No More Learning

OSWALD Naked was the spot;
Methinks I see it now--how in the sun
Its stony surface glittered like a shield;
And in that miserable place we left him,
Alone but for a swarm of minute creatures
Not one of which could help him while alive,
Or mourn him dead.


MARMADUKE A man by men cast off,
Left without burial! nay, not dead nor dying,
But standing, walking, stretching forth his arms,
In all things like ourselves, but in the agony
With which he called for mercy; and--even so--
He was forsaken?


OSWALD There is a power in sounds:
The cries he uttered might have stopped the boat
That bore us through the water--


MARMADUKE You returned
Upon that dismal hearing--did you not?


OSWALD Some scoffed at him with hellish mockery,
And laughed so loud it seemed that the smooth sea
Did from some distant region echo us.


MARMADUKE We all are of one blood, our veins are filled
At the same poisonous fountain!


OSWALD 'Twas an island
Only by sufferance of the winds and waves,
Which with their foam could cover it at will.
I know not how he perished; but the calm,
The same dead calm, continued many days.


MARMADUKE
But his own crime had brought on him this doom,
His wickedness prepared it; these expedients
Are terrible, yet ours is not the fault.


OSWALD The man was famished, and was innocent!


MARMADUKE Impossible!


OSWALD The man had never wronged me.


MARMADUKE Banish the thought, crush it, and be at peace.
His guilt was marked--these things could never be
Were there not eyes that see, and for good ends,
Where ours are baffled.


OSWALD I had been deceived.


MARMADUKE And from that hour the miserable man
No more was heard of?


OSWALD I had been betrayed.


MARMADUKE And he found no deliverance!


OSWALD The Crew
Gave me a hearty welcome; they had laid
The plot to rid themselves, at any cost,
Of a tyrannic Master whom they loathed.
So we pursued our voyage: when we landed,
The tale was spread abroad; my power at once
Shrunk from me; plans and schemes, and lofty hopes--
All vanished. I gave way--do you attend?


MARMADUKE The Crew deceived you?


OSWALD Nay, command yourself.


MARMADUKE It is a dismal night--how the wind howls!


OSWALD I hid my head within a Convent, there
Lay passive as a dormouse in mid winter.
That was no life for me--I was o'erthrown
But not destroyed.


MARMADUKE The proofs--you ought to have seen
The guilt--have touched it--felt it at your heart--
As I have done.


OSWALD A fresh tide of Crusaders
Drove by the place of my retreat: three nights
Did constant meditation dry my blood;
Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on,
Through words and things, a dim and perilous way;
And, wheresoe'er I turned me, I beheld
A slavery compared to which the dungeon
And clanking chains are perfect liberty.
You understand me--I was comforted;
I saw that every possible shape of action
Might lead to good--I saw it and burst forth
Thirsting for some of those exploits that fill
The earth for sure redemption of lost peace.
[Marking MARMADUKE'S countenance. ]
Nay, you have had the worst. Ferocity
Subsided in a moment, like a wind
That drops down dead out of a sky it vexed.
And yet I had within me evermore
A salient spring of energy; I mounted
From action up to action with a mind
That never rested--without meat or drink
Have I lived many days--my sleep was bound
To purposes of reason--not a dream
But had a continuity and substance
That waking life had never power to give.


MARMADUKE O wretched Human-kind! --Until the mystery
Of all this world is solved, well may we envy
The worm, that, underneath a stone whose weight
Would crush the lion's paw with mortal anguish,
Doth lodge, and feed, and coil, and sleep, in safety.
Fell not the wrath of Heaven upon those traitors?


OSWALD Give not to them a thought. From Palestine
We marched to Syria: oft I left the Camp,
When all that multitude of hearts was still,
And followed on, through woods of gloomy cedar,
Into deep chasms troubled by roaring streams;
Or from the top of Lebanon surveyed
The moonlight desert, and the moonlight sea:
In these my lonely wanderings I perceived
What mighty objects do impress their forms
To elevate our intellectual being;
And felt, if aught on earth deserves a curse,
'Tis that worst principle of ill which dooms
A thing so great to perish self-consumed.
--So much for my remorse!


MARMADUKE Unhappy Man!


OSWALD When from these forms I turned to contemplate
The World's opinions and her usages,
I seemed a Being who had passed alone
Into a region of futurity,
Whose natural element was freedom--


MARMADUKE Stop--
I may not, cannot, follow thee.


OSWALD You must.
I had been nourished by the sickly food
Of popular applause. I now perceived
That we are praised, only as men in us
Do recognise some image of themselves,
An abject counterpart of what they are,
Or the empty thing that they would wish to be.
I felt that merit has no surer test
Than obloquy; that, if we wish to serve
The world in substance, not deceive by show,
We must become obnoxious to its hate,
Or fear disguised in simulated scorn.


MARMADUKE I pity, can forgive, you; but those wretches--
That monstrous perfidy!


OSWALD Keep down your wrath.
False Shame discarded, spurious Fame despised,
Twin sisters both of Ignorance, I found
Life stretched before me smooth as some broad way
Cleared for a monarch's progress. Priests might spin
Their veil, but not for me--'twas in fit place
Among its kindred cobwebs. I had been,
And in that dream had left my native land,
One of Love's simple bondsmen--the soft chain
Was off for ever; and the men, from whom
This liberation came, you would destroy:
Join me in thanks for their blind services.


MARMADUKE 'Tis a strange aching that, when we would curse
And cannot. --You have betrayed me--I have done--
I am content--I know that he is guiltless--
That both are guiltless, without spot or stain,
Mutually consecrated. Poor old Man!
And I had heart for this, because thou lovedst
Her who from very infancy had been
Light to thy path, warmth to thy blood! --Together
[Turning to OSWALD. ]
We propped his steps, he leaned upon us both.


OSWALD Ay, we are coupled by a chain of adamant;
Let us be fellow-labourers, then, to enlarge
Man's intellectual empire. We subsist
In slavery; all is slavery; we receive
Laws, but we ask not whence those laws have come;
We need an inward sting to goad us on.


MARMADUKE Have you betrayed me? Speak to that.


OSWALD The mask,
Which for a season I have stooped to wear,
Must be cast off. --Know then that I was urged,
(For other impulse let it pass) was driven,
To seek for sympathy, because I saw
In you a mirror of my youthful self;
I would have made us equal once again,
But that was a vain hope. You have struck home,
With a few drops of blood cut short the business;
Therein for ever you must yield to me.
But what is done will save you from the blank
Of living without knowledge that you live:
Now you are suffering--for the future day,
'Tis his who will command it. --Think of my story--
Herbert is _innocent_.


MARMADUKE (in a faint voice, and doubtingly)
You do but echo
My own wild words?


OSWALD Young Man, the seed must lie
Hid in the earth, or there can be no harvest;
'Tis Nature's law. What I have done in darkness
I will avow before the face of day.
Herbert _is_ innocent.


MARMADUKE What fiend could prompt
This action? Innocent! --oh, breaking heart! --
Alive or dead, I'll find him.

[Exit. ]


OSWALD
Alive--perdition!

[Exit. ]




SCENE--The inside of a poor Cottage

ELEANOR and IDONEA seated


IDONEA The storm beats hard--Mercy for poor or rich,
Whose heads are shelterless in such a night!


A VOICE WITHOUT
Holla! to bed, good Folks, within!


ELEANOR O save us!


IDONEA What can this mean?


ELEANOR Alas, for my poor husband! --
We'll have a counting of our flocks to-morrow;
The wolf keeps festival these stormy nights:
Be calm, sweet Lady, they are wassailers
[The voices die away in the distance. ]
Returning from their Feast--my heart beats so--
A noise at midnight does _so_ frighten me.


IDONEA Hush! [Listening. ]


ELEANOR They are gone. On such a night, my husband,
Dragged from his bed, was cast into a dungeon,
Where, hid from me, he counted many years,
A criminal in no one's eyes but theirs--
Not even in theirs--whose brutal violence
So dealt with him.


IDONEA I have a noble Friend
First among youths of knightly breeding, One
Who lives but to protect the weak or injured.
There again!
[Listening. ]


ELEANOR 'Tis my husband's foot. Good Eldred
Has a kind heart; but his imprisonment
Has made him fearful, and he'll never be
The man he was.


IDONEA I will retire;--good night!
[She goes within. ]


[Enter ELDRED (hides a bundle)]


ELDRED Not yet in bed, Eleanor! --there are stains in that frock
which must be washed out.


ELEANOR What has befallen you?


ELDRED I am belated, and you must know the cause--
(speaking low)
that is the blood of an unhappy Man.


ELEANOR Oh! we are undone for ever.


ELDRED Heaven forbid that I should lift my hand against any man.
Eleanor, I have shed tears to-night, and it comforts
me to think of it.


ELEANOR Where, where is he?


ELDRED I have done him no harm, but----it will be forgiven me; it
would not have been so once.


ELEANOR You have not _buried_ anything? You are no richer than
when you left me?


ELDRED Be at peace; I am innocent.


ELEANOR Then God be thanked--

[A short pause; she falls upon his neck. ]


ELDRED Tonight I met with an old Man lying stretched upon the
ground--a sad spectacle: I raised him up with a hope
that we might shelter and restore him.


ELEANOR (as if ready to run)
Where is he? You were not able to bring him _all_ the way
with you; let us return, I can help you.


[ELDRED shakes his head. ]


ELDRED He did not seem to wish for life: as I was struggling on,
by the light of the moon I saw the stains of blood upon my
clothes--he waved his hand, as if it were all useless; and
I let him sink again to the ground.


ELEANOR Oh that I had been by your side!


ELDRED I tell you his hands and his body were cold--how could I
disturb his last moments? he strove to turn from me as
if he wished to settle into sleep.


ELEANOR But, for the stains of blood--


ELDRED He must have fallen, I fancy, for his head was cut; but I
think his malady was cold and hunger.


ELEANOR Oh, Eldred, I shall never be able to look up at this roof
in storm or fair but I shall tremble.


ELDRED Is it not enough that my ill stars have kept me abroad
to-night till this hour? I come home, and this is my
comfort!


ELEANOR But did he say nothing which might have set you at ease?


ELDRED I thought he grasped my hand while he was muttering
something about his Child--his Daughter--
(starting as if he heard a noise).
What is that?


ELEANOR Eldred, you are a father.


ELDRED God knows what was in my heart, and will not curse my son
for my sake.


ELEANOR But you prayed by him? you waited the hour of his release?


ELDRED The night was wasting fast; I have no friend; I am spited
by the world--his wound terrified me--if I had
brought him along with me, and he had died in my
arms! ----I am sure I heard something breathing--and
this chair!


ELEANOR Oh, Eldred, you will die alone. You will have nobody to
close your eyes--no hand to grasp your dying hand--I
shall be in my grave. A curse will attend us all.


ELDRED Have you forgot your own troubles when I was in the
dungeon?


ELEANOR And you left him alive?


ELDRED Alive! --the damps of death were upon him--he could not
have survived an hour.


ELEANOR In the cold, cold night.


ELDRED (in a savage tone)
Ay, and his head was bare; I suppose you would have had me
lend my bonnet to cover it. --You will never rest till I am
brought to a felon's end.


ELEANOR Is there nothing to be done? cannot we go to the Convent?


ELDRED Ay, and say at once that I murdered him!


ELEANOR Eldred, I know that ours is the only house upon the Waste;
let us take heart; this Man may be rich; and could he
be saved by our means, his gratitude may reward us.


ELDRED 'Tis all in vain.


ELEANOR But let us make the attempt. This old Man may have a wife,
and he may have children--let us return to the spot;
we may restore him, and his eyes may yet open upon
those that love him.


ELDRED He will never open them more; even when he spoke to me, he
kept them firmly sealed as if he had been blind.


IDONEA (rushing out)
It is, it is, my Father--


ELDRED We are betrayed
(looking at IDONEA).


ELEANOR His Daughter! --God have mercy!
(turning to IDONEA)


IDONEA (sinking down)
Oh! lift me up and carry me to the place.
You are safe; the whole world shall not harm you.


ELEANOR This Lady is his Daughter.


ELDRED (moved)
I'll lead you to the spot.


IDONEA (springing up)
Alive! --you heard him breathe? quick, quick--


[Exeunt. ]



ACT V


SCENE--A wood on the edge of the Waste

Enter OSWALD and a Forester.


FORESTER He leaned upon the bridge that spans the glen,
And down into the bottom cast his eye,
That fastened there, as it would check the current.


OSWALD He listened too; did you not say he listened?


FORESTER As if there came such moaning from the flood
As is heard often after stormy nights.


OSWALD But did he utter nothing?


FORESTER See him there!


[MARMADUKE appearing. ]


MARMADUKE Buzz, buzz, ye black and winged freebooters;
That is no substance which ye settle on!


FORESTER His senses play him false; and see, his arms
Outspread, as if to save himself from falling! --
Some terrible phantom I believe is now
Passing before him, such as God will not
Permit to visit any but a man
Who has been guilty of some horrid crime.


[MARMADUKE disappears. ]


OSWALD The game is up! --


FORESTER If it be needful, Sir,
I will assist you to lay hands upon him.


OSWALD No, no, my Friend, you may pursue your business--
'Tis a poor wretch of an unsettled mind,
Who has a trick of straying from his keepers;
We must be gentle. Leave him to my care.
[Exit Forester. ]
If his own eyes play false with him, these freaks
Of fancy shall be quickly tamed by mine;
The goal is reached. My Master shall become
A shadow of myself--made by myself.


SCENE--The edge of the Moor.

MARMADUKE and ELDRED enter from opposite sides.


MARMADUKE (raising his eyes and perceiving ELDRED)
In any corner of this savage Waste,
Have you, good Peasant, seen a blind old Man?


ELDRED I heard--


MARMADUKE You heard him, where? when heard him?


ELDRED As you know
The first hours of last night were rough with storm:
I had been out in search of a stray heifer;
Returning late, I heard a moaning sound;
Then, thinking that my fancy had deceived me,
I hurried on, when straight a second moan,
A human voice distinct, struck on my ear.
So guided, distant a few steps, I found
An aged Man, and such as you describe.


MARMADUKE You heard! --he called you to him? Of all men
The best and kindest! --but where is he? guide me,
That I may see him.


ELDRED 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.


MARMADUKE Well, well, he lives,
And all is safe: what said he?


ELDRED 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?


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


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


MARMADUKE That was no work of mine.


ELDRED Nor was it mine.


MARMADUKE But had he strength to walk?
I could have borne him
A thousand miles.


ELDRED 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.


MARMADUKE 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--


ELDRED My wife and children came into my mind.


MARMADUKE Oh Monster! Monster! there are three of us,
And we shall howl together.
[After a pause and in a feeble voice. ]
I am deserted
At my worst need, my crimes have in a net
(Pointing to ELDRED) Entangled this poor man. --
Where was it? where?
[Dragging him along. ]


ELDRED 'Tis needless; spare your violence. His Daughter--


MARMADUKE Ay, in the word a thousand scorpions lodge:
This old man _had_ a Daughter.


ELDRED To the spot
I hurried back with her. --Oh 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.


MARMADUKE Dead, dead! --


ELDRED (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.


MARMADUKE There will be need of preparation.


[ELDRED goes off. ]


ELEANOR (enters)
Master!
Your limbs sink under you, shall I support you?


MARMADUKE (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.


ELEANOR Oh, why have I to do with things like these?

[Exeunt. ]



SCENE changes to the door of ELDRED'S cottage--IDONEA seated--enter
ELDRED.


ELDRED 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.


IDONEA My Father is dead;
Why dost thou come to me with words like these?


ELDRED A wicked Man should answer for his crimes.


IDONEA Thou seest me what I am.


ELDRED It was most heinous,
And doth call out for vengeance.


IDONEA Do not add,
I prith'ee, to the harm thou'st done already.


ELDRED 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.


IDONEA 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.


MARMADUKE In such a wilderness--to see no thing,
No, not the pitying moon!


IDONEA And perish so.


MARMADUKE Without a dog to moan for him.


IDONEA Think not of it,
But enter there and see him how he sleeps,
Tranquil as he had died in his own bed.


MARMADUKE Tranquil--why not?


IDONEA Oh, peace!


MARMADUKE 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.


IDONEA Between us stood, I thought,
A cup of consolation, filled from Heaven
For both our needs; must I, and in thy presence,
Alone partake of it? --Beloved Marmaduke!


MARMADUKE 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! --


IDONEA Alas! the thought of such a cruel death
Has overwhelmed him. --I must follow.


ELDRED 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.


ELEANOR Shame! Eldred, shame!


MARMADUKE (both returning)
The dead have but one face.
(To himself. )
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! --


IDONEA Oh, had you seen him living! --


MARMADUKE 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! --


IDONEA 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 vengeance 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!


MARMADUKE My voice was silent, but my heart hath joined thee.


IDONEA (leaning on MARMADUKE)
Left to the mercy of that savage Man!
How could he call upon his Child! --O Friend!
[Turns to MARMADUKE. ]
My faithful true and only Comforter.


MARMADUKE 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. ]


IDONEA Thy vest is torn, thy cheek is deadly pale;
Hast thou pursued the monster?


MARMADUKE I have found him. --
Oh! would that thou hadst perished in the flames!


IDONEA Here art thou, then can I be desolate? --


MARMADUKE There was a time, when this protecting hand
Availed against the mighty; never more
Shall blessings wait upon a deed of mine.


IDONEA 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. ]


MARMADUKE 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 become
An instrument of Fiends. Through me, through me,
Thy Father perished.


IDONEA Perished--by what mischance?


MARMADUKE Beloved! --if I dared, so would I call thee--
Conflict must cease, and, in thy frozen heart,
The extremes of suffering meet in absolute peace.
[He gives her a letter. ]


IDONEA (reads)
"Be not surprised if you hear that some signal judgment
has befallen the man who calls himself your father; he is
now with me, as his signature will shew: abstain from
conjecture till you see me.
"HERBERT.
"MARMADUKE. "
The writing Oswald's; the signature my Father's:
(Looks steadily at the paper. )
And here is yours,--or do my eyes deceive me?
You have then seen my Father?


MARMADUKE He has leaned
Upon this arm.


IDONEA You led him towards the Convent?


MARMADUKE That Convent was Stone-Arthur Castle. Thither
We were his guides. I on that night resolved
That he should wait thy coming till the day
Of resurrection.


IDONEA Miserable Woman,
Too quickly moved, too easily giving way,
I put denial on thy suit, and hence,
With the disastrous issue of last night,
Thy perturbation, and these frantic words.
Be calm, I pray thee!


MARMADUKE Oswald--


IDONEA Name him not.


[Enter Female Beggar. ]


BEGGAR And he is dead! --that Moor--how shall I cross it?
By night, by day, never shall I be able
To travel half a mile alone. --Good Lady!
Forgive me! --Saints forgive me. Had I thought
It would have come to this! --


IDONEA What brings you hither? speak!


BEGGAR (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.


IDONEA (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 heart
That will sustain me. Did you murder him?


MARMADUKE No, not by stroke of arm. But learn the process:
Proof after proof was pressed upon me; guilt
Made evident, as seemed, by blacker guilt,
Whose impious folds enwrapped even thee; and truth
And innocence, embodied in his looks,
His words and tones and gestures, did but serve
With me to aggravate his crimes, and heaped
Ruin upon the cause for which they pleaded.
Then pity crossed the path of my resolve:
Confounded, I looked up to Heaven, and cast,
Idonea! thy blind Father, on the Ordeal
Of the bleak Waste--left him--and so he died! --

[IDONEA sinks senseless; Beggar, ELEANOR, etc. , crowd round, and bear
her off. ]

Why may we speak these things, and do no more;
Why should a thrust of the arm have such a power,
And words that tell these things be heard in vain?
_She_ is not dead. Why! --if I loved this Woman,
I would take care she never woke again;
But she WILL wake, and she will weep for me,
And say, no blame was mine--and so, poor fool,
Will waste her curses on another name.


[He walks about distractedly. ]

[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.

MARMADUKE Ay, what shall we encounter next? This issue--
'Twas nothing more than darkness deepening darkness,
And weakness crowned with the impotence of death! --
Your pupil is, you see, an apt proficient.
(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--


OSWALD Ha! is it so! --That vagrant Hag! --this comes
Of having left a thing like her alive! [Aside. ]


SEVERAL VOICES
Despatch him!


OSWALD 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 MARMADUKE. ]


WALLACE 'Tis done! (Stabs him. )


ANOTHER OF THE BAND
The ruthless traitor!


MARMADUKE A rash deed! --
With that reproof I do resign a station
Of which I have been proud.



WILFRED (approaching MARMADUKE)
O my poor Master!


MARMADUKE 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!


MARMADUKE No more of that; in silence hear my doom:
A hermitage has furnished fit relief
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.





* * * * *





In June 1797 Coleridge wrote to his friend Cottle:

"W. has written a tragedy himself. I speak with heart-felt sincerity,
and, I think, unblinded judgment, when I tell you that I feel myself a
little man by his side, and yet I do not think myself a less man than
I formerly thought myself. His drama is absolutely wonderful. You know
I do not commonly speak in such abrupt and unmingled phrases, and
therefore will the more readily believe me. There are in the piece
those profound touches of the human heart which I find three or four
times in the 'Robbers' of Schiller, and often in Shakspeare; but in W.
there are no inequalities. "


On August 6, 1800, Charles Lamb wrote to Coleridge:

"I would pay five-and-forty thousand carriages to read W. 's tragedy,
of which I have heard so much and seen so little. " Shortly afterwards,
August 26, he wrote to Coleridge: "I have a sort of a recollection
that somebody, I think _you_, promised me a sight of Wordsworth's
tragedy. I shall be very glad of it just now, for I have got Manning
with me, and should like to read it _with him_. But this, I confess,
is a refinement. Under any circumstances, alone, in Cold-Bath Prison,
or in the desert island, just when Prospero and his crew had set off,
with Caliban in a cage, to Milan, it would be a treat to me to read
that play. Manning has read it, so has Lloyd, and all Lloyd's family;
but I could not get him to betray his trust by giving me a sight of
it.