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

A thousand miles.
Eld.
I am in poverty,
And know how busy are the tongues of men ;
My heart was willing, Sir, but I am one
Whose good deeds will not stand by their own
light;

And, though it smote me more than words can tell,

I left him.

Mar. I believe that there are phantoms, That in the shape of man do cross our path On evil instigation, to make sport

Of our distress-and thou art one of them!
But things substantial have so pressed on

me-

Where was it? where?

[Dragging him along. Eld. 'Tis needless; spare your violence. His Daughter

Mar. Ay, in the word a thousand scorpions lodge:

This old man had a Daughter.
Eld.
To the spot
I hurried back with her.-O save me, Sir,
From such a journey!--there was a black
tree,

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. Mar. Dead, dead!

Eld. (after a pause). A dismal matter, Sir, for me,

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;

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.
Idin.
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).

The dead have but

one face, (to himself). And such a Man-so meek and unoffendingHelpless 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 ven-
geance 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!-0 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. [ELDRED retires alarmed. Idon. Thy vest is torn, thy cheek is deadly pale;

Hast thou pursued the monster?

Mar.

I have found him.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

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

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.

1802.

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.

God has given a kindlier power
To the favoured strawberry-flower.
Hither soon as spring is fled
You and Charles and I will walk ;
Lurking berries, ripe and red,
Then will hang on every stalk,
Each within its leafy bower:

And for that promise spare the flower!