When, into one of those same spotted bells
A bee came darting, which the child with joy
Imprisoned there, and held it to his ear,
And suddenly grew black, as he would die.
Mar. We have no time for this, my babbling gossip;
Here's what will comfort you. [Gives her money.
Beg.
The Saints reward you
For this good deed!-Well, sirs, this passed away;
And afterwards I fancied, a strange dog,
Trotting alone along the beaten road,

Came to my child as by my side he slept,

And, fondling, licked his face, then on a sudden
Snapped fierce to make a morsel of his head:

But here he is, [kissing the child] it must have been a dream.

Osw. When next inclined to sleep, take my advice, And put your head, good woman, under cover.

Beg. Oh, sir, you would not talk thus, if you knew What life is this of ours, how sleep will master The weary-worn. — You gentle folk have got

--

Warm chambers to your wish. I'd rather be
A stone than what I am.—But two nights gone,
The darkness overtook me - wind and rain
Beat hard upon my head—and yet I saw
A glow-worm, through the covert of the furze,
Shine calmly as if nothing ailed the sky:

At which I half accused the God in Heaven.-
You must forgive me.

Osw.

Ay, and if you think

no matter this good day

The fairies are to blame, and you should chide
Your favourite saint-
Has made amends.
Beg.
Thanks to you both; but, Ọ sir!
How would you like to travel on whole hours
As I have done, my eyes upon the ground,
Expecting still, I knew not how, to find
A piece of money glittering through the dust.
Mar. This woman is a prater. Pray, good lady!
Do you tell fortunes?
Beg.
O, sir, you are like the rest.
This little-one-it cuts me to the heart-
Well! they might turn a beggar from their doors,
But there are mothers who can see the babe
Here at my breast, and ask me where I bought it:
This they can do, and look upon my face-
But you, sir, should be kinder.

Mar. Come hither, fathers, And learn what nature is from this poor wretch! Beg. Ay, sir, there's nobody that feels for us. Why now - but yesterday I overtook A blind old greybeard and accosted him, I' th' name of all the saints, and by the Mass He should have used me better! - Charity! If you can melt a rock, he is your man; But I'll be even with him- here again Have I been waiting for him.

Who live in these disputed tracts, that own
No law but what each man makes for himself;
Here justice has indeed a field of triumph.

Mar. Let us begone and bring her hither; — here
The truth shall be laid open, his guilt proved
Before her face. 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
Mur.

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; 't is 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. Osw.

--

Seize!

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.

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.

useful

That you too should subscribe your name.

[MARMADUKE overlooks HERBERT - then writes examines the letter eagerly. Mar. I cannot leave this paper.

Osw. (aside.)

[He puts it up, agitated. Dastard! Come. [MARMADUKE goes towards Herbert and supports him-MARMADUKE tremblingly beckons OSWALD to take his place.

Our little fire sent forth a cheering warmth
And we were comforted, and talked of comfort;
But 't was 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)

[Exeunt OSWALD and HERBERT - MARMADUKE

following.

And it was you, dear lady

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.

Myself, I heard

Idon. I scarcely can believe it. Old Pil. 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.

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 't was 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.

I hope Idonea is well housed. That horseman,
Who at full speed swept by us where the wood
Roared in the tempest, was within an ace
Of sending to his grave our precious charge:
That would have been a vile mischance.

Mar.
It would.
Osw. Justice had been most cruelly defrauded.
Mar. Most cruelly.

He is growing pitiful.

Osw. (aside.) Mar. (listening.) What an odd moaning that is!Osw. Mighty odd The wind should pipe a little, while we stand Cooling our heels in this way!— I'll begin And count the stars.

Mar. (still listening.) That dog of his, you are sure, Could not come after us - he must have perished; The torrent would have dashed an oak to splinters. You said you did not like his looks that he Would trouble us; if he were here again,

"Tis hard to measure time,

In such a weary night, and such a place.
Her. I do not hear the voice of my friend Oswald.
Mar. A minute past, he went to fetch a draught
Of water from the torrent. "T is, you'll say,

Her.

To waken our stray Baron. Were there not
A farm or dwelling-house within five leagues,
We should deserve to wear a cap and bells,
Three good round years, for playing the fool here
In such a night as this.

Why do I tremble now? - Is not the depth
Of this man's crimes beyond the reach of thought?
And yet, in plumbing the abyss for judgment,
Something I strike upon which turns my mind
Back on herself, I think, again - my breast
Concentrates all the terrors of the Universe:
I look at him and tremble like a child.
Osw. Is it possible?

Mar.
One thing you noticed not:
Just as we left the glen a clap of thunder
Burst on the mountains with hell-rousing force.
This is a time, said he, when guilt may shudder;
But there's a Providence for them who walk
In helplessness, when innocence is with them.
At this audacious blasphemy, I thought

The spirit of vengeance seemed to ride the air.

Mar.

How good it was in you Hearing at first no answer,

No wonder; this is a place That well may put some fears into your heart.

Her. Why so? a roofless rock had been a comfort, Storm-beaten and bewildered as we were;

Oh! but you are young;

Over your head twice twenty years must roll,
With all their natural weight of sorrow and pain,
Ere can be known to you how much a father
May love his child.

Mar.
Thank you, old man, for this! [Aside.
Her. Fallen am I, and worn out, a useless man;
Kindly have you protected me to-night,

And no return have I to make but prayers;

May you in age be blessed with such a daughter!-
When from the Holy Land I had returned
Sightless and from my heritage was driven,
A wretched outcast- but this strain of thought
Would lead me to talk fondly.