Classic Poem

  Julia. How many cares perplex the maid who loves!
Cares, which the vacant heart can never know.
You fondly tremble for a brother's life;
Orlando mourns the absence of a friend,
Guildford is anxious for a son's renown;
In my poor heart your various terrors meet,
With added fears and fonder apprehensions:
They all unite in me, I feel for all,
His life, his fame, his absence, and his love;
For he may live to see his native home,
And he may live to bless a sister's hopes,
May live to gratify impatient friendship,
May live to crown a father's house with honour,
May live to glory, yet he dead to love.
  Em. Forbear these fears; they wound my brother's honour:
Julia! a brave man must be ever faithful;
Cowards alone dare venture to be false;
Cowards alone dare injure trusting virtue,
And with bold perjuries affront high Heaven.
  Julia. I know his faith, and venerate his virtues;
I know his heart is tender as 'tis brave,
That all his father's worth, his sister's softness,
Meet in his generous breast—and yet I fear—
Whoever lov'd like me, and did not fear?

  Guild. Where are my friends, my daughter, where is Julia?
How shall I speak the fulness of my heart?
My son, my Rivers, will this day return.
  Em. My dearest brother!
  Julia. Ha! my Rivers comes!
Propitious Heaven!
  Em. And yet my Julia trembles.
  Julia. Have I not cause? my Rivers comes! but how?
I dread to ask, and yet I die to hear.
My lord—you know the terms—
  Guild. He comes a conqueror!
He comes as Guildford's son should ever come!
The battle's o'er, the English arms successful,
And Rivers, like an English warrior, hastes
To lay his laurels at the feet of beauty.
  Julia. My joy oppresses me!
  Em. And see, Orlando!
How will the welcome news transport his soul,
And raise his drooping heart! with caution tell him,
Lest the o'erwhelming rapture he too much
For his dejected mind.

  Julia. My Lord Orlando,
Wherefore that troubled air? no more you dwell
On your once darling theme; you speak no more
The praises of your Rivers; is he chang'd?
Is he not still the galiant friend you lov'd,
As virtuous and as valiant?
  Or. Still the same;
He must be ever virtuous, ever valiant.
  Em. If Rivers is the same, then must I think
Orlando greatly chang'd; you speak not of him,
Nor long for his return, as you were wont.
How did you use to spend the live-long day,
In telling some new wonders of your friend,
Till night broke in upon th' unfinish'd tale;
And when 'twas o'er, you would begin again,
And we again would listen with delight,
With fresh delight, as if we had not heard it
Does Rivers less deserve, or you less love?
  Or. Have I not lov'd him? was my friendship cold?
When any praised his glories in the field,
My raptur'd heart has bounded at the tale!
Methought I grew illustrious from his glory,
And rich from his renown; to hear him prais'd,
More proud than if I had achiev'd his deeds,
And reap'd myself the harvest of his fame.
How have I trembled for a life so dear,
When his too ardent soul, despising caution,
Has plung'd him in the foremost ranks of war,
As if in love with danger.
  Julia. Valiant Rivers!
How does thy greatness justify my love!
  Ber. He's distant far, so I may safely praise him.
I claim some merit in my love of Rivers,
Since I admire the virtues that eclipse me;
With pleasure I survey these dazzling heights
My gay, inactive temper cannot reach.
  Em. Spoke like my honest cousin. Then, Orlando,
Since such the love you bear your noble friend,
How will your heart sustain the mighty joy
The news I tell will give you? Yes, Orlando,
Restrain the transports of your grateful friendship,
And hear, with moderation, hear me tell you
That Rivers will return—
  Or. How? when?
  Em. This day.
  Or. Impossible!
  Ber. Then all my schemes are air.
  Em. To-day I shall embrace my valiant brother!
  Julia. You droop, my lord: did you not hear her right?
She told you that your Rivers would return,
Would come to crown your friendship and our hopes.
  Or. He is most welcome! Is he not my friend?
You say my Rivers comes. Thy arm, good Bertrand.
  Ber. Joy to us all; joy to the count Orlando!
Weak man, take care.
  Em. My lord! you are not well.
  Ber. Surprise and joy oppress him; I myself
Partake his transports. Rouse, my lord, for shame.
  Em. How is it with you now?
  Or. Quite well—'tis past.
  Ber. The wonder's past, and nought but joy remains.

  Guild. He's come! he's here! I have embrac'd my warrior;
Now take me, Heav'n, I have liv'd long enough.
  Julia. My lord, my Rivers!
  Riv. 'Tis my Julia's self!
My life!
  Julia. My hero! Do I then behold thee?
  Riv. Oh, my full heart! expect not words, my Julia!
  Em. Rivers!
  Riv. My sister! what an hour is this!
My own Orlando too!
  Or. My noble friend!
  Riv. This is such prodigality of bliss,
I scarce can think it real. Honest Bertrand,
Your hand; your's, my Orlando, your's, my father;
And as a hand, I have a heart for all;
Love has enlarg'd it, from excess of love
I am become more capable of friendship.
My dearest Julia!
  Guild. She is thine, my son,
Thou hast deserv'd her nobly; thou hast won her,
Fulfill'd the terms—
  Riv. Therefore I dare not ask her,
I would not claim my Julia as a debt,
But take her as a gift; and, oh! I swear
It is the dearest, richest, choicest gift,
The bounty of indulgent Heaven could grant.

  Julia. Spare me, my lord.—As yet I scarce have seen you.
Confusion stops my tongue—yet I will own
If there he truth or faith in woman's vows,
Then you have still been present to this heart,
And not a thought has wander'd from its duty.

  Riv. Oh, generous Julia!
  Or. Mark how much she loves him!
  Ber. Mere words, which the fond sex have always ready.
  Riv. Forgive me, good Orlando, best of friends!
How my soul joys to meet thee on this shore?
Thus to embrace thee in my much-lov'd England!
  Guild. England! the land of worth, the soil of heroes,
Where great Elizabeth the sceptre sways,
O'er a free, glorious, rich, and happy people!
Philosophy, not cloister'd up in schools,
The speculative dream of idle monks,
Attir'd in attic robe, here roams at large;
Wisdom is wealth, and science is renown.
Here sacred laws protect the meanest subject,
The bread that toil procures fair freedom sweetens,
And every peasant eats his homely meal,
Content and free, lord of his small domain.
  Riv. Past are those gothic days, and, thanks to Heav'n,
They are for ever past, when English subjects
Were born the vassals of some tyrant lord!
When free-soul'd men were basely handed down
To the next heir, transmitted with their lands,
The shameful legacy from sire to son!
  Guild. But while thy generous soul, my noble boy,
Justly abhors oppression, yet revere
The plain stern virtues of our rough forefathers:
O never may the gallant sons of England
Lose their plain, manly, native character.
Forego the glorious charter nature gave 'em,
Beyond what kings can give, or laws bestow,
Their candour, courage, constancy, and truth!
  Or. Stay, Bertrand, stay—Oh, pity my distraction!
This heart was never made to hide its feelings;
I had near betray'd myself.
  Ber. I trembled for you;
Remember that the eye of love is piercing,
And Emmelina mark'd you.
  Or. 'Tis too much
My artless nature cannot bear disguise.
Think what I felt when unsuspecting Rivers
Press'd me with gen'rous rapture to his bosom,
Profess'd an honest joy, and call'd me friend!
I felt myself a traitor: yet I swear,
Yes, by that Power who sees the thoughts of men,
I swear, I love the gallant Rivers more
Than light or life! I love, but yet I fear him:
I shrunk before the lustre of his virtue—
I felt as I had wrong'd him—felt abash'd.
I cannot bear this conflict in my soul,
And therefore have resolv'd—
  Ber. On what?
  Or. To fly.
  Ber. To fly from Julia?
  Or. Yes, to fly from all,
From every thing I love; to fly from Rivers,
From Emmelina, from myself, from thee:
From Julia? no—that were impossible,
For I shall hear her image in my soul;
It is a part of me, the dearest part:
So closely interwoven with my being,
That I can never lose the dear remembrance,
Till I am robb'd of life and her together.
  Ber. 'Tis cowardice to fly.
  Or. 'Tis death to stay.
  Ber. Where would you go? How lost in thought he stands!
A vulgar villain now would use persuasion,
And by his very earnestness betray
The thing he meant to hide; I'll coolly wait,
Till the occasion shows me how to act,
Then turn it to my purpose. Ho! Orlando!
Where would you go?
  Or. To solitude, to hopeless banishment!
Yes, I will shroud my youth in those dark cells
Where disappointment steals devotion's name,
To cheat the wretched votary into ruin;
There will I live in love with misery;
Ne'er shall the sight of mirth profane my grief,
The sound of joy shall never charm my ear,
Nor music reach it, save when the slow bell
Wakes the dull brotherhood to lifeless prayer
Then, when the slow-retreating world recedes,
When warm desires are cold, and passion dead,
And all things but my Julia are forgotten,
One thought of her shall fire my languid soul,
Chase the faint orison, and feed despair.
  Ber. What! with monastic, lazy drones retire,
And chant cold hymns with holy hypocrites?
First perish all the sex! forbid it, manhood!
Where is your nobler self? for shame, Orlando;
Renounce this superstitions, whining weakness,
Or I shall blush to think I call'd you friend.
  Or. What can I do?
  Ber. Beg she'll defer the marriage
But for one single day; do this, and leave
The rest to me: she shall be thine.
  Or. How sayst thou?
What, wrong her virtue?
  Ber. Still this cant of virtue!
This pomp of words, this phrase without a meaning!
I grant that honour's something, manly honour;
I'd fight, I'd burn, I'd bleed, I'd die for honour;
But what's this virtue?
  Or. Ask you what it is?
Why, 'tis what libertines themselves adore;
'Tis that which wakens love and kindles rapture,
Beyond the rosy lip or starry eye.
Virtue! 'tis that which gives a secret force
To common charms; but to true loveliness
Leads colouring celestial. Such its power,
That she who ministers to guilty pleasures,
Assumes its semblance when she most would please,
Virtue! 'tis that ethereal energy
Which gives to body spirit, soul to beauty.
  Ber. Curse on his principles! Yet I shall shake them;
Yes, I will bend his spirit to my will,
Now, while 'tis warm with passion, and will take
Whatever mould my forming hand will give it.
'Tis worthy of my genius! Then I love
This Emmelina: true she loves not me,
But, should young Rivers die, his father's lands
Would then be mine—is Rivers, then, immortal?
Come—Guildford's lands, and his proud daughter's hand,
Are worth some thought. Aid me, ye spurs to genius!
Love, mischief, poverty, revenge, and envy!

  Em. Yet do not blame Orlando, good my brother;
He's still the same, that brave frank heart you lov'd;
Only his temper's chang'd, he is grown sad;
But that's no fault, I only am to blame;
Fond foolish heart, to give itself away
To one who gave me nothing in return!
  Riv. How's this? my father said Orlando lov'd thee.
  Em. Indeed I thought so; he was kinder once;
Nay, still he loves, or my poor heart deceives me.
  Riv. If he has wrong'd thee! yet I know he could not;
His gallant soul is all made up of virtues,
And I would rather doubt myself than him.
Yet tell me all the story of your loves,
And let a brother's fondness soothe thy cares.
  Em. When to this castle first Orlando came,
A welcome guest to all, to me most welcome;
Yes, spite of maiden shame and burning blushes,
Let me confess he was most welcome to me!
At first my foolish heart so much deceiv'd me,
I thought I lov'd him for my brother's sake;
But when I closely search'd this bosom traitor,
I found, alas! I lov'd him for his own.
  Riv. Blush not to own it; 'twas a well-plac'd flame!
I glory in the merit of my friend,
And love my sister more for loving him.
  Em. He talk'd of you; I listen'd with delight,
And fancied 'twas the subject only charm'd me;
But when Orlando chose another theme,
Forgive me, Rivers, but I listen'd still
With undiminish'd joy—he talk'd of love,
Nor was that theme less grateful than the former.
I seem'd the very idol of his soul;
Rivers, he said, would thank me for the friendship
I bore to his Orlando; I believ'd him.
Julia was absent then—but what of Julia?
  Riv. Ay, what of her indeed? why nam'd you Julia?
You could not surely think? no, that were wild.
Why did you mention Julia?
  Em. Nay, 'twas nothing,
'Twas accident, nor had my words a meaning;
If I did name her—'twas to note the time—
To mark the period of Orlando's coldness—
The circumstance was casual, and but meant
To date the change; it aim'd at nothing farther.
  Riv. 'Tis very like—no more—I'm satisfied—
You talk as I had doubts: what doubts have I?
Why do you labour to destroy suspicious
Which never had a birth? Is she not mine?
Mine by the fondest ties of dear affection?—
But did Orlando change at her return?
Did he grow cold? It could not be for that;
You may mistake. And yet you said 'twas then:
Was it precisely then? I only ask
For the fond love I bear my dearest sister.
  Em. 'Twas as I said.
  Riv. He loves thee, Emmelina:
These starts of passions, this unquiet temper
Betray how much he loves thee: yes, my sister,
He fears to lose thee, fears his father's will
May dash his rising hopes, nor give thee to him.
  Em. Oh, flatterer! thus to soothe my easy nature
With tales of possible, unlikely bliss!
Because it may be true, my credulous heart
Whispers it is, and fondly loves to cherish
The feeble glimmering of a sickly hope.
  Riv. This precious moment, worth a tedious age
Of vulgar time, I've stol'n from love and Julia;
She waits my coming, and a longer stay
Were treason to her beauty and my love.
Doubts vanish, fears recede, and fondness triumphs.