That I may see him. Eld.

On a ridge of rocks

A lonesome Chapel stands, deserted now:
The bell is left, which no one dares remove;
And, when the stormy wind blows o'er the
peak,

It rings, as if a human hand were there

To pull the cord. I guess he must have heard it;

And it had led him towards the precipice,
To climb up to the spot whence the sound came;
But he had failed through weakness. From
his hand

His staff had dropped, and close upon the brink
Of a small pool of water he was laid,
As if he had stooped to drink, and so remained
Without the strength to rise.
Mar.
Well, well, he lives,
And all is safe: what said he?
Eld.
But few words:
He only spake to me of a dear Daughter,
Who, so he feared, would never see him more;
And of a Stranger to him, One by whom
He had been sore misused; but he forgave
The wrong and the wrong-doer. You are
troubled-

Perhaps you are his son?
Mar.

The All-seeing knows,
I did not think he had a living Child.-
But whither did you carry him?

Eld.
He was torn,
His head was bruised, and there was blood
about him-

Mar. That was no work of mine.
Eld.

Nor was it mine.

Mar. But had he strength to walk? I could have borne him

And seems the like for you; if 'tis your wish,
I'll lead you to his Daughter; but 'twere best
That she should be prepared; I'll go before.
Mar. There will be need of preparation.
[ELDRED goes off.
Elea. (enters).
Master!
Your limbs sink under you, shall I support you?
Mar. (taking her arm). Woman, I've lent

my body to the service Which now thou tak'st upon thee. God forbid That thou shouldst ever meet a like occasion With such a purpose in thine heart as mine was. Elea. Oh, why have I to do with things like these? [Exeunt. SCENEchanges to the door of ELDRED's cottageIDONEA seated-enter ELDRed.

Eld. Your Father, Lady, from a wilful hand Has met unkindness; so indeed he told me, And you remember such was my report: From what has just befallen me I have cause To fear the very worst.

Idon.

My Father is dead;

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|
To do with others; help me to my Father-
[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. Idǝn. 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?

Idon.

Mar.

Oh, peace!

He is at peace;

His body is at rest: there was a plot,
A hideous plot, against the soul of man:
It took effect-and yet I baffled it,
In some degree.
Idon.
Between us stood, I thought,
A cup of consolation, filled from Heaven
For both our needs; must I, and in thy pre-

sence,

Alone partake of it?-Beloved Marmaduke!
Mar. Give me a reason why the wisest thing
That the earth owns shall never choose to die,
But some one must be near to count his groans.
The wounded deer retires to solitude,
And dies in solitude: all things but man,
All die in solitude.

[Moving towards the cottage door.
Mysterious God,
If she had never lived I had not done it!-
Idon. Alas! the thought of such a cruel death
Has overwhelmed him.-I must follow.
Eld.

Lady!

You will do well; (she goes) unjust suspicion may

Cleave to this Stranger: if, upon his entering,
The dead Man heave a groan, or from his side
Uplift his hand-that would be evidence.
Elea. Shame! Eldred, shame!
Mar. (both returning).

one face, (to himself).

The dead have but

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
geance haunt the fiend

ven

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,

orphan,

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,

A mortal malady. -I am accurst:
All nature curses me, and in my heart
Thy curse is fixed; the truth must be laid bare.
It must be told, and borne. I am the man,
(Abused, betrayed, but how it matters not)
Presumptuous above all that ever breathed,
Who, casting as I thought a guilty Person
Upon Heaven's righteous judgment, did be-

Name him not. Enter female Beggar.

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!

Let us to Palestine ; This is a paltry field for enterprise.

Mar. Ay, what shall we encounter next? This issue

By night, by day, never shall I be able

To travel half a mile alone.-Good Lady!

darkness,

And weakness crowned with the impotence of death!

thought

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?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

(ironically).

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 at the door.

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 comes

Of having left a thing like her alive! Several voices. Despatch him!

Osw.

[Aside.

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 MAR

MADUKE.

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!

Mar. Discerning Monitor, my faithful Wilfred, Why art thou here?

[Turning to Wallace.

Wallace, upon these Borders,
Many there be whose eyes will not want cause
To weep that I am gone. Brothers in arms!
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 reliet
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.
1795-6.

TO A BUTTERFLY.

STAY near me-do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!
Much converse do I find in thee,
Historian of my infancy!

Float near me; do not yet depart!

Dead times revive in thee:

Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!
A solemn image to my heart,
My father's family!

Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,
The time, when, in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together chased the butterfly!
A very hunter did I rush

Upon the prey:--with leaps and springs
I followed on from brake to bush;
But she, God love her! feared to brush
The dust from off its wings.
1801.

IV.

FORESIGHT.

THAT is work of waste and ruin-
Do as Charles and I are doing!
Strawberry-blossoms, one and all,
We must spare them-here are many:
Look at it-the flower is small,
Small and low, though fair as any:
Do not touch it! summers two

I am older, Anne, than you.

Pull the primrose, sister Anne!
Pull as many as you can.
-Here are daisies, take your fill;
Pansies, and the cuckoo-flower:
Of the lofty daffodil

Make your bed, or make your bower;
Fill your lap, and fill your bosom ;
Only spare the strawberry-blossom!
Primroses, the Spring may love them-
Summer knows but little of them:
Violets, a barren kind,

Withered on the ground must lie;
Daisies leave no fruit behind
When the pretty flowerets die;
Pluck them, and another year
As many will be blowing here.