| See that the traitor instantly be seiz'd, |
| And strictly watch'd: let none have access to him.— |
| O jealousy, thou aggregate of woes! |
| Were there no hell, thy torments would create one. |
| But yet she may be guiltless—may? she must. |
| How beautiful she look'd! pernicious beauty! |
| Yet innocent as bright seem'd the sweet blush |
| That mantled on her cheek. But not for me, |
| But not for me, those breathing roses blow! |
| And then she wept—What! can I bear her tears? |
| Well—let her weep—her tears are for another; |
| O did they fall for me, to dry their streams |
| I'd drain the choicest blood that feeds this heart, |
| Nor think the drops I shed were half so precious. |
| [he stands in a musing posture. |
|
| Enter Lord Raby. |
|
| Raby. Sure I mistake—am I in Raby Castle? |
| Impossible; that was the seat of smiles; |
| And Cheerfulness and Joy were household gods. |
| I us'd to scatter pleasures when I came, |
| And every servant shar'd his lord's delight; |
| But now Suspicion and Distrust dwell here, |
| And Discontent maintains a sullen sway. |
| Where is the smile unfeign'd, the jovial welcome, |
| Which cheer'd the sad, beguil'd the pilgrim's pain, |
| And made Dependency forget its bonds? |
| Where is the antient, hospitable hall, |
| Whose vaulted roof once rung with harmless mirth, |
| Where every passing stranger was a guest, |
| And every guest a friend? I fear me much, |
| If once our nobles scorn their rural seats, |
| Their rural greatness, and their vassals' love, |
| Freedom and English grandeur are no more. |
|
| Dou. [advancing.] My lord, you are welcome. |
|
| Raby. Sir, I trust I am; |
| But yet methinks I shall not feel I'm welcome |
| Till my Elwina bless me with her smiles: |
| She was not wont with ling'ring step to meet me, |
| Or greet my coming with a cold embrace; |
| Now, I extend my longing arms in vain; |
| My child, my darling, does not come to fill them. |
| O they were happy days, when she would fly |
| To meet me from the camp, or from the chace, |
| And with her fondness overpay my toils! |
| How eager would her tender hands unbrace |
| The ponderous armour from my war-worn limbs, |
| And pluck the helmet which oppos'd her kiss! |
|
| Dou. O sweet delights, that never must be mine! |
|
| Raby. What do I hear? |
|
| Dou. Nothing: inquire no farther. |
|
| Raby. My lord, if you respect an old man's peace, |
| If e'er you doted on my much-lov'd child, |
| As 'tis most sure you made me think you did, |
| Then, by the pangs which you may one day feel, |
| When you, like me, shall be a fond, fond father, |
| And tremble for the treasure of your age, |
| Tell me what this alarming silence means? |
| You sigh, you do not speak, nay more, you hear not; |
| Your lab'ring soul turns inward on itself, |
| As there were nothing but your own sad thoughts |
| Deserv'd regard. Does my child live? |
|
| Dou. She does. |
|
| Raby. To bless her father! |
|
| Dou. And to curse her husband! |
|
| Raby. Ah! have a care, my lord, I'm not so old— |
|
| Dou. Nor I so base, that I should tamely bear it; |
| Nor am I so inur'd to infamy, |
| That I can say, without a burning blush, |
| She lives to be my curse! |
|
| Raby. How's this? |
|
| Dou. I thought |
| The lily opening to the heaven's soft dews, |
| Was not so fragrant, and was not so chaste. |
|
| Raby. Has she prov'd otherwise? I'll not believe it, |
| Who has traduc'd my sweet, my innocent child? |
| Yet she's too good to 'scape calumnious tongues. |
| I know that Slander loves a lofty mark: |
| It saw her soar a flight above her fellows, |
| And hurl'd its arrow to her glorious height, |
| To reach her heart, and bring her to the ground. |
|
| Dou. Had the rash tongue of Slander so presum'd, |
| My vengeance had not been of that slow sort |
| To need a prompter; nor should any arm, |
| No, not a father's, dare dispute with mine, |
| The privilege to die in her defence. |
| None dares accuse Elwina, but— |
|
| Raby. But who? |
|
| Dou. But Douglas. |
|
| Raby. [puts his hand to his sword.] |
| You?—O spare my age's weakness! |
| You do not know what 'tis to be a father; |
| You do not know, or you would pity me, |
| The thousand tender throbs, the nameless feelings, |
| The dread to ask, and yet the wish to know, |
| When we adore and fear; but wherefore fear? |
| Does not the blood of Raby fill her veins? |
|
| Dou. Percy;—know'st thou that name? |
|
| Raby. How? What of Percy? |
|
| Dou. He loves Elwina, and, my curses on him! |
| He is belov'd again. |
|
| Raby. I'm on the rack! |
|
| Dou. Not the two Theban brothers bore each other |
| Such deep, such deadly hate as I and Percy. |
|
| Raby. But tell me of my child. |
|
| Dou. [not minding him.] As I and Percy! |
| When at the marriage rites, O rites accurs'd! |
| I seiz'd her trembling hand, she started back, |
| Cold horror thrill'd her veins, her tears flow'd fast. |
| Fool that I was, I thought 'twas maiden fear; |
| Dull, doting ignorance! beneath those terrors, |
| Hatred for me and love for Percy lurk'd. |
|
| Raby. What proof of guilt is this? |
|
| Dou. E'er since our marriage, |
| Our days have still been cold and joyless all; |
| Painful restraint, and hatred ill disguis'd, |
| Her sole return for all my waste of fondness. |
| This very morn I told her 'twas your will |
| She should repair to court; with all those graces, |
| Which first subdued my soul, and still enslave it, |
| She begg'd to stay behind in Raby Castle, |
| For courts and cities had no charms for her. |
| Curse my blind love! I was again ensnar'd, |
| And doted on the sweetness which deceiv'd me. |
| Just at the hour she thought I should be absent, |
| (For chance could ne'er have tim'd their guilt so well,) |
| Arriv'd young Harcourt, one of Percy's knights, |
| Strictly enjoin'd to speak to none but her; |
| I seiz'd the miscreant: hitherto he's silent, |
| But tortures soon shall force him to confess! |
|
| Raby. Percy is absent—They have never met. |
|
| Dou. At what a feeble hold you grasp for succour! |
| Will it content me that her person's pure? |
| No, if her alien heart dotes on another, |
| She is unchaste, were not that other Percy. |
| Let vulgar spirits basely wait for proof, |
| She loves another—'tis enough for Douglas. |
|
| Raby. Be patient. |
|
| Dou. Be a tame convenient husband, |
| And meanly wait for circumstantial guilt? |
| No—I am nice as the first CÆsar was, |
| And start at bare suspicion.[going. |
|
| Raby. [holding him.] Douglas, hear me; |
| Thou hast nam'd a Roman husband; if she's false, |
| I mean to prove myself a Roman father.[exit Douglas. |
| This marriage was my work, and thus I'm punish'd! |
|
| Enter Elwina. |
|
| Elw. Where is my father? let me fly to meet him, |
| O let me clasp his venerable knees, |
| And die of joy in his belov'd embrace! |
|
| Raby. [avoiding her embrace.] Elwina! |
|
| Elw. And is that all? so cold? |
|
| Raby. [sternly.] Elwina! |
|
| Elw. Then I'm undone indeed! How stern his looks! |
| I will not be repuls'd, I am your child, |
| The child of that dear mother you ador'd; |
| You shall not throw me off, I will grow here, |
| And, like the patriarch, wrestle for a blessing. |
|
| Raby. [holding her from him.] |
| Before I take thee in these aged arms, |
| Press thee with transport to this beating heart, |
| And give a loose to all a parent's fondness, |
| Answer, and see thou answer me as truly |
| As if the dread inquiry came from heaven,— |
| Does no interior sense of guilt confound thee? |
| Canst thou lay all thy naked soul before me? |
| Can thy unconscious eye encounter mine? |
| Canst thou endure the probe, and never shrink? |
| Can thy firm hand meet mine, and never tremble? |
| Art thou prepar'd to meet the rigid Judge? |
| Or to embrace the fond, the melting, father? |
|
| Elw. Mysterious Heaven! to what am I reserv'd! |
|
| Raby. Should some rash man, regardless of thy fame, |
| And in defiance of thy marriage vows, |
| Presume to plead a guilty passion for thee, |
| What would'st thou do? |
|
| Elw. What honour bids me do. |
|
| Raby. Come to my arms![they embrace. |
|
| Elw. My father! |
|
| Raby. Yes, Elwina, |
| Thou art my child—thy mother's perfect image. |
|
| Elw. Forgive these tears of mingled joy and doubt; |
| For why that question? who should seek to please |
| The desolate Elwina? |
|
| Raby. But if any |
| Should so presume, canst thou resolve to hate him, |
| Whate'er his name, whate'er his pride of blood, |
| Whate'er his former arrogant pretensions? |
|
| Elw. Ha! |
|
| Raby. Dost thou falter? Have a care, Elwina. |
|
| Elw. Sir, do not fear me: am I not your daughter? |
|
| Raby. Thou hast a higher claim upon thy honour; |
| Thou art Earl Douglas' wife. |
|
| Elw. [weeps.] I am, indeed! |
|
| Raby. Unhappy Douglas! |
|
| Elw. Has he then complain'd? |
| Has he presum'd to sully my white fame? |
|
| Raby. He knows that Percy—— |
|
| Elw. Was my destin'd husband; |
| By your own promise, by a father's promise, |
| And by a tie more strong, more sacred still, |
| Mine, by the fast firm bond of mutual love. |
|
| Raby. Now, by my fears, thy husband told me truth. |
|
| Elw. If he has told thee, that thy only child |
| Was forc'd a helpless victim to the altar, |
| Torn from his arms who had her virgin heart, |
| And forc'd to make false vows to one she hated, |
| Then I confess that he has told the truth. |
|
| Raby. Her words are barbed arrows in my heart. |
| But 'tis too late. [aside.] Thou hast appointed Harcourt |
| To see thee here by stealth in Douglas' absence? |
|
| Elw. No, by my life, nor knew I till this moment |
| That Harcourt was return'd. Was it for this |
| I taught my heart to struggle with its feelings? |
| Was it for this I bore my wrongs in silence? |
| When the fond ties of early love were broken, |
| Did my weak soul break out in fond complaints? |
| Did I reproach thee? Did I call thee cruel? |
| No—I endur'd it all; and wearied Heaven |
| To bless the father who destroy'd my peace. |
|
| Enter Messenger. |
|
| Mes. My lord, a knight, Sir Hubert as I think, |
| But newly landed from the holy wars, |
| Entreats admittance. |
|
| Raby. Let the warrior enter.[exit Messenger. |
| All private interests sink at his approach; |
| All selfish cares be for a moment banish'd; |
| I've now no child, no kindred but my country. |
|
| Elw. Weak heart, be still, for what hast thou to fear? |
|
| Enter Sir Hubert. |
|
| Raby. Welcome, thou gallant knight! Sir Hubert, welcome! |
| Welcome to Raby Castle!—In one word, |
| Is the king safe? Is Palestine subdu'd? |
|
| Sir H. The king is safe, and Palestine subdu'd. |
|
| Raby. Blest be the God of armies! Now, Sir Hubert, |
| By all the saints, thou'rt a right noble knight! |
| O why was I too old for this crusade! |
| I think it would have made me young again, |
| Could I, like thee, have seen the hated crescent |
| Yield to the Christian cross.—How now, Elwina! |
| What! cold at news which might awake the dead? |
| If there's a drop in thy degenerate veins |
| That glows not now, thou art not Raby's daughter. |
| It is religion's cause, the cause of Heaven! |
|
| Elw. When policy assumes religion's name, |
| And wears the sanctimonious garb of faith |
| Only to colour fraud, and license murder, |
| War then is tenfold guilt. |
|
| Raby. Blaspheming girl! |
|
| Elw. 'Tis not the crosier, nor the pontiff's robe, |
| The saintly look, nor elevated eye, |
| Nor Palestine destroy'd, nor Jordan's banks |
| Deluged with blood of slaughter'd infidels; |
| No, nor the extinction of the eastern world, |
| Nor all the mad, pernicious, bigot rage |
| Of your crusades, can bribe that Power who sees |
| The motive with the act. O blind, to think |
| That cruel war can please the Prince of Peace! |
| He, who erects his altar in the heart, |
| Abhors the sacrifice of human blood, |
| And all the false devotion of that zeal |
| Which massacres the world he died to save. |
|
| Raby. O impious rage! If thou would'st shun my curse, |
| No more, I charge thee.—Tell me, good Sir Hubert, |
| Say, have our arms achiev'd this glorious deed, |
| (I fear to ask,) without much Christian bloodshed? |
|
| Elw. Now, Heaven support me![aside. |
|
| Sir H. My good lord of Raby, |
| Imperfect is the sum of human glory! |
| Would I could tell thee that the field was won, |
| Without the death of such illustrious knights |
| As make the high-flush'd cheek of victory pale. |
|
| Elw. Why should I tremble thus?[aside. |
|
| Raby. Who have we lost? |
|
| Sir H. The noble Clifford, Walsingham, and Grey, |
| Sir Harry Hastings, and the valiant Pembroke, |
| All men of choicest note. |
|
| Raby. O that my name |
| Had been enroll'd in such a list of heroes! |
| If I was too infirm to serve my country, |
| I might have prov'd my love by dying for her. |
|
| Elw. Were there no more? |
|
| Sir H. But few of noble blood. |
| But the brave youth who gain'd the palm of glory, |
| The flower of knighthood, and the plume of war, |
| Who bore his banner foremost in the field, |
| Yet conquer'd more by mercy than the sword, |
| Was Percy. |
|
| Elw. Then he lives![aside. |
|
| Raby. Did he? Did Percy? |
| O gallant boy, then I'm thy foe no more; |
| Who conquers for my country is my friend! |
| His fame shall add new glories to a house, |
| Where never maid was false, nor knight disloyal. |
|
| Sir H. You do embalm him, lady, with your tears: |
| They grace the grave of glory where he lies— |
| He died the death of honour. |
|
| Elw. Said'st thou—died? |
|
| Sir H. Beneath the towers of Solyma he fell. |
|
| Elw. Oh! |
|
| Sir H. Look to the lady. |
| [Elwina faints in her father's arms. |
|
| Raby. Gentle knight, retire—— |
| 'Tis an infirmity of nature in her, |
| She ever mourns at any tale of blood; |
| She will be well anon—mean time, Sir Hubert, |
| You'll grace our castle with your friendly sojourn. |
|
| Sir H. I must return with speed—health to the lady.[exit. |
|
| Raby. Look up, Elwina. Should her husband come! |
| Yet she revives not. |
|
| Enter Douglas. |
|
| Dou. Ha——Elwina fainting! |
| My lord, I fear you have too harshly chid her. |
| Her gentle nature could not brook your sternness. |
| She wakes, she stirs, she feels returning life. |
| My love![he takes her hand. |
|
| Elw. O Percy! |
|
| Dou. [starts.] Do my senses fail me? |
|
| Elw. My Percy, 'tis Elwina calls. |
|
| Dou. Hell, hell! |
|
| Raby. Retire awhile, my daughter. |
|
| Elw. Douglas here, |
| My father and my husband?—O for pity— |
| [exit, casting a look of anguish on both. |
|
| Dou. Now, now confess she well deserves my vengeance! |
| Before my face to call upon my foe! |
|
| Raby. Upon a foe who has no power to hurt thee— |
| Earl Percy's slain. |
|
| Dou. I live again.—But hold— |
| Did she not weep? she did, and wept for Percy. |
| If she laments him, he's my rival still, |
| And not the grave can bury my resentment. |
|
| Raby. The truly brave are still the truly gen'rous; |
| Now, Douglas, is the time to prove thee both. |
| If it be true that she did once love Percy, |
| Thou hast no more to fear, since he is dead. |
| Release young Harcourt, let him see Elwina, |
| 'Twill serve a double purpose, 'twill at once |
| Prove Percy's death, and thy unchang'd affection. |
| Be gentle to my child, and win her heart |
| By confidence and unreproaching love. |
|
| Dou. By Heaven, thou counsel'st well! it shall be done. |
| Go set him free, and let him have admittance |
| To my Elwina's presence. |
|
| Raby. Farewell, Douglas. |
| Shew thou believ'st her faithful, and she'll prove so.[exit. |
|
| Dou. Northumberland is dead—that thought is peace! |
| Her heart may yet be mine, transporting hope! |
| Percy was gentle, even a foe avows it, |
| And I'll be milder than a summer's breeze. |
| Yes, thou most lovely, most ador'd of women, |
| I'll copy every virtue, every grace, |
| Of my bless'd rival, happier even in death |
| To be thus loved, than living to be scorn'd.[exit. |
