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Of interfering Heaven, I have no doubt, If e'er he entereth the house of God,
Laid hands upon your Father. Fit it were The roof, self-moved, unsettling o'er his head;
You should prepare to meet him.

And let him, when he would lie down at night, Idon.

I have nothing Point to his wife the blood-drops on his pillow! To do with others; help me to my Father- Mar. My voice was silent, but my heart [She turns and sees MARMADUKE leaning hath joined thee.

on ELEANOR--throws herself upon his Idon (leaning on MARMADUKE). Left to the neck, and after some time,

mercy of that savage Man! In joy I met thee, but a few hours past; How could he call upon his Child -O Friend! And thus we meet again ; one human stay

[Turns to MARMADU KE. Is left me still in thee. Nay, shake not so. My faithful true and only Comforter.

Mar. In such a wilderness--to see no thing, Mar. Ay, come to me and weep. (He kisses No, not the pitying moon!

her). (To ELDRED). Yes, varlet, look, Idon.

And perish so. The devils at such sights do clap their hands. Mar. Without a dog to moan for him.

(ELDRED retires alarmed. Idon.

Think not of it, Idon. Thy vest is torn, thy cheek is deadly But enter there and see him how he sleeps,

pale; Tranquil as he had died in his own bed.

Hast thou pursued the monster! Mar. Tranquil—why not?


I have found him.Idon. Oh, peace!

Oh! would that thou hadst perished in the He is at peace;

flames! His body is at rest: there was a plot,

I don. Here art thou, then can I be desolate?A hideous plot, against the soul of man:

Mar. There was a time, when this protectIt took effect-and yet I baffled it,

ing hand In some degree.

Availed against the mighty ; never more Idon.

Between us stond, I thought, Shall blessings wait upon a deed of mine. A cup of consolation, filled from Heaven

Ilon. Wild words for me to hear, for me, an For both our needs; must I, and in thy pre- orphan, sence,

Committed to thy guardianship by Heaven; Alone partake of it?-Beloved Marmaduke ! And, if thou hast forgiven me, let me hope,

Mar. Give me a reason why the wisest thing In this deep sorrow, trust, that I am thine
That the earth owns shall never choose to die, For closer are;-here is no malady.
But some one must be near to count his groans.

[Taking his arm. The wounded deer retires to solitude,

Mar. There, is a malady-
And dies in solitude : all things but man, (Striking his heart and forehead). And here,
All die in solitude.

[Moving towards the cottaga door. A mortal malady.-I am accurst:
Mysterious God,

All nature curses me, and in my heart
If she had never lived I had not done it !- Thy curse is fixed; the truth must be laid bare.

I don. Alas! the thought of such a cruel death It must be told, and borne. I am the man, Has overwhelmed him. -I must follow.

(Abused, betrayed, but how it matters not) Eld.

· Lady! Presumptuous above all that ever breathed, You will do well; (she goes) unjust suspicion Who, casting as I thought a guilty Person may

Upon 'Heaven's righteous judgment, did beCleave to this Stranger : if, upon his entering, The dead Man heave a groan, or from his side An instrument of Fiends. Through me, through Uplift his hand-that would be evidence. Elea. Shame! Eldred, shame!

Thy Father perished. Mar. (both returning). The dead have but I don.

Perished-by what mischance? one face, (to himself ).

Mar. Beloved !-if I dared, so would I call And such a Man---so meek and unoffending

theeHelpless and harmless as a habe : a Man, Conflict must cease, and, in thy frozen heart, By obvious signal to the world's protection, The extremes of suffering meet in absolute Solemnly dedicated-to decoy him !


[He gives her a letter. Idon. Oh, had you seen him living !-. Idon. (reads) “Be not surprised if you hear Mar.

I (so filled that some signal judgment has befallen the man With horror is this world) am unto thee who calls himself your father ; he is now with The thing most precious that it now contains : me, as his signature will show: abstain from Therefore through me alone must be revealed conjecture till you see me. By whom thy Parent was destroyed, Idonea !

“ HERBERT I have the proofs !


O miserable Father! The writing, Oswald's ; the signature my Thou didst command me to bless all mankind; Father's: Nor to this moment, have I ever wished (Looks steadily at the paperAnd here is Evil to any living thing; but hear me,

yours, -or do my eyes deceive me? Hear me, ye Heavens (kneeling)---may ven- You have then seen my Father? geance haunt the fiend


He has leaned For this most cruel murder: let him live Upon this arm. And move in terror of the elements ;

Idon. You led him towards the Convent ? The thunder send him on his knees to prayer Mar. That Convent was Stone-Arthur Castle. In the open streets, and let him think he sees, Thither

and here,



We were his guides. I on that night resolved

Enter OswALD. That he should wait thy coming till the day Oswald (to himself). Strong to o'erturn, strong Of resurrection.

also to build up. [TO MARMADUKE. Idon. Miserable Woman,

The starts and sallies of our last encounter Too quickly moved, too easily giving way, Were natural enough; but that, I trust, I put denial on thy suit, and hence,

Is all gone by. You have cast off the chains With the disastrous issue of last night,

That fettered your nobility of mind-
Thy perturbation, and these frantic words. Delivered heart and head!
Be calm, I pray thee!

Let us to Palestine :

This is a paltry field for enterprise. I don.

Name him not. Mar. Ay, what shall we encounter next? Enter female Beggar.

This issue Beg. And he is dead !--that Moor-how shall | 'Twas nothing more than darkness deepening I cross it?

darkness, By night, by day, never shall I be able And weakness crowned with the impotence of To travel half a mile alone.-Good Lady!

death!Forgive me !-Saints forgive me. Had I Your pupil is, you see, an apt proficient, thought

(ironically). It would have come to this!

Start not !--Here is another face hard by ;
I don. What brings you hither? speak! Come, let us take a peep at both together,
Beg. (pointing to MARMADUKE). This inno: And, with a voice at which the dead will quake,

cent Gentleman. Sweet heavens ! I told Resound the praise of your morality-

Of this too much. Such tales of your dead Father!-God is my [Drawing Oswald towards the Cottage judge,

stops short at the door. I thought there was no harm : but that bad

Men are there, millions, Oswald, Man,

Who with bare hands would have plucked out He bribed me with his gold, and looked so thy heart fierce.

And flung it to the dogs: but I am raised Dercy! I said I know not what-oh pity me-. Above, or sunk below, all further sense I said, sweet Lady, you were not his Daughter-Of provocation. Leave me, with the weight Pity me, I am haunted ;-thrice this day Of that old Man's forgiveness on thy heart, My conscience made me wish to be struck Pressing as heavily as it doth on mine. blind;

Coward I have been; know, there lies not now And then I would have prayed, and had no Within the compass of a mortal thought, voice.

A deed that I would shrink from ;- but to Idon. (to MARMADUKE). Wasit my Father ?

endure, no, no, no, for he

That is my destiny. May it be thine: Was meek and patient, feeble, old and blind, Thy office, thy ambition, be henceforth Helpless, and loved me dearer than his life. To feed remorse, to welcome every sting -- But hear me. For one question, I have a Of penitential anguish, yea with tears. heart

When seas and continents shall lie between usThat will sustain me. Did you murder him? The wider space the better-we may find Mar. No, not by stroke of arm. But learn In such a course fit links of sympathy, the process :

An incommunicable rivalship Proof after proof was pressed upon me ; guilt Maintained, for peaceful ends beyond our view. Made evident, as seemed, by blacker guilt,

[Confused voices-several of the band enter Whose impious folds enwrapped even thee; and

-rush upor Oswald and seize him. truth

One of them. I would have dogged him to And innocence, embodied in his looks,

the jaws of hell His words and tones and gestures, did but serve Osw. Ha! is it so !—That vagrant Hag!With me to aggravate his crimes, and heaped

this comes Ruin

upon the cause for which they pleaded. Of having left a thing like her alive! [Aside. Then pity crossed the path of my resolve: Several voices. Despatch him! Confounded, I looked up to Heaven, and cast, Osw.

If I pass beneath a rock Idonea! thy blind Father, on the Ordeal And shout, and, with the echo of my voice, Of the bleak Waste- left him—and so he died !- Bring down a heap of rubbish, and it crush me, (IDONEA sinks senseless; Beggar, ELEANOR, I die without dishonour. Famished, starved,

&c., crowd round, and bear her off. A Fool and Coward blended to my wish! Why may we speak these things, and do no [Smiles scornfully and exultingly at MAR

more: Why should a thrust of the arm have such a Wal. 'Tis done! (stabs him). power,

Another of the band. The ruthless Traitor ! And words that tell these things be heard in


A rash deed ! vain ?

With that reproof I do resign a station
She is not dead. Why!—if I loved this Woman, of which I have been proud.
I would take care she never woke again ;

Wil. (approaching MARMADUKE).
But she will wake, and she will weep for me,

poor Master! And say, no blame was mine-and so, poor fool, Mar. Discerning Monitor, my faithful WilWill waste her curses on another name.

fred, [Ho walks about distractedly. Why art thou here? [Turning to Wallace.


O my To weep

Wallace, upon these Borders, Several of the band (eagerly). Captain ! Many there be whose eyes will not want cause Mar. No more of that; in silence hear my that I am gone. Brothers in arms!

doom : Raise on that dreary Waste a monument A hermitage has furnished fit reliet That may record my story: nor let words- To some offenders; other penitents, Few must they be, and delicate in their touch Less patient in their wretchedness, have fallen, As light itself-be there withheld from Her Like the old Roman, on their own sword's point. Who, through most wicked arts, was made an They had their choice : a wanderer must I go, orphan

The Spectre of that innocent Man, my guide. By One who would have died a thousand times, No human ear shall ever hear me speak; To shield her from a moment's harm. To you, No human dwelling ever give me food, Wallace and Wilfred, I commend the Lady, Or sleep, or rest : but, over waste and wild, By lowly nature reared, as if to make her In search of nothing that this earth can give, In all things worthier of that noble birth, But expiation, will I wander onWhose long-suspended rights are now on the A Man by pain and thought compelled to live,

Yet loathing life till anger is appeased Of restoration : with your tenderest care In Heaven, and Mercy gives me leave to die. Watch over her, I pray-sustain her



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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.


FORESIGHT. That is work of waste and ruinDo 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 filed 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!

III. THE SPARROW'S NEST. BEHOLD, within the leafy shade, Those bright blue eggs together laid ! On me the chance-discovered sight Gleamed like a vision of delight. I started—seeming to espy The home and sheltered bed, The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by My Father's house, in wet or dry My sister Emmeline and I

Together visited.





Hark! over the roof he makes a pause,

And growls as if he would fix his claws CHARACTERISTICS OF A CHILD THREE

Right in the slates, and with a huge rattle YEARS OLD.

Drive them down, like men in a battle : Loving she is, and tractable, though wild ; -But let him range round; he does us no And Innocence hath privilege in her

harm, To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes;

We build


the fire, we're snug and warm ; And feats of cunning; and the pretty round Untouched by his breath, see the candle shines Of trespasses, affected to provoke

bright, Mock-chastisement and partnership in play. And burns with a clear and steady light; And, as a faggot sparkles on the hearth, Books have we to read, but that half-stified Not less if unattended and alone

knell, Than when both young and old sit gathered Alas ! 'tis the sound of the eight o'clock bell. round

-Come now we'll to bed! and when we are And take delight in its activity :

- there Even so this happy Creature of herself He may work his own will, and what shall we Is all-sufficient; solitude to her

care? Is blithe society, who fills the air

He may knock at the door,-we'll not let him With gladness and involuntary songs.

in ; Light are her sallies as the tripping fawn's May drive at the windows,—we'll laugh at his Forth-startled from the fern where she lay couched;

Let him seek his own home wherever it be ; Unthought-of, unexpected, as the stir

Here's a cozie warm house for Edward and me. Of the soft breeze ruffling the meadow-flowers, 1806. Or from before it chasing wantonly The many-coloured images imprest Upon the bosom of a placid lake.

VII. 1811.



A MONTH, sweet little-ones, is past

Since your dear Mother went away,DURING A BOISTEROUS WINTER EVENING.

And she to-morrow will return;

To-morrow is the happy day.

O blessed tidings ! thought of joy !
What way does the Wind come? What way

The eldest heard with steady glee; does he go?

Silent he stood ; then laughed amain,He rides over the water, and over the snow,

And shouted, “Mother, come to me!” Through wood, and through vale ; and, o'er rocky height

Louder and louder did he shout, Which the goat cannot climb, takes his sound

With witless hope to bring her near; ing flight;

"Nay, patience ! patience, little boy! He tosses about in every bare tree,

Your tender mother cannot hear." As, if you look up, you plainly may see ;

I told of hills, and far-off towns, But how he will come, and

whither he goes, And long, long vales to travel through ;There's never a scholar in England knows.

He listens, puzzled, sore perplexed,

But he submits ; what can he do?
He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook,
And ring a sharp 'larum ;--but, if you should No strife disturbs his sister's breast;

She wars not with the mystery There's nothing to see but a cushion of snow Of time and distance, night and day; Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk,

The bonds of our humanity. And softer than if it were covered with silk.

Her joy is like an instinct, joy Sometimes he'll hide in the cave of a rock,

Of kitten, bird, or summer fly: Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock;

She dances, runs without an aim, -Yet seek him,-and what shall you find in the She chatters in her ecstasy.' place?

Her brother now takes up the note, Nothing but silence and empty space ;

And echoes back his sister's glee ; Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves,

They hug the infant in my arms, That he's left, for a bed, to beggars or thieves !

As if to force his sympathy. As soon as 'tis daylight to-morrow, with me

Then, settling into fond discourse, You shall go to the orchard, and then you will

We rested in the garden bower; see

While sweetly shone the evening sun That he has been there, and made a great rout,

In his departing hour. And cracked the branches, and strewn them about;

We told o'er all that we had done, Heaven grant that he spare but that one up

Our rambles by the swift brook's side

Far as the willow-skirted pool, right twig That looked up at the sky so proud and big

Where two fair swans together glide. All last summer, as well you know,

We talked of change, of winter gone, Studded with apples, a beautiful show!

Of green leaves on the hawthorn spray,

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