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.

Seize!

OSW.

Yes, they –

Men who are little given to sift and weigh –

Would wreak on us the passion of the moment.

MAR.

The cloud will soon disperse – farewell – but stay,

Thou wilt relate the story.

OSW.

Am I neither

To bear a part in this Man's punishment,

Nor be its witness?

MAR.

I had many hopes

That were most dear to me, and some will bear

To be transferred to thee.

OSW.

When I'm dishonoured!

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.

The Baron Herbert

Attends your pleasure.

OSW to Host.

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.

 

Sits down and writes. Exit Host.

 

OSW aside to Marmaduke.

Perhaps it would be useful

That you too should subscribe your name.

 

Marmaduke overlooks Herbert – then writes – examines the letter eagerly.

 

MAR.

I cannot leave this paper.

 

He puts it up, agitated.

 

OSW aside.

 

Dastard! Come.

 

Marmaduke goes towards Herbert and supports him – Marmaduke tremblingly beckons Oswald to take his place.

 

MAR as he quits Herbert.

There is a palsy in his limbs – he shakes.

 

Exeunt Oswald and Herbert – Marmaduke following.

 

Scene changes to a Wood – a Group of Pilgrims and Idonea with them.

 

FIRST PIL.

A grove of darker and more lofty shade

I never saw.

SEC. PIL.

The music of the birds

Drops deadened from a roof so thick with leaves.

OLD PIL.

This news! it made my heart leap up with joy.

IDON.

I scarcely can believe it.

OLD PIL.

Myself, I heard

The Sheriff read, in open Court, a letter

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 you loved me.

IDON.

You shall back with me

And see your Friend again. The good old Man

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 begone with speed, that he may hear

These joyful tidings from no lips but mine.

 

Exeunt Idonea and Pilgrims.

 

Scene, The Area of a half-ruined Castle – on one side the entrance to a dungeon – Oswald and Marmaduke pacing backwards and forwards.

 

MAR.

'Tis a wild night.

OSW.

I'd give my cloak and bonnet

For sight of a warm fire.

MAR.

The wind blows keen;

My hands are numb.

OSW.

Ha! ha! 'tis nipping cold.

 

Blowing his fingers.

 

I long for news of our brave Comrades; Lacy

Would drive those Scottish Rovers to their dens

If once they blew a horn this side the Tweed.

MAR.

I think I see a second range of Towers;

This castle has another Area – come,

Let us examine it.