Mar. Oh Monster! Monster! there are three of us,
And we shall howl together.
[After a pause and in a feeble voice.
I am deserted
At my worst need, my crimes have in a net
(Pointing to ELDRED) Entangled this poor man.—
Where was it? where?
Eld. 'Tis needless; spare your violence.
I prithee, to the harm thou 'st done already.
Eld. Hereafter you will thank me for this service.
Hard by, a Man I met, who, from plain proofs
Of interfering Heaven, I have no doubt,
Laid hands upon your Father. Fit it were
You should prepare to meet him.
Idon.
I have nothing
Mar. Ay, in the word a thousand scorpions lodge: To do with others; help me to my Father-
This old man had a Daughter.
I hurried back with her.-O save me, Sir,
From such a journey!- -there was a black trec,
A single tree; she thought it was her Father.-
Oh Sir, I would not see that hour again
For twenty lives. The daylight dawned, and now-
Nay; hear my tale, 'tis fit that you should hear it—
As we approached, a solitary crow
Rose from the spot ;-the Daughter clapped her
hands,
And then I heard a shriek so terrible
[MARMADUKE shrinks back. The startled bird quivered upon the wing.
[She turns and sees MARMADUKE leaning on ELEANOR
-throws herself upon his neck, and after some
time,
In joy I met thee, but a few hours past;
And thus we meet again; one human stay
Is left me still in thee. Nay, shake not so.
Mar. In such a wilderness-to see no thing,
No, not the pitying moon !
Idon.
And perish so.
Mar. Without a dog to moan for him.
'Idon.
Think not of it,
But enter there and see him how he sleeps,
Tranquil as he had died in his own bed.
Mar. Tranquil-why not?
And such a Man-so meek and unoffending-
Helpless and harmless as a babe: a Man,
By obvious signal to the world's protection,,
Solemnly dedicated-to decoy him!—
Idon. Oh, had you seen him living!—
Mar.
I (so filled
With horror is this world) am unto thee
The thing most precious, that it now contains:
Therefore through me alone must be revealed
By whom thy Parent was destroyed, Idonea!
I have the proofs !—
Idon.
O miserable Father!
Thou didst command me to bless all mankind;
Nor to this moment, have I ever wished
Evil to any living thing; but hear me,
Hear me, ye Heavens !—(kneeling)—may venge-
ance haunt the fiend
For this most cruel murder: let him live
And move in terror of the elements;
The thunder send him on his knees to prayer
In the open streets, and let him think he sees,
If e'er he entereth the house of God,
The roof, self-moved, unsettling o'er his head;
And let him, when he would lie down at night,
Point to his wife the blood-drops on his pillow!
Mar. My voice was silent, but my heart hath
joined thee.
Idon. (leaning on MARMADUKE). Left to the
mercy of that savage Man!
How could he call upon his Child!—O Friend! [Turns to MARMADUKE.
My faithful true and only Comforter. Mar. Ay, come to me and weep. (He kisses her.) (To ELDRED). Yes, Varlet, look,
The devils at such sights do clap their hands.
Too quickly moved, too easily giving way,
Idon. Thy vest is torn, thy cheek is deadly pale; I put denial on thy suit, and hence, Hast thou pursued the monster?
Mar.
Oh! would that thou hadst perished in the flames !
Idon. Here art thou, then can I be desolate ?—
Mar. There was a time, when this protecting hand
Availed against the mighty; never more
Shall blessings wait upon a deed of mine.
Idon. Wild words for me to hear, for me, an orphian,
Committed to thy guardianship by Heaven;
And, if thou hast forgiven me, let me hope,
In this deep sorrow, trust, that I am thine
For closer care ;-here, is no malady.
[Taking his arm.
Mar. There, is a malady— (Striking his heart and forehead) And here, and here,
With the disastrous issue of last night, Thy perturbation, and these frantic words. Be calm, I pray thee!
By night, by day, never shall I be able
To travel half a mile alone.-Good Lady!
Forgive me!-Saints forgive me.
It would have come to this!—
Idon.
What brings you hither? speak!
Beg. (pointing to MARMADUKE). This innocent
Gentleman. Sweet heavens! I told him
Such tales of your dead Father!-God is my judge,
I thought there was no harm: but that bad Man,
He bribed me with his gold, and looked so fierce.
Mercy! I said I know not what-oh pity me-
I said, sweet Lady, you were not his Daughter-
Pity me, I am haunted;-thrice this day
My conscience made me wish to be struck blind;
And then I would have prayed, and had no voice.
Idon. (to MARMADUKE). Was it my Father ?—
Was meek and patient, feeble, old and blind,
Helpless, and loved me dearer than his life.
-But hear me. For one question, I have a heart
That will sustain me. Did you murder him?
Mar. No, not by stroke of arm. But learn the process:
Proof after proof was pressed upon me; guilt
Made evident, as seemed, by blacker guilt,
Whose impious folds enwrapped even thee; and truth
And innocence, embodied in his looks,
His words and tones and gestures, did but serve
With me to aggravate his crimes, and heaped
Ruin upon the cause for which they pleaded.
Then pity crossed the path of my resolve:
Confounded, I looked up to Heaven, and cast,
Idonea! thy blind Father, on the Ordeal
Of the bleak Waste-left him-and so he died!—
[IDONEA sinks senseless; Beggar, ELEANOR, &c.,
crowd round, and bear her off.
Why may we speak these things, and do no more;
Why should a thrust of the arm have such a power,
And words that tell these things be heard in vain?
She is not dead. Why !-if I loved this Woman,
I would take care she never woke again;
But she WILL wake, and she will weep for me,
And say, no blame was mine-and so, poor fool,
Will waste her curses on another name.
[He walks about distractedly.
Enter OSWALD.
OSWALD (to himself). Strong to o'erturn, strong
also to build up.
[To MARMADUKe.
The starts and sallies of our last encounter
Were natural enough; but that, I trust,
Is all gone by. You have cast off the chains
That fettered your nobility of mind—
Delivered heart and head!
This is a paltry field for enterprise.
Mar. Ay, what shall we encounter next? This
Start not! Here is another face hard by ;
Come, let us take a peep at both together,
And, with a voice at which the dead will quake,
Resound the praise of your morality—
Of this too much.
[Drawing OSWALD towards the Cottage-stops short
Men are there, millions, Oswald, Who with bare hands would have plucked out thy heart
And flung it to the dogs: but I am raised
Above, or sunk below, all further sense
Of provocation. Leave me, with the weight
Of that old Man's forgiveness on thy heart,
Pressing as heavily as it doth on mine.
Coward I have been ; know, there lies not now
Within the compass of a mortal thought,
A deed that I would shrink from ;-but to endure,
That is my destiny. May it be thine :
Thy office, thy ambition, be henceforth
To feed remorse, to welcome every sting
Of penitential anguish, yea with tears.
When seas and continents shall lie between us-
The wider space the better-we may find
In such a course fit links of sympathy,
An incommunicable rivalship
Maintained, for peaceful ends beyond our view.
[Confused voices-several of the band enter-rush upon OSWALD and seize him.
One of them. I would have dogged him to the jaws of hell
Osw. Ha! is it so !-That vagrant Hag!-this
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Of having left a thing like her alive!
Several voices. Despatch him!
Osw.
If I pass beneath a rock
And shout, and, with the echo of my voice,
Bring down a heap of rubbish, and it crush me,
I die without dishonour. Famished, starved,
A Fool and Coward blended to my wish!
[Smiles scornfully and exultingly at MARMADUKE. Wal. 'Tis done! (stabs him.)
Another of the band. The ruthless Traitor!
Mar.
A rash deed !—
With that reproof I do resign a station
Of which I have been proud.
Wil. (approaching MARMADUKE). O my poor
Mar. Discerning Monitor, my faithful Wilfred, 'Twas nothing more than darkness deepening Why art thou here? [Turning to WALLACE. darkness,
Wallace, upon these Borders,
And weakness crowned with the impotence of Many there be whose eyes will not want cause
death!-
To weep that I am gone. Brothers in arms!
Your pupil is, you see, an apt proficient. (ironically). | Raise on that dreary Waste a monument
That may record my story: nor let words—
Few must they be, and delicate in their touch
As light itself-be there withheld from Her
Who, through most wicked arts, was made an
orphan
By One who would have died a thousand times,
To shield her from a moment's harm. To you,
Wallace and Wilfred, I commend the Lady,
By lowly nature reared, as if to make her
In all things worthier of that noble birth,
Whose long-suspended rights are now on the eve
Of restoration with your tenderest care
Watch over her, I pray— sustain her—
Several of the band (eagerly).
Captain!
Mar. No more of that; in silence hear my doom:
A hermitage has furnished fit relief To some offenders; other penitents,
Less patient in their wretchedness, have fallen,
Like the old Roman, on their own sword's point.
They had their choice: a wanderer must I go,
The Spectre of that innocent Man, my guide.
No human ear shall ever hear me speak;
No human dwelling ever give me food,
Or sleep, or rest: but, over waste and wild,
In search of nothing, that this earth can give,
But expiation, will I wander on-
A Man by pain and thought compelled to live,
Yet loathing life-till anger is appeased
In Heaven, and Mercy gives me leave to die.
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