed against Love's commands ? All things Oppose its ardent calls, are but as rushes in its path. He'll straightway come to France. LUCILLE. Then wilt thou see my face decked, like the morn Of May, in the foir flowers thou so lovest, Matilde ; My heart will be as blithe as linnet's, And the whole livelong day thou'lt hear my song ; My steps the gentle fawn's shall all outvie ; And in my smile, mirrored, shall be thine own. SCENE IT.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 29 The sweetest ever seen by man, In their richest beauty. Thy lover is — MATILDE. The Lord of Blois. He whose wit is soul Of merry meetings, and from whose sage discourse Wisdom itself might learn. But soon they'll come — Our aged uncle and my own true knight. [jEJxemit. SCENE SECOND. Stone-Vaulted Hall. A'BECKET. This then is my reward for years of toil ! Oh! thou poor King, semblance of majesty! To use armed force against a cowled monk ! My pity doth outweigh my hate for thee. How soft the air of France ! The breeze that did accord With words of hate, with voice of love doth harmonize. Bright omen this — herald of joys to come ; Her King must smile, for many is the favor I have rendered him ; nor will brave Philip frown, For him I have served in diverse manners. But what of that ? Mankind of woman born Never knew gratitude, since the first mother Of us all rebelled and ate forbidden fruit, Though Eden teemed with all most fair and good. No, no, 'tis not to this I'll look; jealous they grow Of England's King, and I will nurse this plant Till it o'ershadows every other thought. Rome's Pontiff, too, doth feel but little love For him who so invades his rights. 30 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT IT. Enter Johx of Salisbury. Who comes? SALISBURY. Your pardon, Father, if that I intrude. a'becket. Welcome, my son ; when to our friends at home You write, use Saxon names, lest that our letters Intercepted, disguise be needful for their safety. SALISBURY. I shall, my Lord ; but now a knight of Flanders Attends your leisure. He comes intrusted With kind messages. a'becket. Is't so ? Give him a hearty welcome, And, when refreshed, escort him to my room. SALISBURY. France, too, doth join in her regards. My Lord of Blois Now greets her messengers. a'becket. France too ! Methinks the sun does shine To-day ! Go you with haste and give them welcome. [Exit Salisbury. Flanders and France ! one more and all Fate's frowns Are flown ; thus she, who seemed a very shrew To me, angelic maid will be. Ere they arrive I'll summon my Lucille, for suffering beauty More doth move the heart than ever did The care-marked face of age. Albert ! ho ! Albert ! Enter Albert.] Bid my lady nieces attend me here, As messengers from France and Flanders Have arrived, and I would they should welcome Them. [Exit Albert. SCEXE II.] THOMAS A'BECKET. 31 Farewell, pale care! welcome, rose-cheeked joy ! Once more, as in my boyhood's hour, my heart Doth gayly beat. Louis of France, my heartfelt thanks To you ; and Philip of Flanders, success Attend you ever — this hour shall Henry rue. Enter Matilde, Lucille, and Peter of Blois. / MATILDE. How fares my uncle? a'becket. Well, dearest child ; and thou, the same ? But this were needless, for thy smile assents In terms more speaking than thy tongue could lisp. My fair Lucille ! Thou art not well, my child — But soon the air of France will call its wonted color To thy cheek. Do those Lords attend? BLOIS. They do. a'becket. Say I await them here. [Exit Blots. My daughters dear, season your welcome As best becomes ye. I'd take by storm These noble hearts, for first impressions Are like first bounds of steeds, that start Upon a race, which, feebly made, compel Much after toil, else they ne'er reach the goal. They come. Blois ushers in Lords of France and Flanders, blois. From Flanders and from France, my Lord, These gallant knights bring messages of love. 32 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT II. a'becket. Welcome, welcome, gentlemen. Sir Guy de Lusignan ! Nobles of France, he is well known to you, For Fame did with one breath proclaim you all Her own. To LusiGJSAisr.] My youth's fond playfellow ! Accept my welcome, and my thanks — thanks From a heart o'erflowing — for this remembrance Of thy sunshine's friend. SIR GUY. Friends in misfortune Are the only friends the great man e'er should boast. There ever are a thousand motes live in his sunbeams, But when shadows fall, they darkling fade away. Most noble Primate, our service unto you, And our King's welcome. a'becket. Thanks, my Lord, thanks to him And you. My niece Lucille ; Matilde, her friend And cousin. LORD OF FRANCE. Ever at your service, Ladies fair. Aside.] How passing beautiful ! Aloitd.~\ As large as is The welcome of our hearts, which knows no bounds, So would our King and we, that you should find Our fortunes and our favors. Our Liege, • To Henry's embassy's complaint of violation Of the Treaty of Montmerail, replied, " Go, tell your King, that if he holds unto the customs SCENE II.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 33 Of his grandsire, I well may hold to right Hereditary, of succoring the exiled of all climes." a'becket. Indeed ! indeed ! 'Twas nobly said. Were I to live Twice man's allotted time, I should not have E'en hours enough wherein to thank his gracious Majesty For such unbounded kindness shown me. The knights and ladies retire to the back of the stage and Fitzurse enters. a'becket. What ! thou, my Lord Fitzurse ? Aside.] I love this youth ! And yet, alas ! why so ? His mother ! X o ! no ! 'tis past, 'tis past. Aloud.] Welcome, my son. fitzurse, kneeling. How fare you, reverend Father ? Thy niece and cousin, all well, when so much evil Is abroad ? a'becket. All well, my son — and you ? Oh ! thine Is, indeed, true love ! fitzurse, aside. Ha ! knows he that ? Oh, would it were ! a'becket. When in my power, you refused high rank, Thus, in my poverty, to join my train. fitzurse. I wanted but thy love. Thy offices, Many, more able, needed. I but made room For one of the hungry crowd, that he might gorge Himself with power, that dish which all who eat, 34: THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT II. Lest they are favor' d with its choicest parts, Soon sickened, fall its prey. Henry on wrong heaps wrong : Four hundred of thy truest friends are banished From his realm, and Peter pence is stopped. May Heaven pardon him as I do now ! How greatness brings sad havoc in its fall On all who prop it up. FITZURSE. Not this alone ; He hath sequestered the revenues of Canterbury, And even thy domestics banished. a'becket. Revenged himself upon the innocent ! Oh, grimed heart ! More fiendish than was Nero In his rage ! To think that he I've served so long, From tender youth to age, should thus repay me. Oh, wretched man and yet more wretched King ! My servants, say'st thou? In what have they wronged him, Save in the service they have rendered me ? But he rewards the faithful with ingratitude. I will to England hasten, and surrender up My life ('tis all I've left) to him. FITZURSE. That were both rash and vain. Nay, nay, my Lord ! a'becket. My friends ! my friends ! Think, think of them ! Are they to suffer For wrongs done by me ? Justice hath fled his realm, And devils rule his heart. Had I remained In England, this had not been. SCENE II.} THOMAS a'bECKET. 35 Oh, curse of greatness ! But thus the branches die, when falls the oak ! Had I the voice of Rome, I'd shake the realm Until it tottered on the verge of ruin, And his proud sceptred head lay in my courser's way. Peace, peace, my heart, but grow not instant old With this assault of Fortune ! Bear up, bear all ; Still hast thou manhood's vigor, with the wisdom Born of sixty wintry years. Attend me here, my son. You who have flown to aid when fortune frowns, Shall be the first on whom her favor'll light. You'll find some friends in yonder room. Farewell, and when you're weary of life's trifles, Come to my closet ; there you'll find its cares, Spread with no niggard hand. EITZUESE. Bear up, my Lord, bear up ; this unto Henry Were the happiest hour he ever yet hath lived, Could he but see your grief. a'becket. My grief! grief and A'Becket Are as far apart, as are the sun And his antipodes ! This is not grief But rage, cooled in the air of practised self-control. Oh, could you look into my heart's curtained chambers, You would witness scenes would daunt your very soul ! A citadel stormed outwardly by foes, The hosts within, maddened by suffering, Turned upon themselves. FITZURSE. Oh, Father ! give not way. 36 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT II. a'becket. Give not way ! I know my part ; forbearance For a season wins control ; when once I hold The reins, Henry of England, beware my rule ; The jewelled sceptre shall be all thou'lt wear Of royalty ; that will I leave you, that my revenge May the more bitter be, reminding you, poor King, Of what you once had been, and might yet be. fitzurse, aside. This to the King, you'd never hold those reins. a'becket. I, I had rather be your crawling slave, Toil at the galleys from the first breath of morn Till day hath sunk to slumbers, than live but king In name, held in such light esteem, the very air Would refuse to bear my words beyond the walls That heard them. Down Fate's long vista I have looked And seen what I have spoken. Mark me, my boy : My mother gave me this. She was the daughter Of a Saracenic chief. My father Warred with hers. After a conflict fierce, Overcome by him and prisoner taken, Long lay he ill, tended but by my mother, Then a maid of beauty, spotless as her virtue. Ministering to all his wants, foreseen Long ere conceived — she learnt to love him, And lie loved her — for what will sooner melt The heart of man than beauty, kneeling by the couch Where pain has laid his stricken frame. After some months, the tears that nursed those hours Of grief, were changed to smiles should gladden SCENE II.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 37 All life's days ; and theirs were in their spring. One great and brave, the other fond and fair. Ransomed, he asked her hand ; her father frowned ; But 'twas in vain — their troth was plighted. They swore to wed. He left for England. Scarce had he reached her shores, when at his feet Knelt a fair youth, " London" and " Gilbert" on his tongue ('Twas all the English that he knew), admittance Craving to his service. Knowing 'twas her, His heart alone adored, for love is ne'er deceived However disguised the form — he raised her — Clasped her to his breast — she was his own. :Jc :£ % H« ♦ * Within a little chapel by the sea-shore stands, Mantled in ivy, veiled by rarest flowers From the world's gaze profane, they gave their hands — No hearts had they to give. Blest in each other, Long in love they lived ; and when he died, The blow which felled the oak struck to the dust The flower. There, by sweet Avon's side, where stands A weeping willow, lie interred all That was left to earth — their spirits dwell in Heaven. Oh ye who watched my infancy, Upon my age look down in love : mail me In virtue, that the shafts of vice may pass Me blunt and harmless. Grant that my arm may wield Her truncheon, while her banner floats high o'er My victorious brow. But I detain you, Sir. Go to my anteroom — there may my niece And cousin both be found. I will with you. [Mceunt. 38 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT II. SCENE THIRD. An Anteroom in Palace. Matilde, Lucille; Knights of France and Flanders advancing. FRANCE. Ladies fair, we trust that us and ours you use As best promotes your pleasures. Many's the charm Of France — all yours, if you'll but ask it. matilde. Thanks, heartfelt thanks, most noble Lords ; so rich, So bounteous is your clime, that, were I not Of England, I fain would be of France. The very air of heaven is generous here ; The flowers, the fruits, so lavish all their sweets, Ambrosial is each breath. FRANCE. Nay, nay, unworthy she of praise So sweet ; believe me, 'tis that she borrows From thy charms, that all's so passing fair. matilde. The rose could scarce desert us here in France, So finished are you in your speech, my Lord. FRANCE. In the moon's ray alone, the dew-drop glistens Longest. May we for many a day boast The bright light thy sweet smiles give our land. Who may this be approaches ? A gallant gentleman ! MATILDE. A noble Lord, the pride of all who know him. SCENE III.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 39 Fitzurse enters. FITZURSE. To Matilde.] Fair lady, by your leave. [Kisses her hand. Tour servant, gentlemen. MATILDE. My Lord Fitzurse, you're welcome. Presenting Lucille.] My lovely cousin ! fitzurse to her. My Morning Star ! [Kisses her hand. Oh, what a golden day Herein is promised me ! LUCILLE. Fitzurse, my noble Lord ! The others retire^ [They icalk apart. fitzurse. My fair Lucille — Sun of my life, what, what Hath ravaged my rich garden thus — its flowers All faded — all its pure springs dried up — where Are the roses rich, bloomed richest on thy cheek ? The lilies fair which made thy neck their bed ? Their breath alone remains. And those bright orbs Which once did put the stars to shame, now seem But wells of grief. Cheer up, cheer up, sweet friend ; Call from thy soul the light once wont to glisten In thy tearless eye. You'll make me sad, dear girl, In faith you will. Ah ! now you smile, and now I know My own Lucille. What is't hath changed you thus ? LUCILLE. Thy absence, my dear Lord, and loving doubts Lest we no more should meet. Ah ! that alone Were grief enough to make stones weep ; but as the sun Their sweet distilments draws from flowery meads, 40 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT II. So shall thy presence from my verdant heart Reap harvest of such joys, thy eye will love To linger on the scene, on which it once so fondly gazed. FITZURSE. True, Love, though banished from our cherished home, We'll deck in joy our thoughts — and smiles the garb Shall be, the face shall wear — all lands the same to love. LUCILLE. In truth we will, dear Lord — but pray, how came you here ? FITZURSE. My heart had learnt to beat most healthful time To the soft music of Lucille's sweet voice. That missed — all others sounded " harsh and out of tune." So I came here to France. LUCILLE. Then Henry hath not frowned On you — no, no, that could not be. FITZURSE. Nor is ; But I have frowned on him — spurned the base rule That tramples thus on worth ; genius to slander's shafts Hath fallen prey, and wisdom fled his realm. The ides of March brought not more ills upon the sons Of Rome, than this on England hath. LUCILLE. Oh, say not so, for she our country is — But see, these knights of Flanders and of France Have ta'en their leave — they are most courtly lords ; To them I'm much beholden. FITZURSE. Thence, much am I ; Come, dearest love, and we'll amid this castle's varied scenes, While away a few short hours. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 41 SCENE FOURTH. Court at Sens — A Grand Hall. Enter Henry and De Broc. HENRY. I have advices tell me the Primate threatens me. He threaten me ! Why, what a slave am I ! A monkish cowl more terror strikes into my heart Than twice ten thousand men, all mailed in steel ! Still, should he issue interdict, farewell To all my power — this will suspend all forms Religious — marriage, baptism, burial — No priest Can then officiate in public or in private. 'Twill break the bonds of loyalty. I'll stay his course. De Broc ! my Lord De Broc ! Give instant orders That all England's ports be watched, with this command, That any one, or man or child, matron or maid, Who shall bear over, promulgate, or obey, Letters of Interdict, receiveth instant death, — No clergy's benefit allowed. Announce That if the Cistercian Order, now at Pontigny, Continue to protect this traitor, their Order Be expelled from my domains. [Exit De Broc Enter Fitzurse.] Ha ! my Fitzurse ! fitztjrse, kneeling. My Liege. he^ey, sarcastically. How fares our loving Primate ? FITZURSE. Well, my Liege — France, Flanders, and the Pope outvie each other In favors shown him. 42 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT II. HENRY. Is't so, in fact ? FITZURSE. In fact, my Liege. HENRY. What can we do ? FITZURSE. Make peace with him. HENRY. Make peace, but how ? Must I cringe to him ? FITZURSE. No, my Liege, use France. He will a mediator be. There must be peace, else your whole realm's disjoined. Better 'twere made in a friendly way, than you be forced To it. HENRY. True, true ; we will consult with France As to the better mode. A'Becket knows not You are in my service ? FITZURSE. No, deems me fallen from favor. HENRY. Let it be so, but heed him well. Attend me ! \Exemit. SCENE FIFTH, "dfothic" a'becket and blois. blois. Your orders are fulfilled, my Lord — Yet may not Henry injure you still more ? SCENE V.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 43 a'becket. He injure me ? Each wrong he does me falls As sand, a handful thrown aloft, covering whole acres With its particles. Such my revenge shall be — A myriad ills for every wrong he does my country And my friends. At Sens, henceforth, I'll dwell in peace, Out of the range of his hostility, While he'll live troubled with the fear of me. His Holiness hath bidden me, " in this my poverty," To be " Consoler of the poor." To Henry, begging, He refused a conference, and me appoints His Legate unto England. Most generous act ! Said I not that all worked well ? Trust, trust to years ; We better read the hearts of men than ye Of tender youth. BLOIS. 'Tis true, my Lord. a'becket. One Alexander, and but one, was to the old world known ; So shall Rome's sacred 'scutcheon his name bear, Greatest of all her Pontiffs. Such men are offspring Of a thousand years — none, none like him Shall the next ten centuries see. Ah ! here Albert comes. More news ? Methinks this day Is big with it. Enter Albert.] [A'Becket, taking letter, reads. What is this ? What is this ? Henry inhibits all appeals, or unto the Pope Or me ; declares it treason to introduce Our interdicts into his kingdom, and obliges all Who in England dwell, to swear observance Of these orders, on pain of most dread sufferings. This, this is monstrous ; it were as well that water 44 THOMAS a'bECKET, [ACT II. Were forbidden ! I'll fill the world with it ! This is the cause of God ! Go you, and unto Louis Write this, also to Philip of Flanders : " That I suspend the spiritual thunder Over Henry's head, to fall, less timely repentance comes." This will him deprive of all his continental territories, And endanger his power in England. Write this, and messengers dispatch to Rome With news of what I do. I'll be myself once more. I'll nothing with this King ! He yet shall sue To me ! All mediations shall but faster forge The bars keep Henry from my love. Enter Johx of Salisbury.] Ha ! my friend Of Salisbury, what news hast thou ? johk of Salisbury. John of Oxford Hath for himself obtained absolution, And resigned his Deanery to the Pope, But, by his appointment, straightway received it back. a'becket. Indeed ! This looks not well for us ! What arts Were used to influence His Holiness ? What more ? SALISBURY. A Bull from the Pope, my Lord, the decree Annulling, did confiscate your goods, But with his prohibition 'gainst excommunicating Any person in England, or interdicting that realm. While he his wish doth indicate, exhorting you To moderation and humility. sor.NE i.] thomas a'becket. 45 a'becket. To moderation And humility ? I'll see my friend of France- — Louis will ne'er desert me. Whence comes this change ? To moderation and humility ! And what is this but moderation And humility ? These cloistered courts After my princely halls, and but two friends For all my regal train — I would for myself be humble, very humble, Humble as the dust. My exaltation were my sure reward, But my poor friends — my country ! Exd of Act II. act m. SCENE FIRST. "Stone" — A'Becket's apartment in Monastery at St. Colomba. Enter Lords De Beoc and De Tracy, DE TRACY. Is this the love France bears to England, Such princely entertainment to her foes ? DE EROC. 'Twas ever thus, his seeming modesty Was but the semblance of austerity. 46 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT III. A beggar's robe upon a princely couch Proved well this upstart's vanity. DE TRACY. Peace, peace ! He comes DE BROC. Well ! let him, 'tis but to blind The vulgar he's thus clothed, they never see Aught but the ante-room, and that's the same, A picture of sad poverty. He knoweth well How best to catch the vulgar crowd. My Lord, There's danger here to us and to our rights ! DE TRACY. Once on the shore of England, 'twill go hard But we shall tame his spirit ; escape Were not so easy, had we guarded well. DE BROC. We'll have no peace while Becket lives to plot. DE TRACY. True, true ! There's something in the air of France ! How proud grows Lord Fitzurse! DE BROC. Fair and false ! false and fair ! He counts upon A'Becket's niece's wide domains. I sent some flowers to his lady love, Of fragrance rich and rare, with lines composed By our most sweet queen, in the envelope Came from Lord Fitzurse — (she knew the hand, For he's a dainty scholar) together — With his last words to us, — Sarcastically, .] His friends should advance his suit. Lo ! here the Archbishop comes. SCENE I.] THOMAS A'BECKET. 47 Enter A'Becket. DE BROC. Our gracious Lord Archbishop ! a'becket, aside. Our Lord Archbishop ! — no thanks to you I'm so. Aloud.] What would ye, Sirs, with me ? DE BROC. A friendly conference. a'becket. I'll send my kinsman to you, Sirs : I hold No private conference — there's a wide gulf Between the Saxon Primate and the Norman lords. DE TRACY. You do mistake us much, my Lord. We come as friends. a'becket. So came the serpent, who beguiled poor Eve, Promising knowledge, which but proved her ruin. DE BROC. Not so, my Lord. Peruse this letter, 'tis from England's King. Aside to De Tracy.] Mark him, my friend 1 a'becket reads — then says — Indeed, 'tis well — 'tis well. Accept my welcome, most noble Lords, And pardon an old man's petulance, In that I did receive you, formally — Sit ye, and we'll discuss this business. Ho ! Albert. [Enter Albert. Bid them prepare repasts for fifty knights, — Friends have arrived from France. [Exit Albert. How does his gracious majesty ? 48 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT III, DE TRACY. Well in all things save one — he bade us say, And that, the loss of your society. With this, that with the past its ills were flown, Therefore, in oblivion buried, let all Vexed questions be, and begs your quick return. a'becket. Bury the past, my Lords ! Do we forget the avalanche has hurled Our stately mansions to the dust, and cast Unto the winds our prosperous fortunes ? Henry asks much — besides, here have I Plenty, honor, ease ; while I in England, At best, should find but lack of love, dishonor, Penury. — No, no, my Lords ; not to use Harsher phrase, this is ungenerous ! BE BKOC. Nay, nay, my Lord ; you and your friends shall be restored To all your livings ; and ail the benefices That have been filled during your absence Shall be vacated, until supplied by you. He asks but this, that you absolve his ministers. A ? BECKET. We will confer on this. Albert, attend these lords. You must be quite o'er worn with your ride. I thank you for your love, shown in your haste To greet me. Doves had scarce flown faster. DE TRACY. Our service to you, Father. [^Exeunt. a'becket. Falsehood here, falsehood everywhere, methinks The very air is filled with it. I scent naught else. Return to England and he'll repair the past ! SCENE I.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 49 Restore myself and friends our proud estates — Can he restore the time of which he has robbed me ? Why, what a fool he thinks me ! Will do all this — All this, ay more, so say these lords. Catch me With promises, and birds with lime, when on them Te can lay it, Sirs ! There's something more in this ; Insult to injury. I'll none of it. When I may land On England's shore, backed by my thousands, Then I may return, but never on the strength Of Henry's promise — which, like the Upas, Wins the gazer's eye, but to the trusting touch Is poisonous. And more : there are my private heart-seated wrongs Which stalk around me, though there's lapse of years. 'Twas he who robbed me of my youth's fond hopes, Dishonoring her who was my only pride ! No, no, not so ; I will be just even in my hate : Hers was the sin to me — not his — he knew not of my love. Oh ! I forget — my heart and head grow old — I forgave him then, and took England for my bride. Away, ye selfish thoughts ! Ye must be strangers To the breast of greatness. Enter Matilde and Salisbury. a'becket. My child, here is news from England. Henry craves our return. [Aside.] I'll sound her woman's wit. matilde. You will not go, dear father. SALISBURY. Most surely not. 3 50 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT ITT. a'becket. He promises to restore myself and friends Unto our former honors. SALISBURY. His promises, my Lord — a'becket. Are — SALISBURY. But sportsmen's calls to lure their prey. MATILDE. You will not go ? a'becket. Should I be afraid, my child ? A'Becket ne'er knew fear, for he is mailed In the garb of faith ! SALISBURY. Father, it is not that you fear, but you mistrust ; You know he is treacherous, as hyena fierce, And you'd not venture in his den. Prudence is a manly virtue ! Go not, my Lord. Here are your truest friends, consult with them. Enter Fitzurse on one side, Lucille on the other. a'becket. Lucille, my child ! my Lord Fitzurse — ye whom I much do love — ye whom I call mine own, Give me your voices. England here writes (Her lords have just arrived), and begs Our quick return, promising to all our friends Their former state. LUCILLE. Father, you'll not return ! Aside.] Why came Lord Fitzurse here ? SCENE I.] THOMAS A'BECKET. 51 a'becket. Do you counsel thus ? lucille, kneeling to him. Upon my bended knee, I do beseech you, Sir, That letter ! [A'Becket gives it her. Aside.'] The same hand as that to Henry's embassy. Love cannot blind me to the fact, 'tis his, — Fitzurse's ! — Bear up, my heart ! I'll note him well. a'becket. And what, Fitzurse, say you ? Salisbury. I, would not trust his promise. FITZURSE. I, would, my Lord ; Honor and safety unto all he vouches. LUCILLE tO FITZURSE. Would you, my Lord ? FITZURSE. I would, fair lady. LUCILLE. His promise ! Oh ! Father, do not go, save hostages Be left with France for your security. a'becket. Well thought, my child ! SALISBURY. And deeds, confirming all your rights, Be sent, a'becket. So be it. Salisbury, meet me at hour of nine ; Lest Henry trifles, we'll safe bind at once. Each now, to their several pleasures. Exeiuit all, except Fitzurse and Lucille. 52 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT TIT. FITZURSE. Sweet flower of Spring, all will be well ! I heard from Henry by this embassy : There is full power to comply with what A'Becket asks. LUCILLE. My Lord, you, from King Henry, advices have ! Why spake you as you did, when others raised their doubts ? FITZURSE. I gave my answer unto all they asked. LUCILLE. My Lord ! My Lord ! You gave your answer ! A friend had opened to his friend his heart ; So he his thoughts had read. A follower Should have done so. I would not trust this King, Nor— FITZURSE, Nor what ? LUCILLE. No matter- — FITZURSE. Dost thou reprove ? LUCILLE. You heard from Henry ! How could you hold communion with A'Becket's foe ? fitzurse aside. Am I love's slave, that I am questioned thus ? Aloud.] Dost thou reprove, fair maid ? LUCILLE. As does your heart, Does mine ; but oh, what grief, if that it must do so. Aside.] To love, to doubt ! Oh, wretched fate is mine ! SCENE I.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 53 FITZURSE. For me, Lucille, these words ? LUCILLE. For you, my Lord ; Or any man, whose smiling face Is but the glittering sheath, covers a heart Would stab its dearest friend. [Fltzurse starts. You met these lords in private Ere they had seen mine uncle ; a secret conference Held with them ; these facts concealed, when in good faith Consulted. [Fitzurse offers to take her hand. Nay, Sir, your hand's unclean, fresh from the traitor's act. FITZURSE. Lucille ! LUCILLE. Who would be false to him, is false to me ! FITZURSE. Why this ? How know you that I conference held ? LUCILLE. Tour silence to my charge when made ! Aside.] I will not wound him, with these dreadful lines— His letter to the King — assassins of my young heart's hopes. I've said enough, unless his heart is stone. FITZURSE. 'Twas in your uncle's cause, and thine ; besides, I saw them but a moment. LUCILLE. Would'st thou prevaricate and gloss it o'er to me, My Lord ? — you met them, Sir, my uncle's foes, In private, 'tis enough — false unto him, You'd be unfair to me. " Candor" is the motto 51 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT III. Blazoned on true love's shield ! Farewell ! I am much grieved to find you lack this virtue. Who would have thought you thus could mar The noblest gifts of nature ? Farewell, farewell ! My love is changed to pity. Leave me, Sir ! FITZURSE. Lady, you will repent you of this hour. Farewell ! [ Going. LUCILLE. My Lord, I do repent me of this hour, And many hours past ! May Heaven pardon you, As I do now ! FITZURSE. Farewell, fair Lady, since it must be so. You will relent. LUCILLE. Never! never! FITZURSE. Farewell ! [Exits. LUCILLE. Are there in store for me more bolts like this ? If so, would Heaven they'd fall at once And crush me. a'becket enters. My child, what moves you thus ? Where is Fitzurse ? LUCILLE. Fitzurse ! Fitzurse ! He's false to you, to me, To the whole world ; for all who knew him Held him as candor's child. Trust him not, Father, trust him not ! [ Giving a letter. Thy letter and these lines, 'Twas the same hand penned both. SCF.XE I.] THOMAS A'BECKET. 55 a'becket reads. Ha— " A'Becket's friend, who fair Lucille cloth woo, Is Henry's friend, A'Becket's direst foe. Her bridal rites will prove A'Becket's grave, When fair Lucille becomes, Lord Fitzurse's slave." Where found you this ? [Aside.] 'lis from Queen Elea- nor ! lucille, taking -flowers from her bosom. These flowers bore the thorn. I cannot nurse you longer. [Drops them gently. a'becket. Poison oft lurks beneath earth's fairest fruits ! What more knowest thou ? LUCILLE. He saw these lords this morn ; Held private conference, ere you met them, Sir. a'becket. Indeed, was't so ? nor spake when I did question him ? How false ! How foul ! Cheer thee, my child, all sorrows Have their balm ! Go, seek Matilde, I'll summon Salisbury. [Exit Lucille. I cannot believe, without the weightiest proofs, That he is false to me. Yet it is his heritage. Him whom I guarded, though unbeknown, From tenderest infancy to full-grown pride. I saw the germs of greatness in the boy, And trusted they would bloom in manhood. Thus ever fail our fondest hopes. My poor, poor child ! Why falls this blow on her ? Her, whom I thought Secure as cloistered nun from love-born griefs. 56 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT III. Salisbury enters unseen by A'Becket. How vain is man's needfulness ! Poor girl ! poor girl ! But thus it is with all — how fitful is life ! To-day, in manly pride, as dares the bark The ocean's changefulness, the gallant youth struts, Conscious of his power ; but soon, as sinks Beneath that ocean's frowns the groaning hulk, His crest is lowered by the storm which strikes, Sooner or later, all who hope to soar High o'er the world's wild waves. Youth is hope's season, Though the seed that's sown, oft yields but sorry harvest. Life is a dream, naught real but the hour. Unstable as the stream, earth's offerings, The sweetest to the taste are joys unhoped. The bitterest sorrow comes when unforeseen. Hard seems life's yoke, yet easy 'tis to bear, If mated, but with faith. SALISBURY. How wonderfully wise ! He's wrapt in thought On man's futility. I must disturb his musing. Father ! a'becket. My son, what news ? SALISBURY. Your terms made known to Henry's embassy, They, having well feasted, would not o'er wait The night, but posted back again. Methinks, My Lord, he'll grant you any thing, so urgent Were their words. a'becket. 'Tis well ; but hast thou heard What passed between the King of France SCENE I.] THOMAS A'BECKET. 57 And he who is miscalled England's ? Thus says a later embassy, just arrived. SALISBURY. A later embassy ! a'becket. E'en so. Hear thou their words — Attended by his friends and counsellors, His sovereignty proudly worn, Henry approached Unbending ; his salutation formal, And his words as cold as winds that come From Norseland. 'Twas not the part of France His breath should be the breeze from balmy Southland blows. But as exposed, most hostile things produce A genial spark — even from the meeting Of their distant spirits, a flame of love Sprang forth. Right royally forgetting and forgiving, He to those honors of which I was so unjustly reft, With many more, restored me. We will to England soon, When unto you, high office I'll intrust. SALISBURY. Bright ray of Peace ! May Heaven be thanked ! a'becket. E'en so — and by its mercies we are called In action to proclaim unto the world Our gratefulness. Much is there to be done ; The lawless nobles must be curbed, licentious Is the very air of England. Gold, glittering gold, And an unseemly pride, are all these nobles Glory in. Their vassals are oppressed, And the High Church neglected. 3* 58 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT III. It must, shall, be reformed. This for thine ear alone. [Miter Lucille. What would you, child ? LUCILLE. The King, our Liege, arrived to-day in France This letter bearing, his lords an audience crave. Gives a letter.] Fearing treachery lurked beneath, I bore it Here myself. What says his Majesty ? a'becket, after reading. We are recalled to all our honors ! The King reposes now some few miles hence, His lords of hig:h decree attend me here. Salisbury, go you and sound them well, Note all their actions, even their garb observe. The leopard's skin is most in vogue With our nobility, and 'neath its beauties Oft a poniard gleams. I fear not, but mistrust. Their purpose known to you, you'll find me here. [Exit Salisbury. Lucille, my child, pray lay aside this grief, Thou mayst have heavier trials yet in store. LUCILLE. If so, I'll bear them — as I will bear this — Am I not A'Becket's niece ? his child ? a'becket. Well said, my idol girl — Yet stay — thy beauties now full blown, many there are In England who will strive to pluck the flower From the parent stem — and at thy age the heart Beats not alone with throbbings born within, But, like the sweet airs heard in verdant vales, Whispers in melodies in ten thousand born. SCENE I.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 59 LUCILLE. I've done with love — an o'ermastered argosie — I've sunk my young heart's countless wealth In the deep bosom of forgetfulness — Mine uncle dear, hast thou not watched O'er infancy's frail flowers, smiled on their budding, And what you are pleased to call their full-blown Beauties, tended, with parent carefulness ? a'becket. A father's love, no more. LUCILLE. Yes, more ; a mother's ! Were you not both to me ? a'becket. And thou to me, a child. The purest, dearest moments granted me In a long life, I owe to thee, Lucille. I never knew a parent's love. Though I am risen To greatness, 'twas heart-born grief marshalled me To honor ; since then I have never halted In my rapid course ; no matter how opposed, All things I made, rungs in ambition's ladder ; In my whole course of life o'erleaping Where I could not level to my will, and once, But once, have fallen — and that was, as the flame On sudden dies, to shine with greater brightness. We will prepare for England. [Lucille retires. Enter Salisbury] What say these lords ? SALISBURY. All that, to the ear, is fair. a'becket. But to the thought Most foul — I read your meaning — speak, my friend. 60 THOMAS A 5 BECKET. [ACT III. SALISBURY. With every wish for your success — much joy That you to England will return — smiles, words Such as are used by courtiers, they lauded Henry to the skies, for what he did perforce. Making him centre unto them, his satellites, No more, no more ! a'becket. So greatness ever is attended. Upon the lion's heels thus treads the jackall, And what he leaves, delights to feed on. You met them graciously ! Salisbury, If they can, they will sting — we must draw their fangs. Wait they below? SALISBURY. They do, my Lord. a'becket. We will receive them here. Exit Salisbury and enter Albert. Albert, I may have work for you, await without ; Your arms are ready ? Cordin and Bassett With you ? I'll knock, should you be needed. Enter Salisbury, De Tracy, De Moreville, and Sir Richard Brito. a'becket. Welcome, Gentlemen! DE TRACY. To the Archbishop of Canterbury Our service — welcome to the Primacy once more ! a'becket. Thanks, Gentlemen; thanks! SCENE I.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 61 DE MOKEVILLE. The King commends himself to you; He would that you, with your fair nieces both, Should grace his court to-night, for soon he goes To Normandy. a'becket. Say to my Liege we will attend His pleasure. This hour heralds days of joy To come, rich in the service we may render him ; And believe me, Gentlemen, that handmaids meet My children fair will be. BEITO. Well know we that, my Lord, for hearts, ne'er owned The power of love before, unto their beauty Bend the suppliant knee. a'becket. To maiden influence Noble hearts e'er yield a grateful homage ; Their beauty shows not only to the eye. BEITO. So have we learnt, and happy shall we be When we may welcome them to English homes ; We will await you in King Henry's palace. a'becket. Thanks, my Lord, thanks to all! Peace be with you. Farewell ! [Exeunt. So much for their nobility ! Didst note, my Salisbury, how constrained their words, Their actions forced, uneasy — guilty souls They bear about with them — trust them? You know me better — Besides, I have old claims on them — a wrong A'Becket will forgive, but not forget. 62 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT III. SALISBURY. Such wrongs you never can : use them, but watch them. a'becket. We will: prepare a fitting escort to the Court To-night — to-morrow we'll to England. But what should faith professed, prove false ? Louis bade me not trust, save that the kiss Of peace were given — this he will refuse — Bear this forthwith unto the Bishops of London And Salisbury, and to the world make known My sentence of excommunication against them. Now will I fix upon foundation firm As that whereon Albion's white cliffs are based My Empire and my honors. En-gland's glory And the Church's power — her people's welfare And her nobles' pride — shall be A'Becket's care. End of Act III. SCEXE I.] THOMAS A'BECKET. 63 ACT IV. SCEXE FIRST. A large Hall in De Tracy's Castle, England. Enter Fitzurse. FITZURSE. New wonder on new wonder — A'Becket And the King at peace ! No thanks to me for this. The churlish priest ere now had been but dust, Had Henry ta'en my counsel. De Tracy enters. De Tracy, Hast heard the news ? They say, last night, strange things Were seen — water was cast upon a burning pile And brighter made the flames ; with the furred cat The house-infesting vermin couched ; And the watchful guardian of my house fawned On the thief assailed it ! DE TRACT. 'Tis strange, indeed ! FITZURSE. Yet stranger still is what hath happ'd to-day. DE TRACY. How so ? FITZURSE. A'Becket and the King are palm in palm. DE TRACY. Bright omen, Fitz., for you! 64 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT IV. FITZURSE. Indeed! DS TRACY. May not his fair niece partake the nature of the times ? - FITZUBSE. The sun which gladdens nature's face, ne'er changes His fixed course. The moon, which softly smiles Upon a darkened world, may gild, not chase, the gloom. No change e'er comes o'er these which most delight The world's sad wayfarer. How may the fair Lucille, Then, turn aside and smile where she hath frowned ? No, no, De Tracy ! [AsideJ] He shall not read my heart. DE TRACY. In charity. FITZURSE, In charity ! Should Fitzurse prize the hand Without the heart ? The sun is golden, But without its heat, what would its radiance be ? 'Twould catch the eye, but on the senses pall. De Tracy, I have lived in court and camp ; Wealth, honor, want, despite, have been my lot ; With all there was a void — a lack of something Which I knew not of. When griefs afflicted And when joys assailed, alike 'twas felt, My friends — a loneliness. I knew not whence It came, till fair Lucille I saw. DE TRACY. Why then Too proud to take the hand ? FITZURSE. The hand without the heart ! SCENE I.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 65 DE TRACY. When lovely woman so regards a man That she'll to him intrust her lot and fortune, Is it not worth more, when springing from esteem, Than when it shoots to life, like the fair flower That blooms at dawn, to close ere noonday comes ? The plant of slowest growth is longest lived, Its shoots the farthest and is firmest fixed ! FITZFRSE. It may be so — but love without romance ! DE TRACY. Have done with fancy ! She's a fickle dame ! Her votaries decks in colors false and fleeting. Tour nature has too much of the bright clime Wherein your youth was passed. The wave which sparkles May a poison bear, when raised unto the lip, While sluggish waters will the fainting form Awake to life and strength ! If fair Lucille but smiles ! FLTZTTRSE. Alas ! how can she ? DE TRACY. Deem that she prizes justly your true worth, Now longer, better known. Here are De Moreville And Sir Richard Brito. Enter De Moreville and Sir Richard Brito. Welcome, Gentlemen ! My Lord Fitzurse, Sir Richard Brito and De Moreville here Have ever found a home. We once were a merry crew ; 66 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT IV. Let's be as merry as the times permit. Ho! boy, there! — wine. [To Fitzurse.] Come, Sir, be one of us. FITZURSE. With all my heart ! Here's to yon, Gentlemen ! Why, 'tis as good as is your speech, De Tracy — " A free and generous wine. DE TRACY. Thanks, noble friend ! Here's unto all, long life and happiness ! Why hangs, Fitzurse, this cloud upon your face ? Your manly spirit should o'eiiook the ills Of life, and smile at frowning fortune. Clear, clear thy brow, and let it shine as does The mountain's top, high o'er the thunder-storm. FITZURSE. It shall. Yet gives not the mist enshrouds the mount From view, a richer beauty to it, when 'tis seen ? DE TRACY. Ay, truly ! But a truce to jesting ; what ill Afflicts you ? FITZURSE tO DE MOREVILLE. Thou hast heard the news ? A'Becket And the King at peace ! DE MOREVILLE. At peace ! Is't from that quarter That this storm-cloud comes ? Strange ! strange, indeed ! A'Becket has a niece, my Lord. [Fitzurse, impatient. To De Tracy.] You've seen the fair Lucille ? DE TRACY. When but a child. DE MOREVILLE. The loveliest flower boasts not the richest bud. SCENE I.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 67 FITZTJRSE. Most true ! Yet, is not Lucille beautiful ? Aside.~\ I hoped, A'Becket outworn with grief, Lucille, our Liege's ward, I might have won her. Her wealth would prop my falling fortunes, Though her disprize should chill my heart. DE MOREVXLLE. The fairest maid e'er seen ! Fair Venus' prototype ! You loved her once ? FITZTJRSE. And if I'd live must win her. Will not A'Becket strive so to please our King, As in his favor henceforth e'er to live ? Henry's command might find a willing ear, Were the past brought to mind. BEITO. Wouldst thou threaten the great A'Becket ? You know him not, my Lord. His surplice clothes As stout a heart as ever armor cased. Shrinks the firm-based rock from wave That may overwhelm it ? Who'd dare so much As name the word, to threat ? His glance Would fall on him like Heaven's thunderbolt ; His stately mien, awe-filling, strike him mute ! I am a soldier, one who has borne arms From youth to age, and yet would brave the serried ranks Rather than face that tongue's keen irony. Oh ! be advised by me. DE MOKEVTLLE. Sir Richard well doth speak. King Henry's favorite and A'Becket's friend, Your suit were easily gained, never as his foe. 68 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT IV. Render the Primate favors— hell not frown ; And then, in gratitude, his niece's thoughts Will turn to you ; her heart float down the silver stream Of peace, and fancy bear it through its flowery brakes, To the glittering source whence all her new joys spring. De Tracy, thinkst not so ? DE TRACT. You counsel well, my Lord — And yet, Fitzurse, the hand without the heart ! FITZURSE. That matters not ! I'll wear her, if not win her ! The ray that woos the verdant mead, dispels The mist enshrouds it from its heat. So shall my heart's fond love the tear that dims Lucille's bright eye, and 'neath its warmth new beauties bring To light. Now let's to Court, my Lords ! BRITO. Wouldst wrest The flower from the parent stem, where it would bloom For many a day, to see it fade and fall Within the hour ? FITZURSE. A'Becket rules this realm but as I rule her heart ! DE MOREVILLE. Believe me, my Lord, Its rich gem gone, the casket's not worth having ! FITZURSE. Leave that to me, my arms shall be its setting. I'm for the Court. [Exit. SCENE II.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 69 DE TRACY. Sol! So all! There shall we see if he is Fortune's child — 111 save this maid, unless she loves, from love so wild. [Exeunt. SCENE SECOND. Porch to the King's Ante-room. HERALD. The Lord Archbishop comes ! HEXET. We will descend and greet him As our brother. [To Fitzurse.] Note him, young Lord! A'Becket enters in great state, he and his suite mounted. Welcome, my Lord Archbishop, to my Court ! a'becket, dismounting. My service to your Majesty. HEItfRY. We gave this audience that, your wishes learnt, Once more we might be friends — we have no need Of words — what is your wish ? a'becket. First, that, being your subject, You free pardon grant for all that's past. HEXRY. 'Tis thine. a'becket. Then, as being England's Primate, That you restore to me the Church of Canterbury, All its possessions, and your royal favor, 70 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT IV. With promise on my part of love and honor, And whatsoever may be performed by an Archbishop Unto his sovereign. HENRY. "lis granted all — all's thine — Herewith unto my favor I receive you And your friends. Go, for a time, with me To Normandy, where we may labor for our subjects' good. a'becket. Long absent from my friends and country, Sire, 'Twould please me, had I leave, straightway to sail For England. HENRY. Your pleasure is mine, my Lord, to England Let it be. My Court in Normandy is ever thine, When it shall please your Holiness. a'becket. Thanks, my Liege ; thanks ! HENRY. " Would you but do as I desire, all things Should be intrusted to your care." a'becket. It shall be so. HENRY. 'Tis well ! At Rouen you will find meet preparations made ; And her Archbishop your escort to England. Now unto Court ; where we in harmony, Amid our assembled friends, will close the day. Bring here our steeds. \Exeunt attendants. The horses are brought; A'Becket prepares to mount, when the King holds his stirrup. a'becket. Nay, pardon me, my Liege ; this is not meet ! SCENE III.] THOMAS A'BECKET. 71 HENRY. The monarch of the realm makes all things meet ; Mount, my Lord Primate ! a'becket. Nay, nay, my Liege ! henry. I will be King, even in my courtesies. a'becket. So be it. [^Kisses the King*s hand and mounts. HENRY. On to the Court, my friends ! [All mount and ride off. SCEXE THIRD. The Court. Lords and Gentlemen in icaiting. Enter Fitzurse, De Tracy, De Morevxlle, and Sir Richard Brito. fitzurse. Lo ! where they come ! How loving, palm in palm ! DE TRACY. 'Tis so ! Stand back, my Lords ! The King ! Enter King Henry, and A'Becket, and attendants. HENRY. My Lords and Gentlemen, receive once more My revere ad counsellor and loving friend, Thomas A'Becket, Primate of England, Of Canterbury Archbishop, unto our favor, And all those honors so justly his, herein restored. Respect him, as you love me. 72 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT IV. ALL. Welcome to the Lord Primate ! a'becket. Thanks unto all ! Thanks unto your Majesty, That you have so o'erstepped the bounds Of kingly condescension, thus to the Court Presenting me. [Aside.] Pour oil on ruffled waves, For when the storm's just o'er, their swell is highest. Aloud.] Though time has changed the mortal part of him Here unto you returned, the immortal soul Has grown most strong in sacred learning ; Holding communion with those happier climes Where virtue only reigns. That realm alone Higher is than England's, and on the faults And failings of mankind looks with more kindly eye. My noble Lords, here see I those I called my friends, and found my foes ! But, with my blessing on you all, accept From me free pardon of the past. Let the volume of your hate be sealed, So far as aught's recorded against me ; Mine did I long since hurl far down the past's abyss. Look to the motives which did move me once, The means I used you'll find were just. LORDS. He would uphold the past! Treason to our King! a'becket. Peace awhile ! Let not ill-tempered haste Dash into atoms the frail cup of love I offer To your lips. Here is no treason ! I would that Church and State Were as twin brothers, linked in amity ; SCENE III.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 73 United, they shall stand till time's no more ; Divided, they must fail ere set of sun. Discontent among the Lords.] My Liege, command that silence reign, else our good purpose fails ; And all that's done be but as words written On the sea-shore's sands. HElSTiT. Peace, my Lords, peace ! Who speaks, His King offends. My Lord High Primate asks Attentive ears. a'becket. In our honored King, my Lords, the father Of this great realm, you see the pride, the power Of England — in me, the instrument of Heaven ; An humble agent of its blessed will. What were our King disrobed, dethroned ? What were the priest, stripped of his sacred office ? Foes are there .who'd delight in Henry's fall ! Foes are there who do long for my dishonor ! The heart must entertain and harbor vice, Ere the seducer's voice can steal Into its curtained chambers, and rob it of its jewel. Remember this ; be true unto yourselves, Your King, your country. You'll find Truth's legions Are your best resource. All are but men — yet he Who worthiest bears his charge, adds honor to his honors. Your ear, my King. DE MOREVTLLE, aside. How bold a tongue he has ! BRITO. Said I not so ? 4 74 ttiomas a'becket. [act IV. DE TRACY. And yet, how gilded is his speech ; It falls upon the ear as on the eye the sun ; So dazzling it doth dim, and bears the mind Along, unconscious of the course it takes. FITZURSE. He's very dangerous — his speech is serpent-like — It charms but to destroy ! Were he but dumb I then could master him. I fear this peace is short. DE TRACY. Ha ! the King's brow doth cloud. My Liege, why so ? The kiss of peace refused ! HENRY. A vow I made precludes its gift. a'becket. The conference, then, is o'er. The bond, Without the seal, were valueless. My Liege ! My Liege ! think well of this. 'Tis a slight gift — A gift when given not gone, so rich the return 'Twill yield. My King, retract thy vow ; the Church Permits. A'Becket then is yours — we must be friends. Aside?[ I must not sue. I, who so soon enthroned Shall be, high over all earth's kings. Still my country speaks. To Henry.] Your realm demands it, a people's groans mourn Their sad miseries ; and a distracted land — Most eloquent counsellor in my cause — Pleads loud for it. SCENE III.] THOMAS A'BECKET. ?5 HEXKY. It may not be. What England says Must be — our word, our bond. FITZTTRSE. My Liege, the price That's paid cancels the bond. Here, see the smiling face Of lovely peace ; there, dire war's frowning brow, With all its attendant horrors. HEXET. You counsel peace, Young Lord, who ever were for war? You lack not courage ! Has he sought to bribe you, my tried follower ? a'becket, scornfully. To bribe! FITZTTRSE. To bribe ! Could I be bribed, my brow had never worn This deep gash which now it bears, a valued trophy Of the day I met the blow, were else my King's. HENRY. True, true, I've wronged you ! a'becket, aside. Not the first wrong you've done him. Fouled in his birth, not even though King, Canst thou cleanse him. HENRY. Take here my thanks, young Lord ! While thus reminded of a deed, till now forgotten — One you should be proud of, wear this sword, For years my constant friend ! As I have worn it So I'll wear you ; ever my counsellor Both in Court and camp. When your King finds True merit, he rewards it. Is it not so, A'Becket ? 76 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT IV. a'becket. I thought so once, my Liege, and much it pains me, That this hour should be a witness against that thought. HEMY. It shall not be so. The kiss of peace may not be yours, A vow made in an hasty hour precludes it. But come unto my heart. [They embrace. My Lords, this day does unto England bear Unheard of blessings. A prosperous people Are the greatest riches which a land can boast. To A'Becket.] Herein do I restore you to my love, As I already have unto your honors. I must away to Normandy. Preserve my realm In peace. Farewell to all ! a'becket. Farewell ! most gracious Majesty ! May Heaven's choicest blessings be with you, And honor, love, and a long life be yours. HEISTBY. Thanks unto all ! Farewell ! Exeunt the King and his attendants except Fitzttrse. a'becket. My friends, we will prepare for our return To Canterbury. [Fitzurse appn % oaches. Young Lord, you have well spoken ; And though I had preferred some other's voice, My thanks are due to you. FITZTTRSE. Father, receive it as an act Was due from one has wronged you much, SCEXE III.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 77 Owes you great favors. May I not claim your pardon For the past, since you have said that all foregone is for- gotten ? a'becket. Pardon, I may not grant. You have my prayers That you will ever walk in honor's footsteps. Whate'er the toil in tracing them, they at least Will lead to pleasure and to peace. FITZUESE. It shall be so. When may I wait on you ? a'becket. When I return to England. eitzuese. Not before ? my suit is urgent. a'becket. And my cares are many. FITZUESE. None, none so great as mine — A young heart's hopes. a'becket. Rash youth, touch not upon that chord, Whole seas of misery are in those words ! FITZTJRSE. Hast known love ? Thou knowest what I do feel. Past words, past thought, for reason holds no sway, When love gives birth to hope ! a'becket. Love ! profane not with thy lips That holy word. 'Twas made for angels ! Mortals know it not ! fitzuese. What mean these words ? 78 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT IV. Impatient, wayward, and wilful from thy youth, I hoped thou wouldst to honor grow. Unknown to you, I nursed you in your infancy, Watched o'er your boyhood, and when to manhood grown, Sought to instill all generous sentiments. You know not how I loved you ! I had a niece, the only being who did bear my blood, Sole surviving daughter of a sister loved Only as angels are ; as bright, as good, As beautiful as they. You wooed her. Deeming you were the soul of honor, your faults The faults of generous youth — your suit I favored. The lady's eyes found grace was in your form, And gave admittance in her guileless heart To your too potent wooing. And I was glad, For you I had preferred to all the glittering throng Who wooed my niece. I looked on this As the sheet-anchor of my declining years. I thought that my solicitude for you Would be rewarded by your tender care Of her I loved so well — that she would be Incentive unto you to every noble deed — And thus together you would walk in honor. But no ! not so ! The lurking devil showed His cloven foot. Your angel read deceit Upon your brow, and handed me this letter. FITZURSE. Ha ! is it so ? What fiend was't gave it her ? Give ! give it me ! that I may track him down ! BCENE III.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 79 a'becket. Nay, it matters not ! Thou ownest its truth By thy hasty words — the heart that's new in crime Betrays itself. Thou canst not wear the coronet Had been thine. Dishonor now is seared Upon thy brow. fitzuese, touching his sword. Tome! a'becket. Darest threaten ! The curse of Rome — fitzttese, kneeling. Stay ! stay ! those dreadful words ! a'becket. I do relent. I will not curse thee, tho' thou merit it. The serpent's curse was on thee from thy birth ! Thy wrongs array thee 'gainst thy fellow-men ! Kneel then ! though thou mayest sting my heel ('Tis all thou canst do), I will not bruise thy head. Fitzuese kneels.] Kneel at this whitened sepulchre of lofty aspirations And repent. It is the holy teaching of my Church, Repentance never comes too late to any man. End of Act IY. 80 THOMAS a'j3ECKET. [ACT ACT V. SCENE FIRST. Hall in Palace at Canterbury — A'Becket alone. a'becket. Land of my birth ! my weal, my woe ! all hail ! All hail ! You yet shall be my grave ! My grave ? And have I toiled through life for this ? — for this Alone ? Is this the whole of man's brief tale, the sum Of his mortality ? Of dust we're born, like dust we're buffeted By fortune's fickle winds, at most but fourscore years or so, And then to dust return. Oh ! sickening thought ! The loathsome grave and its vile myriads Disgust man with his nature ! But that a higher destiny awaits The soul immortal, here doth own at best A slight brief tenancy, how worse than valueless Were life, that principle which still doth live Through all the changes of mortality — This it must be ! yea ! yea ! 'tis this that makes Us struggle through the ills on us attend, From cradled infancy to the grave of age. Lucille enters. Ah ! my fair Lucille ! What ? tears in your old home ? Give not way to grief! 'tis the medicine Of the soul, wisely administered, By an unerring hand. SCEXE I.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 81 LUCILLE. I know this well, dear Father, and its truth I feel — but my grief is so heavy ! 'Tis dreadful Thus to have the heart's first flowers crushed In their bloom ! To have the name, I once so fondly hoped That I should proudly bear, dishonor's synonym ! Alas ! my poor, weak woman heart ! I thought I had o'ermastered thee, but thou o'ermasterest me ! Thy tendrils are too firmly fixed within my breast, For even the direst wrongs to root it out. a'becket. True 'tis, my child, that it is dreadful ; But the hand that wounds will heal. LUCILLE. Oh, would it might ! For since that most dread hour When I first learnt his perfidy — Ah me, That I should call it so ! — Xot even one instant Have I been alone. ^S±j grief is everywhere — Its melancholy notes I hear at dawn, High o'er the lark's ; the woods by day, But with its plaintive melody are filled ; And when night comes, her hideous birds Haunt me, where'er I wander — and then When sleep's sweet hours draw nigh, most frightful dreams Hover about my couch in hosts. Oh, Father ! Life is dreadful at such cost ! a'becket. Join the gay crowd, My child. Call to memory's chambers Blithesome thoughts ; their fragrance will refresh Your wounded spirit, and healing bring thy soul. Time is the grand disposer of events — the hour Of joy will come ! 4* 82 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT V. LUCILLE. The hour of joy ! a'becket. That was my word- Remember, you are A'Becket's niece. LUCILLE. I will, And be his child. I'll think those scenes of pleasure, — Long since flown' — sounded depths, I thought were fathomless, And seek for rock-based charms. a'becket. 'Twere well ! But leave me, child ! One who hath wronged me much Craves a brief interview, and comes e'en now. LUCILLE. Is it Fitzurse, that you'd not have me here ? Forgive him ! Oh, forgive him, Father, for my sake ! Alas ! that ever I should have betrayed The Lord I loved ! — but was he not unworthy ? How wretched must he be, his fair fame gone ! Spare him ! oh ! spare him, Father ! a'becket. Be comforted, my child. I will ! I will ! [Kissing her.] There ! there ! be com- forted ! I'll leave him to himself — Let conscience be his monitor. [Exit Lucille. Alas ! sweet maid, child of misfortune ! Untimely born, you cost a widow'd mother's life. But here he comes. How can I e'er forget the past? By him this fair field ravaged — all its flowers felled ! Enter Fitzup.se.] What would you, Sir ? be brief SCENE I.] THOMAS A'BECKET. 83 FITZUESE. Then, to be brief, your pardon. a'becket. Take it, with this request, That we may meet no more. FITZUESE. There is a name I fain would lisp. a'becket. Nay, name it not, it is too pure for lips Like thine. FITZUESE. Oh ! say, she is well ! a'becket. As well as one So deeply wronged can be. Farewell ! farewell ! You have my pardon. Pray, leave me now. You call To memory life's heaviest hours, which I would fain for- get. FITZUESE. Oh ! grant that I may labor in your cause ; Restore myself unto your favor ; regain your niece's love. a'becket. Art mad ? FITZUESE. I trust not, Father. May I not see her ? a'becket. Go gaze upon the lily the whirlwind hath crushed ; You'll see her image without paining her. Leave me, Sir ! [Stands lost in thought. fitzuese, aside. Alas ! why had King Henry's will more weight Than my dishonor ? 81 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT V. Aloud.] 'Tis well ! I will ! Farewell ! Ruler of England, and Lord Primate, too ! If Fitzurse lives, this hour you shall rue. {Exit. Enter Salisbury. SALISBURY. My Lord, those Bishops did refuse to take the oath, And straightway sailed for Normandy. a'becket. Is't so ? Now comes a storm ! SALISBURY. The young prince doth refuse To meet you, and commands that you remain Within the Church's verge. a'becket. From Prince Henry, this ? I had not believed it, came it not from you ; He ever was to me a son ! SALISBURY. All those of note Who welcomed your return, are summoned To give bail, upon a charge of base sedition ! a'becket. This from King Henry ? Well, I can thunder too ! I'll issue an excommunication Against his dearest friends : the Lords De Vere, Clifford, and Montreuil. See this done upon the instant. Exit Salisbury. Enter Albert, ushering in Reginald de Waeenxe and Gervase de Cornhill. Welcome ! my noble Lords, what is your pleasure ? REGINALD. Straight as your question is our reply : We come as ministers of the King, demanding why SCENE I.] THOMAS A*BECKET. 85 On York's Archbishop you have passed Sentence of suspension, and against London And Salisbury, excommunication ? a'becket. We recognize no right, either in yourselves, Or him, whose ministers ye claim to be, My reasons to demand for this, or any other act ! REGINALD. Is it come to this ? Indeed, our Henry is but King In name ! Mean you, my Lord, to bring both fire and sword Upon our afflicted land ? a'becket. My acts will answer that. CORNHILL. The Lords De Broc, and Nigel de Sackville, What of them and their many friends ? a'becket. But this — since by their acts they've brought Heaven's thunder upon their heads ; they must find In other place than this, the power shall shield Them from its fury. Go ask their injured tenantry What they deserve ! Nay, nay, nay, nay, not ask ; But look upon the ruined father And his polluted child ! You'll find there's many such. Let this be my reply : the interest of my land Is my first thought. Henceforth know, noble Lords, That as the populace of England need a friend To guard them from oppression, That friend they have in me ! 86 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT V. REGINALD. By this we know your feelings towards ourselves ; And nothing's left to say, but fare-you-well ! [Exeunt. a'becket. Farewell to you ! What mean these haughty nobles ? Shall their cold words, or their unmanly threats Turn me from duty's path — even tho' the cries Of injured innocence fell not each instant On my ear ? Oh ! poor nobility, thou wronged name ! Thy nature has descended to the serf; There ! there alone, we find you, robed in rags ! Henry will know me now, for York, the chronicler Of each day's pettiest acts, has fled to Baieux ; Where England's- King, like the huge monarch Of all creeping things, will, squeezing For the pleasure of the hour, make him but one day's feast. Fie on such men ! Ho ! Albert, ho ! [Enter Albert. Bear this to Lord Salisbury instantly. Command immediate execution of my will. Exit Albert.] Fitzurse is dangerous. Banishment or the grave, His choice ! Enter Salisbury, in haste. SALISBURY. Father, why this ? a'becket. 'Tis my will, my son ! SALISBURY. Fitzurse hath friends ! a'becket. So hath A'Becket. Albert, bid my Lord of Blois Come hither J BCKNE I.] THOMAS A'BECKET. 87 SALISBURY. Father, pray hear me ! He once was held By you in honor. For no known offence has fallen From your favor ! a'becket. Men's offences are not always known To the world ! SALISBURY. Most true, my Lord ! But, upon what pretence May I fulfil your order ? a'becket. On what pretence ? On none ! Hast lived so long with me and not know This ? But you are slothful in this business. I must have those about me who will act My very thoughts ! SALISBURY. And is this my reward? a'becket. For what ? SALISBURY. Unbounded love for you ! Great sufferings, And service from my boyhood until now ! Father, I will away, and bid him hence ; You're over anxious ; this would make you Ungenerous. a'becket. Poor boy ! it is enough. I've worn you Ever by my side, as the warrior wears his sword ; A graceful weapon, thinking the blade true steel, 88 THOMAS a'bEGKET. [ACT V. But on the contest, finding it poor stuff, Casts it away ! I wish no meanly tempered weapon For my use ! SALISBURY. Pardon, my Father, I spoke not thus In aught save reverence. I would not you should do What the world might scan. Men's deeds live after them! a'becket. True, true, you're right, my friend ! They do ! they do ! At least some men's do. I was too hasty. Give me the order ; mine I would have printed In the type of justice ! for what is therein clothed, Shall until Doomsday live ! Bid him to me. Exit Salisbury.] [Miter Blois. blois. Father, news has arrived, Fitzurse has fled The realm in rage ! denouncing you and yours, And swearing vengeance ! a'becket. Indeed! and whither? BLOIS. I fear to Baieux. To Baieux ! To horse ! to horse ! There's danger in his thunder ! Speed to the nearest port ! Here, take this seal ! Arrest him on the instant ! Oh ! would that I were young again ! I'd post myself, But that this poor mortality is too feeble grown To bear my soul's desires ; messengers I will dispatch to every sea-port town, SCEXE I.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 89 With orders to arrest him, though at cost of life ! He, of all men, I fear — for he is false ! And falsehood is more deadly in its touch Than dagger's venomed point. Enter Salisbury.] Salisbury, what now? SALISBURY. Fitzurse has fled to Henry ! a'becket. How know you this ? SALISBURY. Your trusty Hugh is here. Enter Hugh, a'becket. How know you this ? HUGH. I saw him take a fisher's boat, And, cursing you, bid them spread all sail And steer for France. He knew me not. Deeming his errand hostile unto you, My Lord — a marc the bribe — I straight despatched, With those T knew to trust, the fastest craft That England's waters boast, with orders to arrest him. a'becket. Well done, my son ! But were your orders sealed ? HUGH. They were. When last you went to France you gave me this, Your seal. — \_Shoioing ring.'] a'becket. Well thought in thee ; bring me the earliest news of him. Farewell,, my sons ! Pray leave me all awhile, I am overwrought to-day. [Eeeunt. 90 THOMAS a'eECKET. [ACT V. Fitzurse fled to Baieux ! Dread news for me ! his voice has too much power With our King. Ye noiseless ministers, Who do in silence watch o'er the troubled spirits Of this world ! oh, guard with me this hour ! Dread horror strikes deep into my careworn heart. Must I give o'er — all frustrated my schemes ! All efforts vain ! Toiled have I oft By aid of Heaven's hosts from dawn to dawn, Ever, but brief and faint like glow-worm's glimmer Hath proved my rest. Pleasures I've tasted — So the worldlings say — they were as dear-bought, And when won, as trite, as galley slave's reward. Rest ! rest ! — there is no rest for me ! Ambition, Bitter, bitter are thy fruits ! Man fights for bubbles, And but bubbles gains. This is the song of all — And yet 'tis dear, as dear as is his mistress' voice, Heard by the lover in his midnight dreams. Ambition ! avarice ! glory ! love ! Te all but golden lures, do shine and sparkle Like night's spirits on your way, marking a course Uncertain at the best. Phantoms which all men chase, Yet all elude. A brief short hour of joy Of life's long days, is all that I have known. Enter Lucille — A'Becket entranced. Beautiful spirit ! thou who leddest my heart, 'Mid heavenly harmonies, to those rich-gemmed courts Where loving spirits meet, bring comfort, courage, And a firm resolve from thy blessed realms to me, That I may bear the trials of this hour, and rule, SCENE I.] THOMAS A'BECKET. 91 Where others reign. Ah ! my fair child, is't thou ? Did I then but dream ? LUCILLE. Alas, you did ! for I am yet but mortal. a'becket. Nay, say not so. Consider, sweet, those words But as the air, passes unheeded by. LUCILLE. Why so, dear Father ? Should we then shame to own our loves ? a'becket. Not so ; But rather keep them to ourselves, as gems The miser stores, unknown to the world, to feast Upon in solitude. Come, child, within. A trump heard] There's news, I hear, from France — will need my care. Attend on me To-morrow. Good-night! good-night! LUCILLE. Grant me but this — forgiveness for Fitzurse, For though I would not wed him, I have my heart O'ertasked, and fancy I may have wronged him. a'becket. Nay ! nay ! it is too true ! too true ! Hereafter we will speak of this. Good-night, Sweet child ! Kind angels hover o'er thee ! [Exeunt. 93 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT V. SCENE SECOND. Hall in Baieux Palace. Enter Henry and Archbishop of York, henry. My Lord Archbishop, what brings you here from York ? YORK. Suspended by the Primate of your realm, I could but flee to you. HENRY. Suspended! on what grounds? YORK. Grounds, my Liege ? did this A'Becket e'er require Grounds ? His will ! his will ! my Liege — no more. HENRY. Are you alone the sufferer by this act ? YORK. No ! would to Heaven I were ! London And Salisbury both have fled the realm And hasten hither. Their excommunication Reached them also. HENRY. Impossible ! Is't true ? How know you this ? YORK. From their own lips I heard it. HENRY. What would this churlish priest ? What needs he more ? YORK. Methinks, your crown. You'll ne'er know peace, my Liege, While this A'Becket lives. SCENE II.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 93 HEXRY. Raze from the calendar the day he came to life : Blot from my statute-book his seals. Oh, Heavens ! Am I but king in name ? Enter De Tracy, De Moreville, and Sir Richard Brito. HEXRY. What news, my Lords, from England ? DE TRACY. My Liege, yonr Primate doth refuse The Lords De Broc and Sackyille to restore. HENRY. Indeed ! Must I endure all this ? " Are ye all cowards, Who do eat my bread ? Is there not one Will free me from this turbulent priest ?" I will to England straight. Attend on me, My Lords. [Exeunt all except De Moreville, De Tracy, am? Brito. DE MOREVILLE. Heard'st thou that, De Tracy ? DE TRACY. Ay, and will act on it ! Sir Hugh De Moreville, You've no love for A'Becket ? DE MOREVILLE. Not I ; nor you, Sir Richard. BRITO. Not a jot, my Lord ! but I do love my King. DE MOREVILLE. Say rather, yourself — fall he, fall ycu. Well meet at Saitswood. and should you Fitzurse see, 94: THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT V. Bring him with you. His wrongs demand revenge. Your hands — Here do we swear to rid him of this Priest. [Exeunt. SCENE THIRD. "Wood near the Archbishop's Palace. fitzuese enters. Why bend my footsteps hither, on their way to death ? When last they trod these shady woods, her voice Fell like the music of harmonious streams, Taking their sinuous way through flowery brakes. Then spring was in her bloom, and my glad heart Melodiously sang, tuned to the key Her choristers warbled in. Now all In winter's icy garb is clad, and the heart's blood Then flowed so warm and fast to every note Of suffering — now is all curdled By my many wrongs, and throbs but with the hope Of keen revenge. Come on ! come on ! Though thou shouldst strike a benefactor's heart ! Come to thy work ! thy longed-for work ! Be steady thou, my hand ! no paltering now ! Did he not stay me on my way to France, And force return to England ? Now I will wait on him. Miter De Mokeville. Well met, De Moreville ! What meaneth this, old friend ? Tour looks estranged, and on your brow I read The workings of a troubled spirit. SCENE III.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 95 DE MOEEYIELE. The poor old man ! A'Becket is doomed ! FITZUESE. The poor old man ! A'Becket doomed ! What of that ? Yet how so ? Why should I feel for him ? He never felt For me, in all my sufferings. DE MOEEVIELE. What sufferings? FITZUESE. Sufferings ! The sharp pangs of the young heart — The heart that feels more keenly in one hour Than age's in a year ! Remember, my dear Lord, Tou broached this business first to me ; Whate'er had been my thought, it knew no word- no act. DE MOEEYILEE. True, true, but thou art warm ! I come prepared, And with me other of our friends, to do The deed our King shall thank us for. Wilt thou be one of us ? FITZUESE. I will! Albeet passes by.~\ Ho ! there ! Say to your master The Lord Fitzurse craves his ear. Enter De Beoc] Well met, my Lord ; Come not De Tracy and Sir Richard with you? To De Moeeville.] They did appoint this hour. 96 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT V. DE MOREVILLE. They did, but should they fail ! FITZURSE. They'll never fail ! You're pale, De Moreville ; Dost thou fear? DE MOREVILLE. De Moreville fear ! Lo ! where they come. Enter De Tracy and Sir Richard, DE TRACY. My Lords, are ye prepared ? FITZTTRSE. We but await your coming. Who shall demand the conference ? BRITO. Yourself! You have most cause for hate, most reason For the deed. EITZURSE. True, true, I have most reason. Revenge doth urge me on ! while ye have But your King's dark hints. ' BRITO. Which unto me's enough. Enter Albert, albert. My Lord awaits you, Sir. FITZTTRSE. I will attend on him. Wait ye without. Exeunt.] SCENE IV.] THOMAS A ? BECKET. 97 SCENE FOURTH. Palace at Canterbury — A'Becket's Room. a'becket. Why comes he back ? I do mistrust the man ! How heavy is the air — it bodes a storm ! My children all away ! would they were here ! No news from Rome to-day ! nor Henry's Court ! 'Tis strange ! 'tis very strange ! Things all seem Out of tune — even my heart beats In less healthful time than is its wont ; But I am old, and cannot look in age For that which youth may boast. Lo ! where he comes With stealthy step ; why not with manly tread ? — That herald of an honest heart ! I will not fear Him, nor his friends, come they in hosts ! fitzurse, bowing. Most Holy Father ; The King a'becket. He would have known better than to have sent You to me ! Would you deceive me ? When saw you The King ? Dost thou not fear my rage ? FITZURSE. There's terror in the whirlwind's, but I see it not ; Why, then, should I fear yours ? a'becket. Audacious youth! What would you, Sir ? Your errand, quickly — here, on this spot — And instantly ; though I had rather it should be From any tongue, than thine ! A traitor's voice so* angers me ! i 98 THOMAS A'BECKET. [ACT V. FITZURSE. York, London, and Salisbury, at Henry's feet Have fallen. a'becket. There let them lie ! What's that to me ? Yet speak. FITZURSE. The King commands they be restored to honor. a'becket. And you have borne this message ! What, should I not comply? FITZURSE. His anger! a'becket. Thunder is heard.'] His anger ! Hearest thou that blast ? Aside.] What bodes this wintry thunder ? FITZURSE. I do. a'becket. On it, that Monarch's anger rides, Whom I alone do fear. FITZURSE. To Henry, this ? a'becket. To Henry ! ay, to Henry ! I've spoken it to Heaven ; why not to Henry ? fitzurse, aside. There is but this a'becket. What sayst ? Speak out ! You fear To bear my* answer to this mock king ! Poor slave 3 SCENE IT.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 99 I pity thee ! Oh ! the worst master of the slave Is — slave ! FITZUESE. Tome? Ay, Sir! To you! Enough ; leave me ! I am weary of this ; You have my answer ! FITZUESE. A slave ! a'becket. That was my word ! Leave me ! fitzuese, aside. Now will I do it. No, no, once more I'll see Lucille ; There'll be an hour for this. \Exit Enter Matilde and Lucille, a'becket. My child ! my child ! my children, both ! Thus e'er come Heaven's rays in gloomiest hours ! All safe ! I feared for you ; so wild the storm ! My heart is softer than it was of yore ; So grows the oak with age. MATILDE. You are troubled, father ; What new grief? a'becket. One I once loved was here, But oh ! he's fallen, like the roseate cloud That sinks away in darkness ; the admiration Of my wondering eye, begrimed and black with sin. LUCILLE. But others come, as roseate as was this. 100 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT V. a'becket. This from thee, sweet child of sorrow? I had not sought From thy fair brow, philosophy ! But grief Is a chastener to the virtuous heart, From which, when bruised, as from the rose When crushed, the richest perfume springs. I must prepare for vespers. Rest ye here. Enter Fitzurse.] [Exit A'Bece^t and Matilde. LUCILLE. Fitzurse ! FITZURSE. The same. LUCILLE. Aside.] I must bear up. [ To Fitzurse.] In name, but not in nature. What do you here ? And are they, then, your friends — Those men with scowling brows, and lips which woo The smiles they may not wear ? for Nature Never will be so belied, as paint Upon the foul heart's face those charms the virtuous only wear ! But speak ; what would you ? I fear, no good. fitzurse, kneeling. Earth's best gift, your love ? LUCILLE. Arise, Sir ! leave me ! lest my frown shall strike Upon thy steeled bosom, with such fanged darts, Thy soul shall flee their power, and it shall fall But on a lifeless corse. fitzurse Lucille ! BCENE IV.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 101 LUCILLE. That tone ! The wind thus sweetly whispers, that doth bear The gale, Ah, me ! Ah, me ! FITZUESE. One word, and I'll no more : Your love or uncle's life ! LUCILLE. Villain! Help! ho! Enter A'Becket, Salisbury, Blois, and others. a'becket. What means this, Sir ? How came you here ? Salisbury, guard thou Lucille. FITZUESE. Recall thy word — her hand ! a'becket. Never ! How dare you this ? FITZUESE. This ! ay, more ! a'becket. Presumptuous man ! You know the past ! How dare you threaten ? fitzuese lays his hand on his sword. Threaten ! beware, Sir ! Lest I more than threaten ! a'becket. Audacious youth ! The wrath of Heaven be on you ! Begone, Sir ! Leave me ! my hour has not yet come ! fitzuese aside. But will ere night — at vespers. They are too strong for me. [JSfefo 102 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT V. BLOIS. Villain! I'll after him ! a'becket. Nay, nay, my son ! There is no fear for us. The Church's shield will ward All earthly blows ; and when Heaven's falls, It will, whate'er our heed. Let's on to vespers. My daughters, come with me ; there's something Sacred in a virgin's charms, since the first birth Of time. So sacred, he whose warrior I am enrolled, called one His mother. \Exmnt. SCENE FIFTH. Yespers — The Chapel. Enter A'Becket, Salisbury, Blois, Matilde, Lucille, and attendants. blois. Close ye the portals ! spare nor bolt nor bar ! a'becket. Nay, nay, my son ! BLOIS. Oh, Father ! be advised this once ! Villany lurks around ! No shrine so sacred But it will pollute with its foul breath. matilde. ' Oh, Father ! hear my prayer ! LUCILLE. And mine ! Upon my knees, Dear Father, grant me but this ? Oh, be advised ! SCENE V.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 103 a'becket. Fear not, my children ! To your love I would yield, "But 'tis not meet that we should fortify God's temple, like a castle." We need no gates, No bulwarks, and no arms ! If He wills we shall live, We will not die — if die, 'tis but for once ! And who would live, when by his Father called Unto that home, so rich in every joy ? Hark to the vesper hymn ! How like A voice from Heaven it comes ! My blessings be with you ! Low music — they hneel^\ He ascends the steps of the Sigh Altar. Enter the five conspirators and twelve companions. DE BROC. Where is the traitor, Thomas A'Becket ? No answer. 1 Where is the Archbishop ? a'becket, turning round. " Here am I, no traitor, but a priest, Ready to suffer in the name of Him Who redeemed me." But what do ye here in arms ? DE BROC. Take off the censures from the Prelates, Or instant death ! a'becket. Never ! so help me Heaven ! Put up your swords ! Who dares insult his God ? Fitzurse, stand back ! I have done you many a kindness ; Touch me not ! by Heaven's arm alone I'll fall, Never by thine ! Think ye that I fear you ? 104 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT V. Kneel at this altar, which ye have so fouPd, Lest that your souls alone may cleanse these stains, And make atonement for this sacrilege. FITZURSE. Fly then! oh, fly! My oath! my oath! a'becket. No, never! I am prepared to die. de broc, striking at him. Fly! or you are dead! Or else be borne, a prisoner, to the King ! Fitzurse strikes him. LUCILLE. Hold ! what, thou, Fitzurse ! FITZURSE. There — die ! The bloio glances from A'Becket on Lucille, who has rushed to shield him, as she exclaims — Fitzurse ! FITZURSE. What have I done ? A'Becket supports her as she falls, saying : Stand oif ! What hast thou done ? My child ! my child ! earth was not dear to thee. Thus will we unto Heaven. [Still supporting her. Unto the attendants.] My children, sheathe your swords, Fitzurse, sheathe thine, and let these do the deed ! Thy mother drank my heart's life in our tender youth ; There is none left for thee. Fair Rosamond Had been my bride ; an honored, virgin bride, SCENE V.] THOMAS a'bECKET. 105 Had not thy father, Henry, our King, won her From her truth, and steeped her in dishonor. fitzukse. Fair Rosamond my mother ! [Looking at his sic or d. a'becket. Alas ! it is too true. Fitzukse, to his sword. Come ! do thy work ! Thou wert his gift who gave me life ; that gone With her fair fame — my unknown mother's, Whom I have worshipped as a saint in Jieaven, I sheathe thee in my heart ! Her life's blood on thy blade ; With thee I wed, Lucille ! Stabs himself and falls at Lucieee's/^.] Xow are we one ! [Dies. a'becket. Oh! that my loved Liege, Henry, should have known This hour ! How do youth's sins track man unto the grave ! Turning to Conspirators.) He'll curse ye, Sirs, who have done this foul deed ; And cast ye to dishonor ! while, with repentant ashes On his head — bare-footed, scourges on his back — He'll walk, and prostrate lie before the shrine Of him who now doth fall but to be canonized ; And when his hour shall come ; (but this, I charge you, Under pain of Saint A'Becket's ire, Xe'er to disclose till then !) His queen, vile Eleanor, Inciting foes ! for she will ne'er forgive his frailties ! His realm disjoined ! Sons disobedient ! In rebellion, all ; with none but hired menials Near his infected couch, this mighty monarch 106 THOMAS a'bECKET. [ACT V. In vile rags shall die ! No regal state, no honor, and no love ! — Not e'en the love of one poor heart, for him Whose every love was lust, and love of self! — Yet, had I lived, I would have saved him From this last dishonor. Come, murder, have thy way ! My life fast ebbs. To God, St. Mary, and the Saints who are The patrons of the Church, and to St. Denis, I do commend myself and the Church's cause. You've done your worst ! Ye Norman Lords, here dies the Anglo-Saxons' hope ; To rise hereafter in a far Western land, Whence like the sun, with Freedom's glorious rays, It shall illume the Wide, Wide World ! Tliey kneel arou?uL~\ \He dies. FTKTS, CANONICUS CANONICUS : A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. Caxonicus, Chief of the Narragansetts. Massassoit, Chief of the Mohegans. Samoset, Chief of the Whainpanoags. Hoboc^omoc, Chief of the Nansetts. Wopowoag, Chief. Sasacus, Chief of the Pequods. Samosacus, Son of Canonicus. Muhtdmo, Son of Massassoit. Moixa, Xiece of Canonicus. JSTya^a, Daughter of Sasacus. Jo^es, a Quaker. Carter Bradford, ' William Standish, Henry Carver, pilgrims. Mary Alden, Scene— Plymouth Rock, etc., Neighboring Forests — a.d. 1620. CANONICUS. ACT X Scene Fikst. Indian Council Fire — Indians seated around it. MASSASSOIT. The moon pales in the west, as feeble with his year's wanderings and journeyings, the sun leaves his tent in the east. The brook's murmur is hushed, and in its face the young fawns of our tribe see their beauty decked in the diamond waters. The Ice-spirit is abroad, and the Snow-king soon will come and cast his white mantle over all. Brothers, it behooves me, old in years and in service, to see that our homes be made secure, now that Nature's war-shout is heard and that our young war- riors find the bear, the elk, and the deer; while our squaws seek the eels, fish, and clams. The corn is in the husk — have it gathered ! SAMOSET. Well spoken, Great Chief of the Mohegans; winter's whisperings I hear. Hark, a step, firm and strong. Lay ye low. [They put their ears to the ground.'] MASSASSOIT. It is a great warrior comes. There is blood of foes fills the air ! Ha ! the tramp of Canonicus, chief of the Nar- ragansetts. [Canonicus enters."] Great Brother, our coun- cil fire, as our hearts, languished you away, but now its 10 CAX NICTJS. [aCT I. flames will brighten, as shall our spirits. Thirty tribes by their bravest sons here are met. They bring tales of great wrongs from Acanadas — creeping snakes, who have stolen our hunting-grounds and driven off our game. Stolen our corn, we away, and even broken faith after all their promises. CANONICUS. Is it so? Canonicus knows no fear. Canonicus has warriors. Aye, fifteen hundred braves. They have stout arms and fierce hearts, Where the Great Spirit guides, they will go to victory or death. Let us march, each with his stoutest youths. The forest saplings we shall need — withy and tough as the green tree whence came our bows. Let our arrows be of the white-oak, stony-headed, hard like our hearts to our foes; firm fixed as our hearts to our friends. They have pale-faces with them, whose winged arrows, sightless as the wind, kill ere their bow's twang is heard. In an ambush we must lay, when the camp- fire is found, and ere the break of clay leave none to tell the tale. Poison waters their drink; their braves sleep like turtles in winter. SAMOSET. 'Tis well spoken, great chief. The Whampanoags love not the pale faces. Their winged canoes, twenty moons gone, stole our bravest youths. One Samosacus, your son, would have been chief of your tribe. But he is gone ! CANONICUS. Aye, my son, my son. Canonicus may not weep, ex- cept they be tears of blood. What now sees my dim eye on the great waters ? A dancing wave ! or a gull ! So long have I gazed there with my heart's eyes for him, in vain, in vain, — Canonicus thinks each ripple may be his son. SCENE I.] CAXONICUS. 11 MASSASSOIT. "lis a winged canoe; like a snow-flake it shows, then falls and fades away — anon and anon. CANONICUS. Ha! Moina comes. [Moina enters.] Moina, my fair child ! Daughter of the spray-spirit of Amoskeag. What tale hast thou for thy loved one's father's ear ? moixa . As the maiden handmaid of the sun sank to slumber with her lord, Moina sat by the sea-shore, far out on yon high rock, when she spied a sparkling wave or a ripple on the sea, or snow-gull's feather as she thought; when lo, a winged canoe; aye, many wings she bears, e'en like a flock of birds darkening thereabouts the air; and on its decks warriors strong, all shining in the moonbeams, com- ing fast toward the shore. CANONICUS. And what thy thought, my child ? MOINA. Samosacus sailed in such. Samosacus may be there. Samosacus may return. CANONICUS. He will, my brave girl. You yet shall be his bride. Let Canonicus gaze on the sea. [Advancing to shore.] A dancing feather, it bounds before the winds of the rising sun. Now it nears. It has many wings, and warriors crowd its decks; 'tis the pale-faced friends of our foes. Quench these flames, and let six young braves be as the wolf pursuing the timid deer; all-seeing, yet unseen. Each and all then to their wigwams; and at dawn, at Ma- 12 CAX0S7CUS. [act I. nomet we will hear of their night's watchings, and then move on our f oes, near Kennebec's fierce waters. [Exeunt. [Pilgrims' boats land. Carver, Bradford, Wisslow, Stan- dish, and Pilgrims.] STANDISH. Ha ! an Indian camping-ground. Be wary, men. They may be friends. If so, 'tis well; if foes, we must meet them bravely; we must not fail. Should we, our cause is lost, our colony at an end. CARVER. Captain, to you, as military leader, a man of large ex- perience, we must listen and obey. While I am the Gov- ernor chosen of our chosen few — in all 101, with forty- one men only, all loyal subjects of our Sovereign James . " "We have undertaken for the glory of God, and advancement of the Christian faith, to plant the first colony in the northern part of Virginia, and do covenant and combine ourselves together into a civil body politic, for our better order and preservation, and by virtue here- of shall enact, constitute, and frame such just and equal laws, as shall be thought most convenient for the general good of the colony, due precaution being taken." I would counsel that we rear our standard here upon this rock, where now a hospitable fire greets us [Fires relume] after our five months' weary and chill voyage — a happy augury. BRADFORD. Be it so ! And let us in grateful remembrance of kind friends, far away, give it the name of Plymouth, and in- voke God's blessing on our cause. [They rear the standard, and all kneel around in silent prayer. The Indians (6) steal around, and seeing them at their devotions, retire quietly.] SCENE I.] €ANONICUS. 13 carver [rising]. Here, on this ice-clad rock, we do devote our hearts, our souls, our bodies, to God's cause; to the advancement of the Christian faith and universal freedom. Hark, an Indian whoop ! and here they come. massassoit [advancing] . Welcome, pale -faces — few in number; the Indian hordes, mighty in strength and power, would be your friends. CARVER. Thanks, brave chieftain. We would find you friends. We come as such. We bring you medicine from the Great Spirit, and gifts of lasting good to all. For many moons upon the deep, our corn, our meat is scanty. We would have these. Beads for your wampums and trin- kets we will give. MASSASSOIT. Thanks, Great Chief; though we need them not, yet our young braves and maidens gladden in them. Freely will we give you of what we have in store. Fierce winds are now at hand, and snow-flakes thicker than the sands of the shore are upon us. Eear your wigwams; Massas- soit will send you aid, and in the meantime seek his friends. [Indians exeunt STANDISH. He boasts of his power. Let him not seek to take ad- vantage, for we have that here [his gun] shall strike such terror in their hearts, that they shall freely give all that we ask. CARVER. Captain, we come in the name of the Prince of Peace. Our best reliance is on the guidance of our God. Al- 14 OAXOXiCUS. [act I. ready this friendly Indian, coming as lie does, shows his love. Cast not away this favor by unworthy acts. STANDISH. Governor, unworthy acts to me, Miles Standish, your Captain Nay, nay; excuse a soldier, one who can- not forget his bluntness. CABVEB. Miles Standish, you are our Captain. Your trade were best forgotten until a foe appears. I am your Governor, selected by our people. Let no testiness disturb our har- mony here at the outset. Foes enough we will have. We must be true unto ourselves. Your hand, sir, here be- fore our assembled company. We are friends. STANDISH. In heart and hand ! The day wears, and the clouds thicken; let us haste and prepare our homes. [Exeunt Scene Second. Indian Camping-Ground at Manomet. CANON1CUS. Pale-faces at our wigwams' doors. Pale-faces at our Council fires. Pale-faces friends. So says Massassoit. Old chief, age dims thine eye; thy heart was ever gen- tle; too gentle for the chief of the great Mohegans. Can- onicus sees these pale-faces, as the evil spirits who haunt our swamps at nightfall. " Will- o '-the- wisps/'' their song so musical, yet so fatal — the arrow may not harm them; they track our steps, tho' never so silent they be, SCENE II.] CANONICES. 15 but there is poison in their breath to the brave sons of the forest, and death in their stealthy tread. Ill none of the pale-faces — they are like these Samosacus, my son, speared tho eel and dragged the oyster and clam from his soft bed, and bore it to their winged canoe, now twenty moons gone; and they sailed far away with him. Did they but bear him back, I would not be their foe — though never their friend. [Moi- na enters.] Moina, my fair girl. Hast thou news? "What says Massassoit ? MOINA. He is not here! Samosacus has not come; I sought the medicine-man of our tribe, and he bids me dream six moons more of love and he will come. Samosacus, my husband. CAXOXICUS. Says he thus much? It is well. Go and dream. My heart is firm. Canonicus never faltered. Massassoit may be their friend. Canonicus will know them not. Our young braves have gone to seek the Acanadas. Canoni- cus would go, but there is now greater danger nearer home. [Hobocomoc enters.'] Hobocomoc, you saw their camp; what of them ? H0B0C0M0C. Men of peace, by their guise — save some few. Men of prayer by their acts — more like squaws. They build them wigwams — will prove their graves. They build them and then will go to their graves. So fast they die. CANONICUS. What needs we should fear. The Great Spirit watches over us. Their warriors are how many ? KOBOC01IOC. As the stars seen at noonday ! 16 canonicus. [act i. CANONICUS. So few ! Have tliey food ? Have they shelter ? HOBOCOMOC. But scanty at the best — but slight for these wild storms. CANONICUS. Bear them corn and deer's meat in plenty. Take fifty braves; tell them Canonicus will not be their friend; but he would feed even a starving foe — that our Great Spirit teaches this. massassoit [enters] . Great Chief of the Narragansetts, the pale-faces crave thy friendship ! CANONICUS. Does the proud antlered monarch of the herd seek the lair of the wolf? Canonicus sent Samosacus, his well- beloved son, with a gift to the winged canoe, and they bore him away. Canonicus learns their wants, and sends his braves with gifts of meat and corn. Canonicus will watch over them; an offended father, but he will be their friend. They are like himself; they are flesh and blood, the Great Spirit made all; they shall not suffer for want of shelter, of food, be they not our foes. Canonicus has spoken. But hark ! the shouts of our returning braves. [Canonicus and Massassoit seated on couch of ski?is. Indian Braves enter ivith trophies of Victory.'] WOPOWOAG. The Acanadas sleep. More in number than the suns of many years, they bite the dust. Their bones bleach the plains. Their blood colors the waters of the Kennebec, and their scalps are at thy feet, Great Chief of the Nar- ragansetts. [Laying down trophies.] SCENE II.] CANONICUS. 17 CANONICUS. Pale-faces were with tliem ? WOPOWOAG. Are with them, great chief. Their iron bows are ours. They lie with our crafty foes. CANONICUS. You heard no tales — no further tales of gatherings in the forests — of the coming of fresh foes ? WOPOWOAG. "We have left scarce enough to bury those we met. Years must come ere they will war against the salt-waves' sons. CANONICUS. Were all slain ? WOPOWOAG. All, save one, Canonicus. He called upon your name in the fight; the hatchet would have finished the winged arrow's work; but the Spirit in thy name stayed the blow. He is here. CANONICUS. Bring the pale-face before me ! [ White man brought in J] Pale-face, though of our foes, Canonicus revenges not himself upon the vanquished. Speak — thy tale. JONES. A sailor, with one Merton, we landed on these shores twenty months past. We sought for food. An Indian Chief came in a bark canoe. CANONICUS. My son. He lives. 18 CANONICUS. [ACT I. JONES. He was welcomed upon our deck. His fish and clams were well paid for; lie was kindly used — a gale came up and we were driven off to sea, and steered away for Eng- land. Samosacus was the guest of lords and kings. He slept at Windsor, and was made rich in jewels and in gold. He is feted and feasted. CANONICUS. "What of that ? That gives him not back to Canonicus — that brings hirn not to the arms of M ina. You speak of your king — who is he? The pale-faces tell me he wears a crown — is seated on a golden throne — has rich at- tendants, glittering all in gems, and warriors at command. That at every step he is surrounded by an obsequious crew, who fawn if he but smiles, faint if he frowns. Is this to be a king ? Canonicus would have none of it. We, who are kings, the proudest monarchs that rale on earth, have for oar proud throne, our Great Spirit's footstool, one step alone below Him. His star-gemmed heavens our canopy — the untrammelled sons of the forests our friends, our braves. We have no fear for them, they have our love, our trust; and we have theirs. But what more of Samosacus ? You say he is feted and feasted. Can they give him more than we ? All the game of the forests, of the streams, is at our feasts. The limpid waters ever sparkling, as the Great Spirit made them our drink, ever freshening and pure. Can they give him more than this ? But where is Samosacus ? JONES. He bade me say: Should I return to his native land, that on the sixth moon from this he would be with his friends — that so England's great chief had promised. SCENE I.] CANONICUS. 19 CAN0NICU8. Such was my dream. So spake Syosset, our Medicine Chief — and so Moina dreams. Release your captive, braves. He is our friend from this — his home with us — a bride, fairest of our daughters, shall be the reward for the great news he bears us. Now to the Great Spirit be our thanks upraised. [Indian ceremony, and curtain falls. End of Act I. ACT n. Scene Fikst. Indians Assembled in Council. Canonicus and Braves of the Narragansetts — Samoset and Braves of the Whampanoags. canonicus. What news, now, of these pale-faces ? "What more do they ? Their wigwams built against the winter's blast, the red man's meat and corn their food. Is it not so ? samoset [Chief of Whampanoags], Brother, it is so. And still they die like the leaves from the trees. CANONICUS. Have they no medicine-men ? Bid Syosset go to them; he the most skilled of our tribe; and, Samoset, let yours go too. I doubt he of Massassoit is already there. 20 CANONICUS. [act II. SAMOSET. Even so — and he himself has gone together with some fifty braves to render aid. CANONICUS. Samoset, Chief of the Whampanoags, I like not this. The pale-face weak, our friend; strong, were our foe. SAMOSET. "We meet them at the full sun to-day. I bade them wel- come — as yet, find them friends ? Come with me, Great Chief of the Narragansetts. CANONICUS. Canonicus will not go Canonicus has spoken. They shall not starve. He will not be their friend. Canonicus is the red man's friend. [Exit Canonicus and Braves. SAMOSET. They meet at the full moon. Braves, we must be with them. [Exeunt. Scene Second. Forest and Sea view.— Moonlight. Whites march in on one side in great state. Indians same on other side. ^ carver [advances] . Great King of the Mohegans, Massassoit, in the depths of winter, cast upon your shores, you were our friend, and so with great Samoset of the Whampanoags. Tou gave us welcome, gave us shelter, gave us food. Now in SCENE II.] CA^ONICUS. 21 the first burst of spring, when the earth is full cf prom- ise and of hope, we would enter into a league of friend- ship which shall bind us all more firmly together. We come to bring him word, from our Great Spirit, the Father of us all, to teach the red man our arts; arts that shall make him happy, make him rich. We ask but peace and unity, and liberty to worship God and live after our own simple ways. MASSASSOIT. Great Chief of the Pale-faces, we have heard. The Great Spirit bids us give the pale-faces welcome — be his friends. They may share our hunting-grounds and our shores. The forests furnish fuel, and the clear streams purest waters. CARVER. Red brother, this is true, from you and many others; but there are foes. Some open and avowed, some stealthy as the wolf. Some creeping like the snake. Massassoit and Samoset we know for friends. But who else have we as such ? MASSASSOIT. Show the sign that shall bind, and we will soon find our friends. Massassoit sets his seal to it. carver [unrolling parchment]. Here's our bond, signed and sealed. Fix your marks, 'tis all we ask. massassoit [lancing his arm]. Thus I make it— with my blood — thus with my life. SAMOSET. And so does Samoset ! Brother chieftains — friends to the pale-faces — our great king binds us all — so let each bind his tribe. [Many chiefs sign.] 22 CAXOXTCUS. [act il MASSASSOIT. Now let this be borne to tlie Chief of the Peconics. He sent threats to our pale-faced friends — bid him attend us here. Summon the Great Chief of the Earragansetts; him of the strong will and the stout arm : Great Canoni- cus. [Exit two Braves. CAEVE3. Well spoken, and better done, noble friend. May this day be but as that of many suns to come ; and the pale- face and red man be but one. Thinkest thou Canoni- cus will come ? Him we honor, him we would have our fiiend. He has nobly clone. MASSASSOIT. A red man's tread I hear far down in the vale, but 'tis faint and faltering. Not Canonicus, I know. His step is fixed and firm; now again, from the forest it comes — 'tis Peconic your foe, then our foe — like a low-born dog, a cur, he steals along. [Chiefs escort Peconic — painted ashes color.] You of the ashen face, of the Peconics, we bid you here. We the friends of the pale-face, we bid you here, their foe. Few words may we sj>eak. You their friend, else our foe. Such, soon the singing birds of winter were more in number than thy tribe ! PECONIC. Great king, such thy will, such must be ours. Massas- soit has the heart of all. You have my hand. [Signs the treaty.] MASSASSOIT. Where now is our brother, Great Canonicus ? Ha. I hear his step coming hither, it shakes the earth ! [Can- onicus enters,] SCENE II.] CAS 23 canonicus [looking round]. He is here ! MASSASSOIT. It is well ! CANONICUS. Who are these ? Our friends ? Friends at the feast, friends at the fight ! braves, all. What do ye here ? Sell yourselves to the pale-faces ? What need of bonds or of your hands? The pale-face, the red man's friend; the red man never could be his foe. Room enough for all; food enough for all, while the forest gives its beasts, and their branches its buds — while the sea-shore gives its shell-fish, and its waters its fins ! The Great Spirit or- dains this. Who dare disobey ? ALAS3ASS0IT. Thy hand then to this. CANONICUS. The Chief of the Narragansetts has given his word — there needs no hand — though the pale-face would it. Massassoit knows it needs it not. CAEVER. We would have some sign. CANONICUS. Chief of the Pale-faces: when the pale-faces first came to our shore, and would have shelter, who or what bade Canonicus build them wigwams ? who or what bade Can- onicus send them corn and meats? who or what bade Canonicus forget that the pale - faces stole his son ? The same Spirit will teach him to be their friends until they are his people's foe — to forget his private wrongs while they are friends to his. 2i canonicus. [act n. CAEVEE. "We have given. We would have some pledge, some sign. CANONICUS. It is here. You know me as a friend. Read me in this, when as a foe. [Takes from an Indian a bundle of ar- rows, wrapped in a rattlesnake skin, and hands it to Standish. Says :] Twenty rattles had it living — a hundred deaths was in each. My heel crushed its head — so my arrows shall hearts of foes. CAEVEE. Boasting chief, we fear you net. [Beadfoed whispers to Standish, who fills skin with powder, privately.] massassoit. Brave son, we know you well ! Canonicus was ever as the sun. True as that ! we would not this ! CANONICUS. Great Father, old in years. Your words are peace; strong in arm. Your son so wills it. Peace kept, he will keep it. Canonicus has spoken! beadfoed [returning skin]. Brave chief, we return thy skin ! thy gift ! canonicus. The red man knows it not — 'tis not so he treats his friends. BEADFOED. The white man's power is now in this skin. canonicus [throwing it inflames]. To the flames then be it given. So he forgets the pale- SCENE I.] CANONICUS. 25 face's wrong. [The powder flashes and is gone.] So fades away on the wind thy power. See, the red man's shafts are still good. [Pointing to arrows.'] Thou hast my sign. End of Act EL ACT m. Scene Fiest. Canonicus and Braves assembled. — Forest Scene. CANONICUS. Nineteen moons gone, Samosacus not returned. Faith- less pale-faces. Moina's heavy heart gives Canonicus a heavy hand. Still our white brother of our wigwam bids her hope. [Moina enters.] Moina, my fond child, sweeter thy voice to my heart than the song of singing birds of spring. Soft as the murmur of the evening winds fall thy steps on my ear. What is thy wish ? MOINA. Great Chief of the "Narragansetts, father to my Samo- sacus, Moina, thy child, asks for justice and mercy for a pale-faced sister. In my wigwam now she lies, heart- stricken, features saddened and heavy, doomed by her stern brothers ; turned from their homes, her kindred, her lover; a dark mantle o'er her shoulders, darkening 28 oANokicrrs. [act hi. even her very soul, with a " scarlet letter/' bright and glaring, like the sun in angry cloud. CANONICUS. The "Scarlet Letter!" 'Tis the badge of sin, my daughter, fearful sin; too pure thy ear to know its por- tent ! It is the white man's " Law." MOINA. Nay, nay, she has no sin; a bird of love from her heart is nestling in mine. I know she has not sinned. Woman wit reads woman's heart, best reads her wrongs. CANONICUS. Bid her here. [Exit Moina.] We will hear her tale. Canonicus never turns a deaf ear on the calls of mercy and of justice. Here she comes, graceful as the wood- land's fawn. [Enter Mary, Jones, and Moina.] Maiden, twe are thy friends. Fear not, though thy face is pale and fair, to uncover before my braves. Thy sex is thy safeguard with mine of the Narragansetts. What thy woe ? What thy wish ? Give me thy tale. We will hearken; we will act. JONES. Great Chief, may I speak ? Many moons have risen and sunk since a prisoner you took me in, fed me, and gave me clothes. I went to the white man on Plymouth Rock, as they call it, and they spurned me, and cast me out for a fancied wrong; saying, I was not of their faith; though I worshipped the same God and hoped in the same Saviour's love. Quaker born, they loved me not, would have me not. This is their mercy then. Justice — such is it ever; but the Chief of the Narragansetts is my friend, gave me all I asked. SCENE I.] CANONICUS. 27 CANONICUS. Gives the same to a vanquished foe. Nothing more. But what is this to the fair daughter of your race, now before us ? JONES. She loved, and was deceived. A man in power her un- doer. CANONICUS. 'Tis as ever runs the white man's tale. Gentle maiden's all the sin, though guileless and pure; in the artful woer no offense ever found. What wouldst thou, daughter ? MARY. My babe, my guiltless babe. They tore it from my arms, my bosom. My boy ! my boy ! CANONICUS. Dry thy tears ! Cease thy cry ! Thou shalt have thy babe — thy boy. And thy lover, wouldst thou him ? MARY. He has my heart, and I honored him. Though thus wronged, I would die for him ! CANONICUS. Go, my braves — ten in number — to the pale-faces of Plymouth Kock. White Son will be thy spokesman. Say that, though Canonicus is bound by no pledge, save the pledge binds all mankind to their fellows, that he will meet their chiefs in council ere the sun is in the west, that Canonicus will be with them; 'tis to save their honor, it may be their lives. Canonicus has secret news for them. Moina, prepare; thou and thy white sister go with us I 28 CANONICUS. [act III. [To Jones]. White Son. Nineteen moons have passed. Samosacus is not here ! JONES. One moon more must full and fade ere we question their faith. Our King never broke his word. CANONICUS. He has my honor. He never will ! Now, hasten unto Plymouth Rock. As thy shadows we will be with thee. [Exeunt all Scene Second. Plymouth Rock. Carver, Standish, Jones, and other Indian Braves enter. JONES. Governor, Canonicus, the Great Chief, sent us here to give you word he would soon be with you with great news, to save your honor, perhaps your lives. CARVER. Then at last he will wait on us. It is, friends, a mighty portent; it foreshadows the glory of the English rule. Thus tribe after tribe sue for peace with us; all were our friends save this proud Chief, and now even .he craves a hearing. STANDISH. The terror of our arms has filled the land ! Said I not, it would ? CARVER. The justice of our rule, trust me, has done far more. SCENE II.] CANONICUS. 29 BRADFORD. A smiling Providence, through all our ills, hath ever shone its face. There be our praise, our thanks. - Enter Canonicus and Braves. CARVER. Welcome, Great Chief, to our Council Fire. Take the pipe of peace and feast with us. CANONICUS. Canonicus needs no pipe of peace. He never made or threatened war against the pale-face of the east. He comes as he came, through his braves, when first you trod his shores, and the Ice King raged and ravaged the land, to give you counsel, to give you care. There was danger to you then in the snow-cloud; there is fiercer danger in the storm-cloud of wrath that rides through the summer sky. Canonicus comes as a friend to give you warning. He bids you be just, be merciful. You may yet seek for both in a foe, and seek in vain — Canonicus' voice un- heeded. CARVER. What mean you, great Chief ; there is terror in your words, yet your actions are those of friendship ? CANONICUS. Then hearken to my words, as the brave does the dis- tant tramp. Low and close thine ear to my speech. You say you came in love to our shores. You fled from a land of fierce laws to a land of love; where free, you might worship your Great Spirit after your own form, and live in "union" and in " brotherly love." BRADFORD. Even so. 30 CANONICUS. [ACT HI. CANONICUS. Tou tell us, this teaches to love thy neighbor as thy- self. Is it not so ? CARVER. It is. CANONICUS. To do unto others as you would be done by. CARVER. Most truly so. CANONICUS. Know you this man, a pale-face brother ? STANDISH. It is the fellow Jones ! CANONICUS. Great warrior, thy speech is unworthy thy rank. That sneer sits not well on thy manly lip. Greatness ne'er in- sults a fallen foe. Still, as thou wouldst seem to name some, what may be his offense ? STANDISH. He is a Quaker ! CANONICUS. Then not thy brother ? Not thy neighbor ? A Quaker, backed as thou art by armed warriors, thou lookest on him as though he were the mountain wolf; thine eye glares as the panther's on the deer he would devour. Such thy faith, canst thou ask the red man to be thy friend ? Dost thou not teach him to be wary and watch thee as a foe ? The lesson you teach we will learn, but may the Great Spirit of our Fathers keep us from its prac- tice. Such thine, and you must fall. Canonicus bids you beware. sc::xe ilJ canonicus. 31 Moina, my fair child, where is thy friend ? [Moina brings in Mary.] Know ye this fair flower ? the lily of the vale were not more beautiful CARVER. Aye, Chief ! She has broken our law. CANONICUS. Your law ! Your law ! Be it so. "Was there no part- ner in her guilt ? as you choose to name it. Where is he whom we would name her lover, her husband, her chief ? W 7 here is the pledge of their loves ? Your Great Spirit gave the fair mother her babe; do you, but men, pale- face men, dare take from her what He gives ? Thou hast taught us He says, Vengeance is mine. If ye have no love, no mercy for the girl, give her her child, that it may shield ye from His wrath. WILLIAMS. Canonicus speaks well, Governor; I counsel that we re- store the child. [Mary casts herself at his feet, Moina with her.] MARY. Give me my child, my darling babe ! CANONICUS. Arise, Moina; never kneel to the pale-faces. I and mine are lords here. Peace, daughter, you shall yet have your child. Canonicus holds the pale-faces in his hand. They will not he should clutch it in anger. Great Chief, you say she sinned. She sinned not alone; where is he she loved so well ; loved as only woman loves ? STANDISH. Off to the chase. 32 CANONICUS. [act III. CANONICUS. Pale-face, thou knowest it is not so. Canonicus reads thy thoughts — thou art too brave in spirit to lie. Truth is stamped upon thy brow, and frowns down upon thy lip as thou speakest. Bring him here, or Canonicus leaves this Council, with that untold, upon which hang your lives and those of all belonging to you. If you will not learn mercy, you shall learn justice, though Savage of the Forest, as you name me, be thy teacher. What means this mantle, this glaring litter on the gloomy ground ? Is this mercy? Is this justice? Her undoer has no brand, is not driven forth from his home — has not been robbed of all dearer than life. Yet he is strong, and can bear the forest life. She is frail and feeble as a flower; and but for Moina, had failed long ago. Remember the light- ning's flash rifts the oak, but the lily is unharmed. [A young man enters. Mary shrieks, and faints. Henry, my loved Lord ! J CANONICUS. It is he ! Young chief, what means this wrong ? HENRY. It is not my doing. CANONICUS. Nay, nay; thy voice is faint. She is thy love, thy wife. Thou must take her to thy home with thy babe. Thy people's life is the price. HENRY CARVEB. My father wills it not. CANONICUS. In this, thou hast no father upon earth. Hearken to Him who speaks from heaven. [Thunders.] SCENE II.] CAJJONIOUS. 33 GOVERNOR CARVER. Nay, nay; we will it not. She has sinned ! STANDISH. Aye, fearfully sinned! BRADFORD. Shamefully sinned ! ROGER WILLIAMS. Yet, been sinned against ! CANONICUS. Well sayst thou, man of peace and of prayer ! But be it as you say, Great Chiefs — even so — take this knife. [He whispers to Mary : " Fear not" He siqyports Mary with his left arm and holds the knife in his right.'] Now let him who has not sinned strike her ! even to the heart ! Can- onicus holds the fawn for the slaughter ! HENRY CARVER. My Mary; my dearest Mary. [He springs forward, hut is held by his father and Miles Standish.] CANONICUS. Not one to strike ! Not one fit to rid the earth of this foul blot ! Not one of all, preachers and prayers as ye are — without sin. Tear off this badge of shame, not to her, but to you men of years and of sin. If ever the Narragansett should war against ye, this after your manner shall be the ensign they will rear. Your hearts shall quail at its sight, thinking of your injustice, of the lesson taught you by the unlettered red man of the forest. Young chief, take thy bride. She is too pure, I know; but thou hast her love. Moina, she is faint— bring her babe; its feeble cry 34 CANONICUS. [act IV. will reach tlie mother's heart and awake to life. [IZesijn- ing Mary to him.] Thy arm, young chief. [Giving babe.] Thy marriage bond ! Her life is saved. Thy wounded honor healed. Great Chiefs, reverse your laws. Canoni- cus is obeyed — thy nation's saved. A thousand braves await your call. Thy foe, fierce Weston, is on the march against you, but his days are numbered. Canonicus has spoken. Mercy and justice have triumphed ! Holy Fa- ther, Thy blessing ! Kneel, my children ! ROGER WILLIAMS. Take her, Henry ! take him, Mary ! ye are one ! End of Act HI. ACT IV. A beautiful Scene near Canon icus' Wigwam — Moina sitting at the foot of a Waterfall. MOINA. Twenty moons have come and gone. Spring's flowers nave bloomed and are buried. Summer's fruits are come again, and the autumn nuts shall fall, but Moina has no Samosacus to gather them for her. The fair daughter of the pale-face chief has her brave and her babe. Can- o:iicus sought and found both for her, and gave her life. Why may he not bring Samosacus to me, who have loved now so long. The leaves rustle through the winds, mur- SCENE I.] CAK0NICTT8. 35 muring through the tall grass, where the deer loves to feed. Now they come to quench their thirst, while Moina tells her tale to the music of the waters — they heed her not, fear her not, for she loves them as she loves all the Great Spirit made. The sun is high, and the heat fierce. Soon our young braves will seek thesfe waves. Moina must away ere they come to spear the fish. Too long have I tarried, but my love fills all time. Moina knows no nights, no days; all are as one, Samosacus not return- ed. The young braves are here, and with them the young Muntumo, the proud, painted warrior of the Mo- hegans, who seeks my love, but it is gone ! [Indians enter, and Moina retiring, turns bach'] MUNTUMO. Why wilt thou away, fair Moina ? We came to stalk the deer and spear the fish. Had we known 'twould fright thee away, it had not been so. Some other time we had sought them. What does the fair child of Canonicus by the murmuring stream ? Would she the voice of love ? Muntumo will sing her songs; tell her tales of the past; tales of the fight. Will wear twenty scalps in his girdle, and hunt the deer alone for her, if she will but sit in his wigwam and be his bride. J Tis the son of Massassoit, Great Chief of the Mohegans, has come to sue for her love. MOINA. Moina hears it all. Moina is heavy-hearted. Brave Muntumo, Moina has no love to give. It is gone. MUNTUMO. Moina has no love ! Yet she lingers by the banks of the Merrimac. She watches its clear, limpid waters come welling up from the rifled rock, go dashing down the hill- 38 CAjSTONICITS. [act iv. sides, stealing under the dark, old forests; receiving into its transparent bosom each little brooklet, rivulet, and river that hastens from miles around to pay tribute to its conquering way, until at last a broad, sparkling, beautiful sheet of water pours its flowing wealth into old ocean's briny depths ! And has Moina no ear for love, hearken- ing to all this ? MOINA. Moina has love for all; not for one, proud, brave, Mun- tumo. Moina would light the fire in a wigwam of her own tribe. MUNTUMO. Light but mine, our tribes shall be one. Canonicus has no son. MOINA. Thou sayest not true. He has a son. Samosacus is away; now many moons gone. Samosacus will be here. MUNTUMO. Not Samosacus of thy tender years, of thy love. I read thy tale. Pale-face arts have spoiled thy boy. Moina loves an Indian brave, not the petted puppet of the pale- faces' show. MOINA. Moina loves but once. These waters have but one song, ceaseless, undying. So Moina. Thy love I prize, 'tis of one brave and good. Saugus the Chieftain, too, hath borne his gay present of murmuring sea-shells. It could not tempt my girlish heart. So I sighed his love away. Muntumo has my honor, he is great and good. Muntu- mo has my thanks, shall have my prayers. MUNTUMO. Samosacus will not come, fairest daughter of the forest — he dallies far away. SCENE I.] CAKONICUS. 37 MOINA. Nay, nay; not so. He will come. Hark that tramp; 'tis the tread of friends — Canonicus, Father, and ha, Sam- osacus ! [Enter Canonicus, Samosacus, and braves.'] Samosacus ! Samosacus ! [Sinks in his arms.] SAMOSACUS. My Moina ! MOINA. Great Father, this thy act. Thy heart of love works for all. Samosacus, thou dost not speak. SAMOSACUS. Thy beauty strikes me dumb, fair Moina, like the sun on awakening sight; thy brightness dazzles all. I see, I feel but thee. Father, thou hast cared her well. MOINA. But how came you here, and Moina not at the shore ? SAMOSACUS. Many miles from this lies the winged canoe bore me home from England's shore; but of this, by and by, and the wonders met my sight. Samosacus has journeyed long his Moina to greet. Samosacus is weary. MOINA. Quaff these limpid waters, they will give thee strength. An Indian brave, thou knowest their power. Kneel with me at its fount — the lily shall be thy cup, gemmed all with dew ! [Moina kneels, and gives wzter out of lily leaf.] canonicus. Braves, add your voices by this bright water so glitter- ing in the sun, making gay music in our homes; gladden- ing the hearts of all at return of Samosacus, our son. 38 caxonicus. [act iv. MOINA. Our pale-face brother spake the truth. SAMOSACUS. Thy pale-face brother, where is he ? I knew this not. CANONICUS. A brave took him prisoner in the fight and brought him home. He spake of thee; called thy name, and we wel- comed him. He told us of thy fate, after many moons of mourning, and said thou wouldst be here twenty moons gone, and he was true. The pale-faces call him u Quaker," call him Jones, and will have none of him. SAMOSACUS. Jones his name ? He was my friend. There is an- other waits without. Roger Williams he is called; chosen servant of the Great Spirit. Driven out by the pale-faces, he journeyed south; our paths crossed. I spake in his tongue. He told me his tale. I brought him hither. CANONICUS. Thou hast done well ! Persecution marks their steps — these Plymouth men ! [Enter Roger Williams, with staff and bundle.] Bid him hither ! Pale-face brother, thou hast my heart; here art wel- come. Last moon thou wert in favor; what thy fault with thy pale-faced friends'? What thy teaching, that thou art driven out ? WILLIAMS. Great Chief of the Narragansetts, thou more than friend to my people, since thou hast dared to tell them wherein they erred; thou wilt not think the less of me when I say, my fault, my only fault is in that I preach- ed, " that the civil magistrate should restrain crime, but scene i.] CAiiroNictrs. 39 never control opinion. Should punish guilt, but never violate the freedom of the soul." For this they have banished me from my home, from my friends; but the Great Spirit, who governs all, will guide me to another, where I shall gather together warm, true hearts, and found a State where the purest principles of civil and re- ligious liberty shall prevail. CAXOXICUS. "Well hast thou spoken. Well hast thou done, thou faithful minister of the Great Spirit. My braves shall guide thee to a home worthy of thy pure, rare nature; an island girded by the sea, long the sacred resting-place of the warriors of our tribe, who, great in battle, council, or in chase, at last yielded to the grim foe of all. This shall be yours, and those you may appoint, a recompense for your earnest action in Mary Carver's cause; as thou hast won it by service to her, the fairest of her fair race; so thine shall be the land from which shall spring the loveliest of their sex throughout this clime, nursed by the balmy breezes from the south. Samosacus, our son, though just returned, shall be your escort, with fifty braves. Be wary, for the Pequods, star- like strong, are on their march. I and my braves with their great chiefs, Pokanoket and Massassoit, will haste to meet them. SAM03ACT7S. Moina weeps. Samosacus just returned. MOINA. Truly Moina weeps, but they am tears of joy, that honor, such as this, should be for him. 40 CAsroisricus. [act v. CANONICUS. Thy blessing on us ere we go, Father of the pale-face and the red man of the wood. [Indian war-dance; then they kneel, and Roger Williams blesses them.] End of Act IV. ACT V. Scene First. Indian Camp— Waterfall — Hour, Morning. MOINA. The bird of morn sweetly sang as Moina's eyes were kissed by the early light of dawn, and told her heart Sam- osacus would be home with many scalps of foes in his belt, and many prisoners in his train. He must have met the great chiefs of the Narragansetts and Mohegans with their white brothers as they call them, and joined them in battle against the Pequods and the tribe of Winslow. Ere he comes, I will deck me by the side of these glassy waters, for my bridal is at hand. [She decks herself.] The beauties of lovely maidens have been reflected in this glassy mirror. Mighty warriors have washed the paint from their faces, and the blood from their hands in its bright waters, and deeds of nobleness, of daring, of out- rage have been planned on its brink. [Mttntumo enters.'] Ha, Muntumo of the Mohegans, what wouldst thou in SCENE I.] CANONICUS. 41 the chamber of Moina ? From day's early hours our tribe have given this spot to its daughters as their own. But thou art faint, and there is blood. What means this, brave Muntumo ? MUNTUMO. Love for thee, fair Moina! The white man, Carver's son, used thy name with foul speech, detracted from thy fair fame. MOINA. He whose bride Moina saved? He whose babe, our Great Father Canonicus sought and found ? He whose honor he healed, and whose sick heart he cured? He used Moina' s name ? MUNTUMO. He did, and though faint and weary with the long fever, I told him 'twas false. He struck me; I felled him to the earth with the little strength I had left, and he stabbed me to the heart. Snake with the forked-tongue, I left him stunned by my blow, and tottered here to die, that the warrior might sleep where his heart only lived; near her, the child of him he so honored, great Canonicus. MOINA. Nay, nay: thou shalt not die. Taste these waters [gives drink from dream], they are strong, full of life, and will give it thee. Thou shalt not die. Moina bathes thy brow. Thou art pale. [She supports his head.] Thou art faint. My childhood's friend, my childhood's lover, though I would it not. Art thou gone ? there is no breath — there is no sigh ! [She stoops to list his breathing. Samosacus and his braves enter.] SAMOSACUS. Ha, Moina ! and my foe ! Moina, dost thou well ? 42 CANONICUS. [act v. MOINA. Muntunio is no more. The Great Father has called him home. Faint, he fell at my feet, and I bore him water. I bathed his brow. What meanest thou, Samo- sacus? Thou tumest away with a storm-cloud on thy face. SAMOSACUS, Thou bathest his brow! Thou kissedst his lips! In death your spirits mingled. Samosacus mourns thee gone. No Moina has he now. MOINA. Cruel brave, this is not so. Monia kissed him not ! Moina had been thy foe, had she done but as she did. Thou hadst not loved her had she failed in the office and the hour when maidens shine most lovely — by the side of suffering, by the side of death ! Thou sayest no Moina hast thou now. It is well. Jealous grown — wronging in thought— no Samosacus have I now. I loved him of my youth. Samosacus left my side — his pure nature changed. The pale-faces have turned his heart. SAMOSACUS. And the fate of war turned his eye, when lovely as the dawn of day, graceful as the swaying lily — the daughter of Sasacus, the Sachem of the Pequods— fairest Nyana, gave beauty to the scene. MOINA. Ha ! is it so ? May Samosacus be blessed. May Nyana be happy. There is no Moina more. Young braves bear Muntumo to the foot of the falling waters. He was great, he was good ; his burial shall be in honor. Hark ! a tramp is on the air. 'Tis Canonicus comes ! [Canon- icus enters.] Dear father, at my feet, death-wounded by SCENE IT.] CANONICUS. 43 the poisoned fang of the double-tongued pale-face— whose fair bride, whose babe, v> T hose honor you saved — fell Muntumo, with the tale that the pale-face slurred her name — the name of her who was their friend — Moina, thy child. He said that it was false, and the pale -face pierced his heart. His last words were of you. You must render him the last of earth's honors ! CAXONICUS. Brave Muntumo, art thou gone ? Thy heart knew no guile ; thy hand no blood, save blood of foe. Thy honor thou hast left to me, and thou shalt be avenged ! Bear him near to me, young braves. May his life be your guide. Let thy maidens, Moina, join — rare the service we will show him. Scene Second. Plymouth Rock — A Council, Indians and Whites. SAMOSACUS. Great Governor of Plymouth Rock, now two years absent from my land, but just returned son of the Nar- ragansett, I joined your warriors with our braves against the Pequods, and in my train have many prisoners. Some are maidens young and beautiful. Some are chief- tains brave and strong ; and one, the Sachem of the Pequods, brave Sasacus, fell beneath my blow. It was my part to claim his life had I listed. His daughter, the beautiful Nyana, smiled through her tears, and turned my arm. As my captive I claim his life, and to his na lands would £'ive him back. 44 canonicus. [act y. CARTER. Never so ! Our foes increase — such, f oily shown toward them. STANDISH. His death would best serve our cause. samosacus. "Warrior, but for my father's alms, my father's counsel, my father's care, Plymouth Bock ere now had been no more. Think of that ! His blood would do ye no good. His hate is all gone. His friendship may be yours. I ask but my rights ! CANONICUS. Valiant son ! I have heard thy speech. It is well. The pale-faces have no - rights here. As our friends, we will guard their lives and their honors. [To Whiles.] Ye seek the life of Sasacus. This may not be. He is a brave sachem, kind and merciful, and has a right to the same usage he gives others. CARVER. Canonicus, it is our law ! He dies. CANONICUS. Your law! Is this the law your Greit Spirit teaches? Far other lesson our Great Spirit has taught us ! CARVER. Your Great Spirit! How know you that there is a Great Spirit ? CANONICUS. See you these footprints in the sand ? How know you that men have been here ? I look aloft into the boundless sky. I gaze upon the fathomless deep. I wonder at the countless beauties of scene n.] CANONICUS. 45 earth, and at His thunder shrink with awe, and yet you ask how I know that there is a Great Spirit ? There is — there is, I know. I feel there is, for does He not dwell within this narrow heart and yet fill all the world? Braves, bear Sa^acus in honor to his home ! My son, be he your charge. [Exeunt STANDISH. Not so, brave chief. He must die. [To a soldier.] Go, watch their steps. CANONICUS. Governor of the pale-faces ! say you so ? CARVER. *Tis our law ! CANONICUS. This is your law ? * What is your law, then, for foul murder done ? CARVER. Death is its penalty ! CANONICUS. "When the pale-face does the deed ? CARVER. Even so ! CANONICUS. Bring hither young Carver, the governor's son. [Henry Carver enters.] Young man, there is blood upon thy hand ! The blood of my friend, the brave Muntumo ! I gave you your bride, your babe, and more — your, honor. You sought to stain the honor of my child — the peerless Moina. Muntumo knew 'twas false. He spake it. You struck him. He felled you to the earth, and you stabbed him to the heart — he died ! Was this well done ? Pale- faces, thy law is death. Give me this boy's life for my friend's. 'Tis thy law ! 46 CANONICUS. [act v. CARVER. Nay, nay. He did but avenge a blow ! CANONICUS. Muntumo sought to avenge my fond child's good name, thus illy spoken ! Whose offense was the greatest ? The blow given her fame would last for life. That Mun- tumo gave thy son (though in answer to his first ren- dered) was washed out by gentle words and felt no more. Again will the Chief of the Narragansetts ask ye justice. He will pardon thy son for the sake of his bride — his babe — but he saves brave Sasacus, and sends him in safety home. standish. Nay, nay ; this' shall not be. Rather a pale-face should die than this fierce chief be free. [To Carver aside.'] There is old Jones. He is no use now. Let him be hung instead. Besides, he merits it for other faults. This will appease the chiefs, and Sasacus be ours ! carver. Be it so. Bring him disguised in Henry's clothes. [Exit Standish ivith guards and Henry, canonicus [aside]. These wily chiefs ! They say the red man is untrue, is like the snake ! That they cannot trust him. They have one law for themselves, and one for the red man. Yet this is justice ? Had Muntumo slain his son, Muntumo must have died. His son slew Muntumo — but only a son of the forest. 'Twas no offence; he is free; he lives. [Standish enters ivith guard, and old Jone3 disguised and blindfolded], STANDISH. Canonicus, thy victim is here, bound hand and foot. scene ii.] sosrrcus. 47 Tlie rope is around his neck. A tree is near. Take him, and we take Sasacus. canonicus [looking around]. [Aside.] A fraud ! I see it all, and I will prove it such ! [Going up to culprit, he lohispers, " Fear not." Aloud :] Pale- face, thou must die. Thy minutes are numbered ! Yet thy Medicine Father is not here! [Turning to Caeyee.] Pale-face Chief, let one be sought. He must die in the faith you teach. Hast thou no mercy for thy son, thy eldest child, thy only son ? We red men know not the cord. The arrow bears our death warrant. [To Caeyee.] Take you this rope; there grows a tree of a thousand summers. I would thy son have a forest monarch for his monument ! CAEYEE. I cannot hang my son ! Even your hard heart would ask not this ! CANONICUS. Thou needst not hang him. Only adjust the rope; the rest were easily done. caeyee [doing it]. This, I will do ! CANONICUS. And this will I. [Severing the rope.] Pale-faces, I scorn ye. Ye who would add fraud to murder. Braves, this is our old friend Jones, in this man's son's attire. I knew it from the first. Bear the brave old man to his home with us. Death shall be the portion of all who disturb him — now blind and deaf, and without speech in his age and sufferings. Miles Standish, this is not good. Thy race is doomed. Such acts, then death. Pale-faced Chief, thy honor is gone. Canonicus would scorn to crush 48 CANONICUS. [act v. such a reptile with his foot. [Exits.'] Sasacus is in safety now. STANDISH. Governor, this Canonicus will ruin our settlement. He befriends all our foes. We must be rid of him ! CARVER. Yes, the sooner the better. Make Massassoit his foe. BRADFORD. 'Twere easily done. Muntumo, his child, died with them. Send peace and presents, too, to the Pequod Chief. Sasacus will be won over. CARVER. Miles Standish, see it be done forthwith. [Exeunt. Scene Third. Canonicus' Encampment — Early dawn. [Samosacus and Nyana enter.'] SAMOSACUS. Fair Nyana of the Pequods. Thy father is saved! Brave S sacus has his home, and his nation is at peace. Thou hast heard my tales of my warlike tribe, and of the bright waterfall makes music in my home — it is here. Thou hast heard my vows of love. Your father gives thee me. Wilt thou not be my bride, the light of my home ? I will away to the chase and bear the game. I will to the wars and bear the trophies, if thou wilt but be my love ! SCENE III.] CANONICUS. 49 NT ANA. With a heart like thy fountain, brimful of trusting love. A welcome bright ever in her eye, and warm in her cheek. Nyana will watch thy return to thy home. Nyana saw Samosacus, as she saw the sun of life. Nyana will be thine. SAMOSACUS. Come, then, to my wigwam, where the choicest skins are spread for thy rest, and ere the day is done I will pro- claim thee my bride. [Exeunt. [Moina enters decked as for a bridal, and sees them as they pass out.] MOINA. The mellow dawn has broken once more. The bird of morn is on the wing; the loved music of the waters gently kisses Moina's cheek. Soon they will kiss her cheek, her wan, pale cheek; as she pillows it there, bathe her flushed, her burning brow. Cool this raging thirst at her heart, and bear her spirit pure like their spirit pure to the hunt- ing-grounds of the blest. Samosacus loves Nyana. She is fair. Samosacus is dead to Moina; for Moina Muntu- mo died. Moina now dies for him ! I will climb the gray rock, where the eagle only soars. Bathed in a flood of golden sunlight, upon its summit I will stand for the last time. [She ascends the rock — morning rays beaming upon her.] May the Great Spirit bless their bridal. May their race be without number. May their glories glow forever, and outshine all other tribes. CANONicus [enters]. Moina ! My Moina ! Canonicus heard thy voice — the only music to his heart ! Where art thou now ? Where 50 CANONICUS. [ACT Y. ail thou now ? Ha ! braves, see her there ! Quick, seek the path, unseen by her, and bear her hither. She raves. She is mad — her voice hushed. My hearth-fire is quench- ed. Ganonicus knows no home. Dear Moina, my child retrace thy steps; hasten hither. MOINA. Like the eagle in his swoop, Moina seeks the pool. His victim, the golden fish — hers, her wounded, broken spirit. Canonicus, Father, Moina comes ! [She springs into the air and falls in the pool. Canonicus rushes forward and drags her out almost lifeless.'] CANONICUS. My wounded deer. My gentle fawn. Pet dovelet of my warrior heart — thy hand is warm, thy brow is flushed, but thy tongue is mute, thine eye is dimmed. Here is no breath — thy bosom is still ! Thou knowest no sorrow now. Thou art blessed. Faint grows my strength, firm grow my foes and many. My own house is not true. Samosacus won thy heart, for a f i.ncy cast it away. He seeks a stranger bride for his home. He will find his death, his ruin! Ha, what means this warrior shout. There is a foe in our camp. Young braves, meet them there. Canonicus guards his child ! [Massassoit and ivarriors enter.'] MASSASSOIT. Muntumo, thy shade is here ! Canonicus, thou slewest my son. So says my pale-face brother ! CANONICUS. So s lying — he lies! MASSASSOIT. Great Chief, you loved him not. He sought the fair Moina. He died at her feet. Samosacus was his foe. SCENE ni.] CANOXICUS. 5.1 CANONICUS. A father's bleeding heart hearkens to every tale. Mas- sassoit knows well the Narragansett Chief. He knows he cannot lie. 'Twas the foe of our race slew thy son. MASSASSOIT. 'Twas ever so. You hated the pale-faces. They were good to the Mohegans ! They gave long life to Massas- soit, and he loved them. They are his friends. They bade him here find his son, his heir ! CANONICUS. So you may. You away, I bore him here; laid in state until you should come. My braves are by his side — they guard his couch, Moini, my fair child, whom he loved, is with the flowers; the lilies were her death-couch — than their perfume, her breath more rare. Muntumo's last minutes she soothed. His last words were to her. Her last were for him. Braves, bring here Muntumo. One grave shall be for both. Old chieftain ! my child ! [Dis- playing Moina.] Massassoit, rest you here. A doub'e burial claims your honor. [The Indian funeral wail is heard. Samosacus and braves enter, bearing Muntumo, and lay him on a hillock near Moina.] samosacus. Brave Muntumo; fair and dear Moina. Ye now are one. \To Muntumo]. I would my arrow had pierced thy heart. My anger slew my love. I took a strange bride, found her false; already has she fled my side ! ' CANONICUS. Samosacus, thou seest thy deed ! Was this worthy thee, worthy my son ? Shall Canonicus call thee his ? Blood- 52 CANONICUS. [act v. stained art tliou in his sight. Thou canst not paint so thick hnt he will see thy face all gory with Moina's blood. Thy strange bride will prove thee false; thy strength will fail thee 'neath her arts, and thy name be writ in water. Thoult leave no heir; thy race is done, and in thee dies out mine. Hark, a warrior shout comes on the wind. Stand firm, my braves, all. If 'tis foes, use thy arms; if friends, they will share our griefs. Canonicus guards Moina ! [Eater band of Pequods and ivhites, guided by Nyana, who retires unseen by Narragansetts.] STANDISH. Canonicus, thou art our prisoner! Our avowed, our open foe. You have sent aid to Eoger Williams. You have given him lands; have given a home ! CANONICUS. Is this all? STANDISH. Strong in braves, you wounded our honor by subvert- ing our laws. You taught evil lessons to our young. You freed our foes. For thy reward, behold our friends [the Pequods]. Dost thou not fear? [Thunder heard.] CANONICUS. Hear'st thou that voice ? Aye, thou tremblest at the sound. Canonicus knows its portent. In the voice of truth, which he has ever worshipped, ever followed, Can- onicus hai no fear ! Canonicus bows to no man ! sasacus [enters], Samosacus, where is my child ? Young Manomet was her brave ! She had given him her love, and you stole her from his side. SCENE III.] CAISTONICUS. 53 SAMOSACUS. Great Sachem ! Tliou knowest 'tis false. My prisoners you were taken. I saved your life. Her beauty touched my heart. You bade me, could I win her love, to keep her my bride ! I wooed her. I won her, as I thought. My Moina I feared was fickle, was false. She is dead. She is no more ; and Nyana is gone ! nyana [springing forward]. Not so, Narragansett — fierce foe of my house. Nyana is here, and Manomet has her love. SAMOSACUS. Nyana, art thou false? Thou stolest my heart; thou stolest my life. ■ My vanquished foes, I gave ye freedom. Treacherous friends, I know ye no more. SASACUS. Lying youth ! thy hunts are numbered. Pequod war- riors, seize them all. Braves of pale-face chief, join your strength. Old wrongs shall here be settled. Massassoit, they slew thy son. Muntumo's spirit walks the gloomy shades. CANONICUS. This in my camp ! Treacherous foes ! This at the peaceful burial of our best beloved. Put up your arms and leave my home. Canonicus ever honored yours. You have no wrongs. He has many, but he calls them not from their graves. He buried them long ago, and would not wake them into life. Ha! an arrow in the air; what new foe in our camp? Braves, to arms. We'll meet them there, though more in numbers; we yet are strong. Mas- sassoit, send thy braves; we ever fought side by side. [Exit. MASSASSOIT. Massassoit has grown old. He cannot hear. The pale- 54 CANONICUS. [act y. faces are his friends. Braves, join them; be firm and fixed. Muntumo is no more. Ye know his fate. [Clash of arms and battle-shouts. The Pequods, Mohegans, and whites against the Narragansetts ; at length Samosacus falls ; while Canonicus endeavors to shield him, young Carver stealthily wounds Canonicus.] canonicus. Ha! is it thou? Where was thy bride? where was thy babe, thy honor, to stay, thy sword has drunk the lif e- blood of him who once loved thee well. [To Massassoit.] Old chief, my voice is faint, and though thy ear grows deaf, and thine eye is dim, Canonicus bids thee beware of false friends. Many moons now gone, we were at peace, but the winged canoes touched our shores. 5 Twas an ill-omened bird ! The pale-faces sought our lands. They poisoned our waters, they wasted our forests, they slew our game, de- stroyed our shell-fish. Our corn has failed, and we are poor. Canonicus told you this. Canonicus loved the m not, but still he was their friend. 'Tis for this they have stolen his life. J Twas little worth; his Moina with the flowers His Sam- osacus a stricken oak. His race is done, and so with thine aged chief. Muntumo no more. Bear him here by my side; lay Samosacus at our feet, with Moina, darling, in my arms; last of his race, Canonicus dies. But accursed be this spot to the pale-faces. The richest of a thousand hills, with the sweetest waters in the land, they shall weep themselves out for Moina in bitter tears, which evermore shall parch the thirsty lip. A thousand deer have fattened here and fallen. Not a blade shall it ever bear, for the false pale-faces' use. My curse is on it. Canonicus, the last of the Narragansetts, is avenged ! [He swoons and dies, and curtain falls to slow music.] FINIS. POEMS. POEMS TO DEAR MOTHER. 1833. Why will ye all be so gloomy and sad When smiling, our dear mother earth looks so glad, When the fish in the lake swims gaily on, And the lark sings on high, her matin song. Leave sorrow for winter — 'tis the spring-time of year, When earth's scenes are gay — their heavens are clear, When the twittering birds teach their young how to fly, And on their light pinions, soar off to the sky. Then teach ye your young, by gladness and cheer, Their lot, if a sad one, with light heart to bear, That on virtue's wings they may safely fly, And reach, at the last, a haven on high. That as fall's piercing winds and winter's chill blasts Fall sharp on the ear, while we know they'll not last, And as spring-time will come and flowers will bloom, So pleasures and griefs are man's lot to the tomb. ON MOTHER'S DEATH. September, 1873. There's rare joy on high, aye, rich joy in Heaven, Bright angels have welcom'd, their sister was given, (57) 58 POEMS. To cheer this dark earth, with its sins and its fears; Lo ! she's wreathed in smiles, while we're bathed in tears. Mourn not, fond Sisters, Father, proud in love, kneel, And bowing thy head, in humility feel, Though 'reft from us here, the flower was given, Blooms with rare beauty in the bright courts of Heaven. So lovely by nature, so gentle to all, Why marvel, the angels our dear Mother call, Her voice of the spheres — ever gracious her ways; She shone, upon earth, one of Heaven's bright rays. Weep not, fond Father, but on those she loved Lavish the tenderness you ever showed To our dear mother, thy youth's chosen bride. The cherished of Heaven, thy jewel, thy pride. There's rare joy on high, aye, rich joy in Heaven, Bright angels have welcom'd, their sister was given To cheer this dark world, with its sins and its cares, The wreath of her smiles gems penitent tears. THE SHEPHEED. 1833. The Shepherd, low reclining on the sward, Surrounded by his gentle, bleating sheep, Doth seem the very prince of indolence, But nature's wonders never let him sleep. TJnto the mind of him, thus simple, seems The world affords far many a happier dream POEMS. 59 Than crowded paves, or converse of the great, Which on man's brow but seldom casts a beam- E'en then its rays do blister where they touch, And in the whirl which rages in his brain, He learns that honors are not easily won, That riches, power, pride, are all in vain, That none but waters from Heaven's pure springs flow, Bring to the toiling spirit a healthful glow. LINCOLN'S ACT OF FKEEDOM. His own, his presence — His an eagle eye, Far peering into futurity. His mind a marvel, as the age he lived. His virtues great. His wondrous worth unknown. Perfection rare, childlike simplicity, He reared a fame, so monumental That it fills the world : high over all Save him, our Washing-ton — his only Peer. One wrung from despot, freedom for our land. One burst the bonds of slavery bound her sons, And with prophetic ken, made them the equals of all fellow-men. The act which wrought it, was by Heaven inspired ; The sages of the land in council met, Faltered in giving to the world, the words Bore to oppressed, the boon of Freedom. With eye uplifted, clasped hands, he prayed: " Teach me, my God, what best to do " — is heard — ■ " Sages, I give it to the world " — he said, Bebellion prostrate laid — Slavery forever dead. 60 POEMS. LINCOLN. Apejl, 1865. Abound his bier they stand, Our Hero's chosen troop, The leaders of his famous band: A sad, a silent group. No whitened tent-sail now Flaps in the swelling gale, But round his death-couch bow Hearts never known to quail. The proudest trophy man Can ever boast on earth, The highest honors ever worn Born of an earthly birth, — All, all are his — his own, Earth hath no more to give; He is marching on to his life-won home, Where only the " chosen " live. HAMILTON. 1833. Nevis, thou lonely sea-girt island, where The softest music is old ocean's roar, And the loud thunder, with sharp lightning's glare In awful grandeur, fills the quaking air. He was indeed thy child, firm as thy rock Amidst the raging sea, fixed was his soul In noblest principles — his nature even As the elements are, pure as high heaven. POEMS. Gl Their spirit dwelt in him; when but boy He stretched his longing eyes out on the main, And sought his home in a far distant land, Where 'gainst oppression's justly hated hand, Noble and free in nature, like their own wilds, Brooking no tyrant's sway ; fore'er to strive, No toil — all danger dare — no death, to die, Men warred for their homes, and liberty. He yet but boy, saw what it was they sought, He told them where to seek — and taught them well, That ne'er a smile was won by suppliant knee; But that the heart must brave and noble be, Upon whose brow the light of liberty Brightly would shine. That vestal flame, Unguarded, it would flicker, fade and fall, And Tyrants' chains, ignoble souls enthrall. His thoughts were like to the resistless wind, Unseen, yet felt, wherever they were turned. Like earth's great source of light, burnt with fierce flame, Love in his bosom, for his country's fame. Mighty his mind — his memory never failed, A storehouse, where in seemly order laid Bare gems, collected from all wealthiest mines, Bich fruits of learning, from each age, each clime. In nature, as the ermine pure, ever the same To the world's mendicants, or the sons of fame. "When he was " taken off " his mourners were the world ! All nations wept. His murderer's name was told Where'er he walked. The air, burden'd with his blood, Speeding, to all, that dread deed did unfold. A fugitive from his outraged land, Seared on his brow the assassin's brand, Burr's stealthy step was heard on great France's floor, " Admit him," said Prince Talleyrand— but say — 62 POEMS. " Hamilton is my household god " — " His image guards my door." * Abashed, Burr skulked away, never to cross it more. NAPOLEON AND HAMILTON. The mightiest men whom this great age hath known, Were born in islands, 'neath an ardent sun; In their rare natures — his pure essence burn'd. Scarce in their teens when life had but begun, One, sought by arms and war to rule the world; The other, by great knowledge yet untold. One lived the fear and terror of mankind, And dying, left a bloody fame behind. The other lived honored and loved by all, Wept by the great and good, his early fall. Both born in islands, girded by the deep ; Both roused the world from its lethargic sleep. Napoleon lies in Les Invalided tomb, While bloody memories mourn his fearful doom; Hamilton lives where praises never cease, Crowned with the laurels of the arts of Peace. SONNET. " Contentment." October, 1839, As through the sky, thy even ways thou takest, Lighted, but not impeded by the stars, * When the great minister of France, Prince Talleyrand, took leave of Hamilton at his residence, " The Grange/' Hamilton took from his mantel his miniature, and presented it to the Prince as his parting gift. This he so highly prized, that he ever kept it suspended over the mantel of his hall in his palace in Paris. Burr called there, but at this warning, skulked away, abashed. poems. G3 So may I, most sweet moon, my journey make 'Mid men, whose wondrous deeds shall shine afar. Unheeded and unenvied, may my days Be on the bosom of contentment borne ; Not free from care, for then my " Maker's " ways Might be forgot, and I indeed forlorn. But as the lark doth usher in the day, With thankful carols urging on mankind, So might I know the true poetic lay That cheereth on, and leaveth care behind: Then would I deem that I was truly blest, Then might I say, contentment I possessed. SONNET. To Grief. Is there no haven from thy sea, oh grief ? Boundless and ceaseless as old ocean's roar Are thy assaults ? Is there no shore Whereon my bark may lie and find relief From thy fierce storms ? Oh ! beams there not above Some Pilot Star whereon the eye in Faith Fixed firmly, as voice within now saith, May see a parent, find forbearing love ? Oh ? thou Great Being — let Thy saving grace Heal the deep wounds my anguished bosom wears, And give me strength Thy gracious will to bear. Teach me, O Lord, that I a worthy face Present — that thus those seem so hard to me May be accepted as kind gifts from Thee. 64 POEMS. TO MY AUNT, SUSAN A. GIBBES. 1837. Lady, I know not which the most to praise, Thy gentle manners and thy winning ways, Or the bright jewels which adorn the scene, "Where, with a mother's love, thou reignest supreme. Rome's noble matron to Campania's dame, Asking her jewels bright, felt pride, not shame, To say she owned no baubles, rich and rare, But that her sons were the sole gems she'd wear. So may'st thou to the brow of beauty turn, That brow, where deep-read sages yet may learn, Or on the damask cheek where blooms the rose "Which fadeth only, when with jest it glows. * As on the face, seraphic of thy child, Which doth in innocence long hours beguile, That lovely prattler, in her face we see What most we've learnt to love, dear Aunt, in thee. All I have felt, and feel, I may not tell; 'Tis not the sparkling stream, you know full well, Hideth the rarest gems, tho' oft I slothful seem, Dear Aunt, for thee, do my heart's jewels gleam. THE BUCKWHEAT FLOWER. From thy sweet blossom doth the buzzing bee Draw purest of its much-loved honied juice, The autumn air is fragrant made by thee; The yeoman revels in thy promised use. POEMS. 65 Earth in her waning years now blooms again In the pure beauty of her spring-time days. Te vestal flowers, from your verdant fanes Win from departing warblers new-born lays. Ye now call forth more music from the mill, Its wonted song else hush'd, as o'er the rocks Returned to nature's ways, the sparkling rill Sweet measure marks for the gamboling flocks. Nor doth thy usefulness here cease; to thee The cheek of beauty owes its rosy hue, The arm of youth less powerful would be; That all things have their use, thou teachest is true. TO MAEY Ii- On hearing of her approaching nuptials, induced to wed against her will. Stay, stay these horrid nuptials; Unholy rites are these; Only where heart to heart is joined, Does wedlock Heaven please. Oh ! lady, thou art sad and pale ! Fear harbors not with love, Think you, if now thy heart doth quail, Thy future '11 joyous prove V No, no, trust not that cheating hope, Look on thy heart and see, If other image dearer still, Is cherished not by thee. 66 POEMS. Oh ! lady, life tliou knowest not yet, Tho' sorrow thou hast known; For where's the bird, whose wings unwet, O'er whom no cloud hath flown ? Many an hour shall take its hue From that in which thou'rt wed ; Oh, better than these heartless rites Be with the early dead. As thou shalt take thy earthly lord, So shall thy journey be, On love's wings, soaring far and wide, Serene be land and sea. On storm-cloud borne, but ills and strife Shall mark thy darkened way, "lis but a gleam now lights thy life: One gleam, ere darksome day. Wealth, vain and glittering wealth, Pomp and its heartless suite May shine, may fawn, and win thy eye; Can it thy heart's need meet ? Much is there now to gild the scene, Words kind, smiles sweet, hopes bright, But change's finger 11 touch, I ween, The fairest earthly sight. Words kind, diamonds 'midst sands shall shine, Smiles sweet, as rays shall be, To miners who've for ages delved Far underneath the sea. POEMS. 67 Hopes bright thou'lt chase, but chase in vain, As phantom barks they'll be; Nought but phosphoric lights they'll shine About thy gloomy sea. Stay, stay these horrid nuptials, There's one who loves thee well, And who, I know, dwells in thy heart, Let this thought break the spell. For spell it is, full well I know, Thy fancy is too bright, To robe that dark-eyed man as once Thou saidst, thy love was dight. Then stay these horrid nuptials, Thou must not wed to-night, 'Twere better bear his bitter curse, Than live to loathe his sight. Stay, stay these horrid nuptials, They may not, must not be; No, no, I'd rather hear that bell Sound its last knell for thee. Then would sweet flowers deck thy grave, The rosemary there would bloom, And friends would mourn a spirit blest, When weeping o'er thy tomb. Not sigh for hours, in grief spun out, E'en to a sightless thread, But cheered, that thou to " home" hadst flown, Home of the happy dead. 68 POEMS. TO MISS , A FAIE PIANIST. Augusta Gibbes, 1841. Too weak are words thy worth to tell, Thy wondrous arts to please. Oh ! nothing e'er can break the spell Or cause these throbs to cease. Lovely Euterpe, with thy lyre Thou'st kindled into flame "What was till then a smouldering fire, A sense without a name. 'Twas rapture sweet — a fond desire, To linger about thee; Oh, with the art, my soul inspire, Can make you think of me. TO Why wilt thou be more cruel than the moon, So long thy charms concealing from my view, 'Tis but one night since she on earth did shine, While weeks have flown since I gazed on you. Is it that brighter after storms, the scene That thus from view, thy beauties thou dost veil ? Oh, pity thy poor slave, angelic queen, Lest his weak sight before thy brightness fail. Like wearied mariner on storm-tossed sea, I've stretched in vain my longing gaze, I know no star in all the world but thee Can guide me safely on life-chequer'd ways. POEMS. 69 Tis said, with love thou dost regard mankind, I ask not that on me thou thus wilt look; All that I beg is, I a smile may find To soothe a heart, long absence cannot brook. TO MISS I. L. October, 1840. Ah ! should we meet, ten cycles hence, How many the tale well have to tell, Of parted joys, of blasted hopes, Metliinks such meeting were not well. Yes, yes, we'll meet, and gazing here Upon the unchanged scene, Learn what old Time has done for us While we have wanderers been. If parted we are doomed to rove, The flowers of lif e be thine ; If thorns shall strew my path, may Heaven On your blest spirit shine. THE BEOOK 'Tis the laugh of the mountain, The song of the vale, The life of the fountain, It sweetens the gale. It cheers the bold hi igand To high, daring deeds; 70 poem?. It alone cools his thirst When wounded, he bleeds. Tis the harp for love's story "When told to the maid, His life and his glory In the valley's green shade. 'Tis the wood's infant murmur, When the warring storm's gone, E'er to sweet shades of summer Feathered warblers have flown. 'Tis the type of man's life, In purity born, Hastening on in wild strife Its bosom is torn. Till the valley is reached, Where with breath of rose 'Mid. the music of heaven To ocean it flows. That ocean where mingle The sad and the gay; The sluggish, the sparkling, All take the same way; To where the bright sunbeam Shines out upon all, And they danc3 in His sight, Or shrink from His call. POE^IS. 71 ON THE CONSECRATION OF "ST. ANN'S" CHURCH, MORRISIANA. Erected by Gouverneur Morris, 1840. 'Twas rightly clone, dear friend, Thy work proclaims thy praise, Louder than loudest terms could speak, Men are judged by their ways. Here, 'neath this simple dome, Lies she who best loved thee; It is the holiest, meetest tomb O'er a mother reared could be. While by her side, he lies, Thy Father, son of Fame, "Who in his country's heart will dwell While Freedom has a name. Long may you live to hear The heavenly anthems rise, And when in green old age you part, Soar on them to the skies. THE HUDSON EIVEE. 1838. The sea hath had man's worship, and the sun, The moon which doth 'mid myriad beauties run Her even course, and the bright beaming stars Unchanged amid Nature's raging wars, 72 POEMS. Have each in due turn, and most justly won Praise from admiring poets, old and young, In lute-like madrigals. But who hath sung Thy beauties, noble stream ? These woods have rung "With thy just praises, only nature wild Could sound them meetly — thou the rarest child Of this famed wilderness. Naught but the mind Thy loveliness can scan. Language would bind Into too narrow span all that it sees, Thy myriad tongues thy praise — no words could please. SONNET. Faith. Octobeb, 1839. Like to the loveliest hour of the day, The early dawn, which chaseth night away, With all its darkling beauties, " Faith," art thou. The wounded spirit unto thee doth bow, As doth the fevered brain to sweet dawn's glow, After deep anguish; though we feel it flows, Like the pure spring, to which the galled hart flees, Bearing death's arrows, or sane as bracing breeze. Thou art the North Star of the world's wanderers, The sweet moon worshipped by the longing lover Who thinketh on her not as of earth's dreams, But as the mirror where loved image beams. Blest are all those who when Life's labor's o'er, In faith have known what Heaven hath in store. POEMS. 73 SONNET. To the Oak. October, 1839. The year is in the seer and yellow leaf, Now winter's whistlers coursing through the air, The spring's sweet warblers wont the heart to cheer From verdant boughs of joyous homes bereave. Thus spring on spring, winter's chill footsteps chase, Thus leaf on leaf, the fail demands of thee Oh, dauntless oak. Give me thy heart, oh tree ! That I may be the marvel of my race, Never borne down by blasts or mighty gales, But nourished by adversity and strife In mighty deeds, that other mortals pale, Each season of my days may be more rife. Thus do I worship thee, thou brave old oak, That I may learn, like thee, to bear Time's yoke. TO 1840. As on a star, the gentle boy In mute astonishment doth gaze, Unequal in that hour of joy, The beauties of the sky to praise ; So, lady, on thy lovely face In silent wonder gaze I, e'er Too weak to read the matchless grace, Soul of such lineaments doth wear. 74 POEMS. TO ELIZABETH. Octobee, 1842. They say like life is young Love's dream, Now sunshine and now storm, That shades will flit o'er brightest scene, That man's to sadness born. Oh, dearest, let us prove through life That sorrow brings a balm, That fiercest gale which bears us on Is herald of the calm. In love as life, God sends the test, Shall try, if true we are Proved faithful, we shall sure be blest, Let this trust be our star. TO ELIZABETH. Apbil, 1843. Oh, tell me, love, I pray thee, "What care afflicts you now ? My once loved voice shall cheer thee, And chase it from thy brow. Upon the fragrant myrtle The owlets never rest, But 'mid its boughs the turtle E'er builds her downy nest. The golden cloud o'erhangs thee, Drops not a single tear, POEMS. 75 Thy beauty doth upbraid thee That you this frown wilt wear. But where's the bird whose wing's unwet, O'er whom no cloud hath flown ? One smile, dear love, and I'll forget Thy brow this shade hath known. TO ELIZABETH. Fairest and best of the daughters of earth, Whose smile has for me than Peri more worth — Thou who dost shine as the stars do in Heaven, Gilding the shades that steal o'er her at even. TBUE LOVE. He long had loved her dearly, Yet never dared to woo ; Her smile he thought betoken'd " This lip is not for you." He loved her as the infant loves The starry hosts on high ; But in his wonder never dared To breathe for her a sigh. Their voices mingled oft in song— Their hands had often met ; Yet still he never dared to speak, Lest she'd say, " Go, forget ! " 76 POEMS. A rose she wore upon her breast, She placed on his, one eve — He told his love, her hand she gave ; That gift did never grieve. TO A VERY DEAR FRIEND. As the pure moon on misty eve doth shine With veiled loveliness, so glows the light Of a chaste soul, through that dark eye of thine. Though I love day, I better love such night. As on thy face, a heaven of beauty, Through which the graces of thy spirit shine, I gaze in wonderment, I kneel in duty Bound, and worship at the glorious outer shrine- Too deep, too pure — the inner such as I Should bow to ; for, oh ! too much light "Would blind my grovelling sight, and with a sigh I'd turn, by self rebuked, to endless night. Oh ! may I kneeling, at the outer shrine, Hope that the inner's office may be mine. TO Nay, why so downcast ? Must thy radiant eye And laughing lip of rose's tint be fixed As thus you listless gaze on vacancy ? Oh ! for one smile, away the shade to chase Traced on thy face of beauty. Friends must part, E'en death may mark the bounds — then wherefore weep — The barb, we know, sank deep in thy fond heart, But 'tis Love's part to hold in its own depths POEMS. 77 The swelling waters. Then let smiles once more Light on those left — the true, the tried, the fond — Who rise bright beacons on Life's ragged shore, Shall in all trials prove the stoutest bonds, In hours of joy, thy joys the brighter make, In hours of grief, from grief its sting shall take. TO CAEE OPPRESSING A DEAR FRIEND. Away, oh, care ! why wilt thou haunt him thus ? He has not wronged thee, or in thought or deed. Thou canst not say he warred against Man's peace ; This fierce assault 'gainst his, I pray thee cease — Has he been cruel or unkind to thine? Has he not raised the fallen from the earth ? Has he not shared his trifle with the poor, Or 'gainst the hungry has he closed his door ? Has he not borne the taunts and scoffs of men ? Has he not suffered from sharp tooth of want? Has he been loved by her who was his pride ? That thus thou'st sworn, for aye, to be his bride ; Or is it, that thou fondly lovest him so, With his life's course thou ceaselessly wilt flow ? TO E. S. N. 1842. I know not whereto I should liken thee, For thou, of all things, f airest art to me. Thy beauties, as the moon's creation fills, My world of thought with faker yet instils; 78 POEMS. The stars are fleeting, ever changing hosts. No fleeting charms, my dearest, dost thou boast; Earth's flowers, sweet with perfume fill the air; Yet is thy breath a myriad times more rare. The air with countless melodies abounds, And yet with naught like thy sweet voice resounds. The sparkling waves the brightest gems do wear, And yet are dim to the bright orbs you bear. Oh ! thou art to me, as to earth, the sun, Causing all griefs my joyous heart to shun. TO THE ATHEIST. We are born; we laugh, we weep, We live, love, hate, then die ; 'Tis the song of all ! Wherefore so ? Who can tell ? Alas, not I ! ANSWER. Turn, erring mortal, to thy Lord, Thy Maker, and thy Master's will; Study and ponder well His Word, Thou'lt find the place thou hast to fill. THE OLD MAN TO HIS WIFE. At the Village Church, 1840. Here saw I thee in bloom of youth, In flush of beauty and of pride; Here heard I first the Word of Truth; Here gazed I on my bride. POEMS. Here have we e'er from } r ear to year Our Sa"bbaths passed together; Nor have we ever w r anted cheer, Though stormy was life's weather. When sad, I've seen thy cheerful smile, Thy merry voice e'er heard, And they my gloomiest hours beguiled, As his mate's song, the bird, Yes, ever when I've bowed beneath The heavy blow T s of care, You taught me that our God bequeathes The lot 'tis best to bear. 79 TO E. S. N. Lady, take thou this token, From one who fain would tell, Ere his poor heart be broken, The pains it knows too well. Thy smile could chase this gloom 0'ershadow T s now my brow, And with the now'rets' bloom, Cause this pale cheek to glow. TO E. S. N. As I dreamt in my boyhood of beauty, To my fancy so bright shone each charm, That I believed it to be my first duty Ne'er to ]ove, lest the trait'ress might harm. 80 POEMS, But alas, though with sentinel care I watched my poor heart, it would love. I can guard it no longer — oh, share In my joy, and my own "true love" prove. TO A CLOUD. Why mov'st thou so majestically proud, Robed in the panoply of night, oh cloud ? Like a fam'd monarch to earth's gifts most bright, Thy beauties owing, lovely in thy might. A royal diadem of myriad stars Rests on thy beaming brow in nature's wars, Most stern, yet still most beautiful art thou; Though evanescent as yon glorious bow. Art thou thus e'er in purple deck'd, laced With golden light, never with dark robes graced ? Dost thou demand the heart shall but adore; Comest thou ne'er to fill the mind with awe ? Shall not the deep-drawn tears with which thou greetest The parched earth, nursing its flowery sw r eets, Soften man's heart, while thro' life's varied vale, Down time's swift troubled stream he onward sails? 'Tis not unmoved. Thy voice is thunder, Opposed with hghtning-flash, asunder All is rent, when on thy beauteous course, Thou'rt borne, on winds resistless horsed. POEMS. 81 While 011 thy beauties lingering I 'look, Thought will take wings, and jealous cannot brook That fleeting vapors should obey His will, While I, His image, am rebellious still. TO E. Love thee ? Do I love the stars, Those winged handmaids of the moon, Whose sweeping train they bear afar Their seeming labor, dearest boon. Love thee ? Do I love the sky Eobed in cerulean blue, Upon whose bosom gleams on high The sun with golden hue. Love thee ? Do I love the world? No; therefore, dearest, I love thee; As Heaven makes this fair earth dull, So others all thou mak'st to me. Then ask me not if thou art dear, How else couldst thou e'er be ? All things of earth, the good, the fair, Bid me, love, think of thee. The roseate dawn, the noontide gale, The silver lakes, the sparkling stream, The lofty mount, the verdant vale "With but thy beauties ever gleam. 82 POEMS. Oh, say, must I count all as vain ? Tlioss hopes prove fleeting dreams ? No, thou art true as yonder fane, The court where life's ray beams. "ST. PAUL'S." October, 18 — . Methought I stood within that ancient fane, Where in my infancy I had learn' d to name The name of God : where a sweet babe I saw, Timing his steps, with his, who totter'd on In second childishness, companion dearest Of that gray-haired man, once sage-like In his intellect. 'Tw s beautiful, to see How they did tend each other, the dying oak Sheltering the delicate flower, which with fragrance sweet In turn nursed it The time-wearied lion, Making his lair couch for the innocent lamb. He was a reverend, just, and upright man, . And when " Old Age " did bear him to his grave, " Goodness and he filled up one monument." Those days were numbered by the spring flowers' bloom. Memory still wandering back, I hear the voice Of her, who in her spring sank into lifeless earth, A flow'ret nipped, when in full fragrance, By thy ruthless blast, consumption. She was the partner Of a good man's age, the jewel of his soul, the sun That kept the currents warm which flowed Time-chilled athrough his veins. Here had I heard The funeral dirge, swelling with solemn cadence On the ear ; here had I seen dust unto dust POEMS. 83 Returned, and wept aloud over loved parent's bier ; What wonder, if sad thoughts should then arise, Though on me they were smiling from the sides. Soon like the brooklet which from mount doth run, My memory's melancholy strain was changed To song harmonious, for I saw the sun Struggling to free him from the misty bonds Which the chill morn had round him hung, And through the vaulted dome the dawn's soft light Murkily steal, and round the chancel kneeling, Fair woman and strong man, young babes, And infants innocent, one nestled close, Even at the altar's base, and smiling in its mother's face, Seemed to say : This is my proper resting-place. 'Twas a sweet thing to see, how fearless 'mid the crowd That babe could be, smiling with cherub's glee. A bride and bridegroom at the altar knelt, And to the bishop's solemn utterance gave Heartfelt response : then all united in an earnest prayer That they might fitly wear their promises. They both were young, each after their nature beautiful ; The rosy morn, ushering in young day, A gentle dovelet, taking the same way. TO MRS. GEORGE L. SCHUYLER. October, 1841. Poets have sung the praises of sweet streams, Their lucid waters and o'ershadowing groves ; Rich flowery banks where the fond lover roves, When on their bosoms slumber Luna's beams, 84 POEMS. Lisping dear names, harmonious with their song, Ceaseless, yet varying with fair nature's call ; Yet none have given to the ear the fall Of waters, singing on their way, the throng Of changeful beauties, the rapt sense arrest ; The heavenly harmonies, the pure mind fills, "When with your touch, you sound the tinkling rill- The sweetest music ever heard conf est, Slow stealing o'er smooth rocks, lading the air With soul-subduing strains, alas ! too rare. TO So young ! so fair ! so sweetly sad ! Thy way of life 'twere strange to tell. These of thy days should be most glad, And yet this sorrow may be well. Tell me thy tale, I ween of love, Of earliest hopes crushed in their bloom, Of shadows cast o'er thy bright dreams, 'Tis thus, fair daughter, to the tomb ! TO AN EVEK GAY FBIEND. What sound is that I hear on high, Speeding its way athrough the sky ? 'Tis the thunder's bolt, roaring aloud, Bounding on in the fiery cloud. Who hath made that bolt so strong, With the lightning fierce which urges it on ? He, who made thee, poor mortal man, He hath made this, and a louder can. POEMS. 85 Beware in what course you hurry on, Soon will your earthly days be gone ; He who hath made the thunder loud, He also made the lowering cloud ; He, who hath made the form of life, Stirreth up the elements' strife ; He who hath made all nature fair, He alone need not death — beware. TO E. S. N. Lady, let not fancy roam, In those dark and gloomy lands, Where like vapors from the tomb, Sorrow round thee wieathes her bands. Once thy brow was cloudless, lady, And thy smile was sweet and gay, Brightly beamed thy eye like fairies, Joyous as a spring-time's day. Cheer, sweet mourner, let not grief, Like the canker in the bud, Make thy spring of life so brief, Drown thy young heart in its flood. FAIR WOMAN'S SMILES. How blest is he for whom the sigh Of gentle woman oft is breathed ; Around whose irna