We were his guides. I on that night resolved Of resurrection. Idon. Miserable Woman, Too quickly moved, too easily giving way, Mar. Idon. Oswald Name him not. Enter female Beggar. Beg. And he is dead!-that Moor-how shall I cross it? 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. Had I thought What brings you hither? speak! Beg. (pointing to MARMADUKE). This innocent gentleman. Such tales of your dead father!-God is my judge, My conscience made me wish to be struck blind; Idon. (to MARMADUKE). Was it my Father?-no, no, no, for he 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 His words and tones and gestures, did but serve [IDONEA sinks senseless; Beggar, ELEANOR, &c., Why may we speak these things, and do no more; [He walks about distractedly. Enter OSWALD. Oswald (to himself). Strong to o'erturn, strong also to build up. The starts and sallies of our last encounter [To MARMADUKE. Were natural enough; but that, I trust, Delivered heart and head? Let us to Palestine: This is a paltry field for enterprise. Mar. Ay, what shall we encounter next? This issue- And, with a voice at which the deaf will quake, Of this too much. [Drawing OSWALD towards the Cottagestops short at the door. Men are there, millions, Oswald, Who with bare hands would have plucked out thy heart Coward I have been; know, there lies not now A deed that I would shrink from;-but to endure, Of penitential anguish, yea with tears. When seas and continents shall lie between us- 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 comes 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! [Aside. [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 master! Why art thou here? [Turning to WALLACE. Wallace, upon these Borders, Few must they be, and delicate in their touch To you, In all things worthier of that noble birth, Whose long-suspended rights are now on the eve Several of the band (eagerly). Captain! Mar. No more of that; in silence hear A hermitage has furnished fit relief To some offenders; other penitents, Less patient in their wretchedness, have fallen, A Man by pain and thought compelled to live, In Heaven, and Mercy gives me leave to die. THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN. Comp. 1797. Pub. 1800. [Written 1801 or 1802. This arose out of my observations of the affecting music of these birds, hanging in this way in the London streets during the freshness and stillness of the spring morning.] The preceding Fenwick note to this poem is manifestly inaccurate as to date, since the poem is printed in the Lyrical Ballads of 1800. In the edition of 1836 the date of composition is given as 1797, and this date is followed by Mr Carter, the editor of 1857. Miss Wordsworth's journal gives no date; and, as the Fenwick note is certainly incorrect— and the poem must have been written before the edition of 1800 came out-it seems best to trust to the date sanctioned by Wordsworth himself in 1836, and followed by his literary executor in 1857.-ED. AT the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, |