Beg.
Nay, I dare not speak ;
He is a man, if it should come to his ears
I never shall be heard of more.
Osro.

Lord Clifford ?
Beg. What can I do? believe me, gentle Sirs,
I love her, though I dare not call her daughter.
Osw. Lord Clifford-did you see him talk with
Herbert ?

Beg. Yes, to my sorrow-under the great oak At Herbert's door-and when he stood beside The blind Man-at the silent Girl he looked With such a look-it makes me tremble, Sir, To think of it. Osw. Mar. (to himself). Father!-to God himself we

cannot give

Enough! you may depart.

A holier name; and, under such a mask,
To lead a Spirit, spotless as the blessed,
To that abhorrèd den of brutish vice !-
Oswald, the firm foundation of my life

Is going from under me; these strange discoveries--
Looked at from every point of fear or hope,
Duty, or love-involve, I feel, my ruin.

ACT II.

SCENE, A Chamber in the Hostel-OSWALD alone, rising from a Table on which he had been writing.

Os. They chose him for their Chief!-what covert part

He, in the preference, modest Youth, might take,
I neither know nor care. The insult bred
More of contempt than hatred; both are flown;
That either e'er existed is my shame :
'Twas a dull spark—a most unnatural fire
That died the moment the air breathed it.
upon
-These fools of feeling are mere birds of winter
That haunt some barren island of the north,
Where, if a famishing man stretch forth his hand,
They think it is to feed them. I have left him
To solitary meditation ;—now
For a few swelling phrases, and a flash
Of truth, enough to dazzle and to blind,
And he is mine for ever-
r-here he comes.

Mar. These ten years she has moved her lips all day

And never speaks!

Osw.

Mar.

Who is it?

I have seen her.

Osw. Oh! the poor tenant of that ragged homestead, Her whom the Monster, Clifford, drove to madness. Mar. I met a peasant near the spot; he told me, These ten years she had sate all day alone Within those empty walls.

Osw.
I too have seen her;
Chancing to pass this way some six months gone,
At midnight, I betook me to the Churchyard:
The moon shone clear, the air was still, so still
The trees were silent as the graves beneath them.
Long did I watch, and saw her pacing round
Upon the self-same spot, still round and round,
Her lips for ever moving.

Mar.
At her door
Rooted I stood; for, looking at the woman,

I thought I saw the skeleton of Idonea.
Osw. But the pretended Father-
Mar.

Measures not crimes like his.

Earthly law

Who live in these disputed tracts, that own
No law but what each man makes for himself;
Here justice has indeed a field of triumph.

Mar. Let us begone and bring her hither ;-here The truth shall be laid open, his guilt proved Before her face. The rest be left to me.

Osw. You will be firm: but though we well may trust

The issue to the justice of the cause,
Caution must not be flung aside; remember,
Yours is no common life. Self-stationed here,
Upon these savage confines, we have seen you

Stand like an isthmus 'twixt two stormy seas
That oft have checked their fury at your bidding.
'Mid the deep holds of Solway's mossy waste,
Your single virtue has transformed a Band
Of fierce barbarians into Ministers

Of peace and order. Aged men with tears
Have blessed their steps, the fatherless retire
For shelter to their banners. But it is,
As you must needs have deeply felt, it is
In darkness and in tempest that we seek
The majesty of Him who rules the world.
Benevolence, that has not heart to use
The wholesome ministry of pain and evil,
Becomes at last weak and contemptible.
Your generous qualities have won due praise,
But vigorous Spirits look for something more
Than Youth's spontaneous products; and to-day
You will not disappoint them; and hereafter-
Mar. You are wasting words; hear me then,
once for all :

You are a Man-and therefore, if compassion,
Which to our kind is natural as life,

Be known unto you, you will love this Woman,
Even as I do ; but I should loathe the light,
If I could think one weak or partial feeling-
Osw. You will forgive me-
Mar.

If I ever knew

My heart, could penetrate its inmost core,
'Tis at this moment.-Oswald, I have loved
To be the friend and father of the oppressed,
A comforter of sorrow ;-there is something
Which looks like a transition in my soul,
And yet it is not.-Let us lead him hither.
Osw. Stoop for a moment; 'tis an act of justice;
And where's the triumph if the delegate
Must fall in the execution of his office?
The deed is done-if you will have it so-
Here where we stand-that tribe of vulgar wretches
(You saw them gathering for the festival)
Rush in-the villains seize us-

Mar. I would preserve thee. How may this be done?

Osw. By showing that you look beyond the instant. A few leagues hence we shall have open ground, And nowhere upon earth is place so fit To look upon the deed. Before we enter The barren Moor, hangs from a beetling rock The shattered Castle in which Clifford oft Has held infernal orgies-with the gloom, And very superstition of the place, Seasoning his wickedness. The Debauchee Would there perhaps have gathered the first fruits Of this mock Father's guilt.

Enter Host conducting HERBERT.

Host.
Attends your pleasure.
Osw. (to Host).

The Baron Herbert

We are ready

(to HERBERT) Sir!

I hope you are refreshed. I have just written
A notice for your Daughter, that she may know
What is become of you.-You'll sit down and
sign it;

"Twill glad her heart to see her father's signature. [Gives the letter he had written.

Her. Thanks for your care.

Which purported it was the royal pleasure
The Baron Herbert, who, as was supposed,
Had taken refuge in this neighbourhood,
Should be forthwith restored. The hearing, Lady,
Filled my dim eyes with tears.-When I returned
From Palestine, and brought with me a heart,
Though rich in heavenly, poor in earthly, comfort,
I met your Father, then a wandering Outcast :
He had a Guide, a Shepherd's boy; but grieved
He was that one so young should pass his youth
In such sad service; and he parted with him.
We joined our tales of wretchedness together,
And begged our daily bread from door to door.
I talk familiarly to you, sweet Lady!
For once
Idon.
You shall back with me
And see your Friend again. The good old Man

nce you loved me.

Will be rejoiced to greet you.

Old Pil.

It seems but yesterday That a fierce storm o'ertook us, worn with travel, In a deep wood remote from any town.

A cave that opened to the road presented

A friendly shelter, and we entered in.

Idon. And I was with you?
Old Pil.

If indeed 'twas you—
But you were then a tottering Little-one-
We sate us down. The sky grew dark and darker:
I struck my flint, and built up a small fire
With rotten boughs and leaves, such as the winds
Of many autumns in the cave had piled.
Meanwhile the storm fell heavy on the woods;
Our little fire sent forth a cheering warmth
And we were comforted, and talked of comfort;
But 'twas an angry night, and o'er our heads
The thunder rolled in peals that would have made
A sleeping man uneasy in his bed.

O Lady, you have need to love your Father.
His voice-methinks I hear it now, his voice
When, after a broad flash that filled the cave,
He said to me, that he had seen his Child,
A face (no cherub's face more beautiful)
Revealed by lustre brought with it from Heaven;
And it was you, dear Lady!

Idon.
God be praised,
That I have been his comforter till now!
And will be so through every change of fortune
And every sacrifice his peace requires.-
Let us be gone with speed, that he may hear
These joyful tidings from no lips but mine.
[Exeunt IDONEA and Pilgrims.

Osw.

As up the steep we clomb, I saw a distant fire in the north-east ;

I took it for the blaze of Cheviot Beacon :
With proper speed our quarters may be gained
To-morrow evening.

[Looks restlessly towards the mouth of the dungeon.
Mar.
When, upon the plank,
I had led him 'cross the torrent, his voice blessed me:
You could not hear, for the foam beat the rocks
With deafening noise, the benediction fell
Back on himself; but changed into a curse.
Osw. As well indeed it might.
Mar.
The fittest place?

Osw. (aside).

And this you deem

He is growing pitiful.

You'd better like we should descend together, And lie down by his side-what say you to it? Three of us-we should keep each other warm : I'll answer for it that our four-legged friend Shall not disturb us; further I'll not engage ; Come, come, for manhood's sake!

Mar. These drowsy shiverings, This mortal stupor which is creeping over me, What do they mean? were this my single body Opposed to armies, not a nerve would tremble: Why do I tremble now ?-Is not the depth Of this Man's crimes beyond the reach of thought? And yet, in plumbing the abyss for judgment, Something I strike upon which turns my mind Back on herself, I think, again—my breast Concentres all the terrors of the Universe: I look at him and tremble like a child. Osw. Is it possible? Mar. One thing you noticed not : Just as we left the glen a clap of thunder Burst on the mountains with hell-rousing force. This is a time, said he, when guilt may shudder; But there's a Providence for them who walk In helplessness, when innocence is with them. At this audacious blasphemy, I thought The spirit of vengeance seemed to ride the air. Osw. Why are you not the man you were that moment?

[He draws MARMADUKE to the dungeon. Mar. You say he was asleep,-look at this arm, And tell me if 'tis fit for such a work. Oswald, Oswald !

Osw.

[Leans upon Oswald. This is some sudden seizure !

Mar. A most strange faintness,-will you hunt

me out

A draught of water?

Oh! but you are young;

Over your head twice twenty years must roll, With all their natural weight of sorrow and pain, Ere can be known to you how much a Father May love his Child.

Mar.

Thank you, old Man, for this! [Aside.
Her. Fallen am I, and worn out, a useless Man;
Kindly have you protected me to-night,
And no return have I to make but prayers;
May you in age be blest with such a daughter !——
When from the Holy Land I had returned
Sightless, and from my heritage was driven,
A wretched Outcast-but this strain of thought
Would lead me to talk fondly.

Mar.
Do not fear;
Your words are precious to my ears; go on.

Her. You will forgive me, but my heart runs over.
When my old Leader slipped into the flood
And perished, what a piercing outcry you
Sent after him. I have loved you ever since.
You start where are we?

A charming beverage for you to carouse, This bitter night.

Her.

Ha! Oswald! ten bright crosses I would have given, not many minutes gone,

To have heard your voice.

Osw.
Your couch, I fear, good Baron,
Has been but comfortless; and yet that place,
When the tempestuous wind first drove us hither,
Felt warm as a wren's nest. You'd better turn
And under covert rest till break of day,
Or till the storm abate.

(To MARMADUKE aside). He has restored you.
No doubt you have been nobly entertained?
But soft!-how came he forth? The Night-mare
Conscience

Has driven him out of harbour?
Mar.

You have guessed right.
Her.

I believe

The trees renew their murmur: Come, let us house together.

[OSWALD conducts him to the dungeon.
Had I not

Os. (returns).
Esteemed you worthy to conduct the affair
To its most fit conclusion, do you think

I would so long have struggled with my Nature,
And smothered all that 's man in me?-away!————
[Looking towards the dungeon.

This man's the property of him who best
Can feel his crimes. I have resigned a privilege;

It now becomes my duty to resume it.

Mar. Touch not a finger

Osw.
What then must be done?
Mar. Which way soe'er I turn, I am perplexed.
Osw. Now, on my life, I grieve for you. The
misery

Of doubt is insupportable. Pity, the facts
Did not admit of stronger evidence;

Twelve honest men, plain men, would set us right;
Their verdict would abolish these weak scruples.
Mar. Weak! I am weak-there does my tor-
ment lie,
Feeding itself.
Osw.
Verily, when he said
How his old heart would leap to hear her steps,
You thought his voice the echo of Idonea's.
Mar. And never heard a sound so terrible.
Osw. Perchance you think so now?
Mar.
I cannot do it:
Twice did I spring to grasp his withered throat,
When such a sudden weakness fell upon me,

I could have dropped asleep upon his breast.
Osw. Justice-is there not thunder in the word?
Shall it be law to stab the petty robber
Who aims but at our purse; and shall this Par-
ricide-

Worse is he far, far worse (if foul dishonour
Be worse than death) to that confiding Creature
Whom he to more than filial love and duty
Hath falsely trained-shall he fulfil his purpose?
But you are fallen.