Classic Poem

Scene — An Apartment.

  Em. How many ways there are of being wretched!
The avenues to happiness how few!
When will this busy, fluttering heart he still?
When will it cease to feel and beat no more?
E'en now it shudders with a dire presage
Of something terrible it fears to know.
Ent'ring, I saw my venerable father
In earnest conference with the Count Orlando;
Shame and confusion fill'd Orlando's eye,
While stern resentment fir'd my father's cheek.
And look, he comes, with terror on his brow!
But, O! he sees me, sees his child; and now
The terror of his look is lost in love,
In fond, paternal love.

  Guild. Come to my arms,
And there conceal that penetrating eye,
Lost it should read what I would hide for ever,
Would hide from all, but most would hide from thee—
Thy father's grief, his shame, his rage, his tears.
  Em. Tears! heaven and earth! see if he does not weep!
  Guild. He who has drawn this sorrow from my eyes
Shall pay me back again in tears of blood.
'Tis for thy sake I weep.
  Em. Ah, weep for me!
Hear, Heaven, and judge; hear, Heaven, and punish me!
If any crime of mine——
  Guild. Thou art all innocence;
Just what a parent's fondest wish would frame;
No fault of thine o'er stain'd thy father's cheek;
For if I blush'd, it was to hear thy virtues,
And think that thou wast mine: and if I wept,
It was from joy and gratitude to Heaven,
That made me father of a child like thee.
Orlando——
  Em. What of him?
  Guild. I cannot tell thee:
An honest shame, a virtuous pride forbids.
  Em. Oh, speak!
  Guild. Canst thou not guess, and spare thy father?
  Em. 'Tis possible I can—and yet I will not:
Tell me the worst while I have sense to hear.
Thou wilt not speak—nay, never turn away;
Dost thou not know that fear is worse than grief?
There may be bounds to grief, fear knows no bounds;
In grief we know the worst of what we feel,
But who can tell the end of what we fear?
Grief mourns some sorrow palpable and known,
But fear runs wild with horrible conjecture.
  Guild. Then hear the worst, and arm thy soul to bear it.
My child!—he has—Orlando has refus'd thee.
  Em. 'Tis well—'tis very well—'tis as it should be.
  Guild. Oh, there's an eloquence in that mute wo
Which mocks all language. Speak, relieve thy heart,
Thy bursting heart; thy father cannot bear it.
Am I a man? no more of this, fond eyes!
I am grown weaker than a chidden infant.
While not a sigh escapes to tell thy pain.
  Em. See, I am calm; I do not shed a tear;
The warrior weeps, the woman is a hero!
  Guild. My glorious child! now thou art mine indeed!
Forgive me if I thought thee fond and weak.
I have a Roman matron for my daughter,
And not a feeble girl. And yet I fear,
For, oh! I know thy tenderness of soul,
I fear this silent anguish but portends
Some dread convulsion soon to burst in horrors.
  Em. I will not shame thy blood; and yet, my father,
Methinks thy daughter should not be refus'd!
Refused! It is a harsh, ungrateful sound;
Thou shouldst have found a softer term of scorn.
And have I then been held so cheap? Refus'd?
Been treated like the light ones of my sex,
Held up to sale? been offer'd, and refused?
  Guild. Long have I known thy love; I thought it mutual;
I met him—talk'd of marriage—
  Em. Ah! no more:
I am rejected;—does not that suffice?
Excuse my pride the mortifying tale;
Spare me particulars of how and when,
And do not parcel out thy daughter's shame.
No flowers of rhetoric can change the fact,
No arts of speech can varnish o'er my shame;
Orlando has refus'd me.
  Guild. Villain! villain!
He shall repent this outrage.
  Em. Think no more on't:
I'll teach thee how to bear it; I'll grow proud,
As gentle spirits still are apt to do
When cruel slight or killing scorn assails them.
Come, virgin dignity, come, female pride,
Come, wounded modesty, come, slighted love,
Come, conscious worth, come too, O black despair!
Support me, arm me, fill me with my wrongs!
Sustain this feeble spirit! Yes, my father,
But for thy share in this sad tale of shame,
I think I could have borne it.
  Guild. Thou hast a brother;
He shall assert thy cause.
  Em. First strike me dead:
No, in the wild distraction of my spirit,
In this dread conflict of my breaking heart,
Hear my fond pleading—save me from that curse;
Thus I adjure thee by the dearest ties
Which link society; by the sweet names
Of parent and of child; by all the joys
These tender chains have yielded, I adjure thee
Breathe not this fatal secret to my brother;
Let him not know his sister was refused!
O spare me that consummate, perfect ruin!
Conceive the mighty wo—I cannot speak:
And tremble to become a childless father.

  Guild. What art thou, life? thou lying vanity!
Thou promiser, who never mean'st to pay!
This beating storm will crush my feeble age!
Yet let me not complain; I have a son,
Just such a son as Heaven in mercy gives,
When it would bless supremely; he is happy;
His ardent wishes will this day be crown'd;
He weds the maid he loves; in him, at least,
My soul will yet taste comfort.—See, he's here;
He seems disorder'd.

  Riv. Yes, I fondly thought
Not all the tales which malice might devise,
Not all the leagues combined hell might form
Could shake her steady soul.
  Guild. What means my son?
Where is thy bride?
  Riv. O name her not!
  Guild. Not name her?
  Riv. No, if possible, not think of her;
Would I could help it!—Julia! oh my Julia!
Curse my fond tongue! I said I would not name her;
I did not think to do it, but my heart
Is full of her idea; her lov'd image
So fills my soul, it shuts out other thoughts;
My lips resolving not to frame the sound,
Dwell on her name, and all my talk is Julia!
  Guild. 'Tis as it should be; ere the midnight bell
Sound in thy raptured ear, this charming Julia
Will be thy wife.
  Riv. No.
  Guild. How?
  Riv. She has refused.
  Guild. Sayst thou?
  Riv. She has.
  Guild. Why, who would be a father!
Who that could guess the wretchedness it brings,
But would entreat of Heaven to write him childless?
  Riv. 'Twas but a little hour age we parted,
As happy lovers should; but when again
I sought her presence, with impatient haste,
Told her the priest, the altar, all was ready;
She blushed, she wept, and vowed it could not be;
That reasons of importance to our peace
Forbade the nuptial rites to be performed
Before to-morrow.
  Guild. She consents to-morrow!
She but defers the marriage, not declines it.
  Riv. Mere subterfuge! mere female artifice!
What reason should forbid our instant union?
Wherefore to-morrow? wherefore not to-night?
What difference could a few short hours have made?
Or if they could, why not avow the cause?
  Guild. I have grown old in camps, have lived in courts;
The toils of bright ambition have I known,
Wou'd greatness and enjoy'd it, till disgust
Follow'd possession; still I fondly look'd
Through the false perspective for distant joy,
Hop'd for the hour of honourable case,
When, safe from all the storms and wrecks of fate,
My shatter'd bark at rest, I might enjoy
An old man's blessings, liberty and leisure,
Domestic happiness and smiling peace.
The hour of age indeed is come! I feel it;
Feel it in all its sorrows, pains, and cares;
But where, oh where's th' untasted peace it promis'd?

  Riv. I would not deeper wound my father's peace;
But hide the secret cause of my resentment,
Till all be known; and yet I know too much.
It must be so—his grief, his sudden parting:
Fool that I was, not to perceive at once—
But friendship blinded me, and love betray'd.
Bertrand was right, he told me she was changed,
And would, on some pretence, delay the marriage;
I hop'd 'twas malice all.—Yonder she comes,
Dissolved in tears; I cannot see them fall,
And be a man; I will not, dare not meet her;
Her blandishments would soothe me to false peace,
And if she asked it, I should pardon all.

  Julia. Stay, Rivers! stay, barbarian! hear me speak!
Return, inhuman!—best belov'd! return:
Oh! I will tell thee all, restore thy peace,
Kneel at thy feet, and sue for thy forgiveness.
He hears me not—alas! he will not hear.
Break, thou poor heart, since Rivers is unkind.

  Or. Julia in tears!
  Julia. Alas! you have undone me!
Behold the wretched victim of her promise!
I urged, at your request, the fatal suit
Which has destroy'd my peace; Rivers suspects me,
And I am wretched!
  Or. Better 'tis to weep
A temporary ill, than weep for ever;
That anguish must be mine.
  Julia. Ha! weep for ever!
Can they know wretchedness, who know not love?
  Or. Not love! oh cruel friendship! tyrant honour!
  Julia. Friendship! alas, how cold art thou to love!
  Or. Too well I know it; both alike destroy me,
I am the slave of both, and more than either,
The slave of honour.
  Julia. If you then have felt
  The bitter agonies———
  Or. Talk you of agonies?
You who are lov'd again! No! they are mine;
Mine are the agonies of hopeless passion;
Yes, I do love—I dont, I die for love!
Julia!
  Julia. How?
  Or. Nay, never start—I know I am a villain!
I know thy hand is destin'd to another,
That other too my friend, that friend the man
To whom I owe my life! Yes, I adore thee;
Spite of the black ingratitude, adore thee;
I dont upon my friend, and yet betray him;
I'm bound to Emmelina, yet forsake her;
I honour virtue, while I fellow guilt;
I love the noble Rivers more than life,
But Julia more than honour.
  Julia. Hold! astonishment
Has seal'd my lips; whence sprung this monstrous daring?
  Or. From despair.
  Julia. What can you hope from me?
  Or. Hope! nothing.
I would not aught receive, aught hope but death.
Think'st thou I need reproach? think'st thou I need
To be reminded that my love's a crime?
That every mortal tie forbids my passion?
But though I know that Heaven has plagues in store,
Yet mark—I do not, will not, can't repent;
I do not even wish to love thee less;
I glory in my crime: pernicious beauty!
Come, triumph in thy power, complete my woes;
Insult me with the praises of my rival,
The man on earth—whom most I ought to love!
  Julia. I leave thee to remorse, and to that penitence
Thy crime demands
  Or. A moment stay.
  Julia. I dare not.
  Or. Hear all my rival's worth, and all my guilt.
The unsuspecting Rivers sent me to thee,
To plead his cause; I basely broke my trust,
And, like a villain, plended for myself.
  Julia. Did he? Did Rivers? Then he loves me still—
Quick let me seek him out.
  Or. First take this dagger;
Had you not forced it from my hand to-day,
I had not liv'd to know this guilty moment:
Take it, present it to the happy Rivers,
Tell him to plunge it in a traitor's heart,
Tell him his friend, Orlando, is that traitor,
Tell him Orlando forg'd the guilty tale,
Tell him Orlando was the only foe
Who at the altar would have murder'd Rivers,
And then have died himself.
  Julia. Farewell—repeat—think better.

  Riv. Turn, villain, turn!
  Or. Ha! Rivers here?
  Riv. Yes, Rivers.
  Or. Gape wide, thou friendly earth, for ever hide me!
Rise, Alps, ye crushing mountains, bury me!
  Riv. Nay, turn, look on me.
  Or. Rivers! oh, I cannot,
I dare not, I have wrong'd thee.
  Riv. Doubly wrong'd me;
Thy complicated crimes cry out for vengeance.
  Or. Take it.
  Riv. But I would take it as a man.
Draw.
  Or. Not for a thousand worlds.
  Riv. Not fight?
Why, thou'rt a coward too as well as villain:
I shall despise as well as hate thee.
  Or. Do;
Yet wrong me not, for if I am a coward
'Tis but to thee: there does not breathe the man,
Thyself excepted, who durst call me so,
And live; but, oh! 'tis sure to Heaven and thee,
I am the veriest coward guilt o'er made.
Now, as thou art a man, revenge thyself;
Strike!
  Riv. No, not stab thee like a base assassin,
But meet thee as a foe.
  Or. Think of my wrongs.
  Riv. I feel them here.
  Or. Think of my trenchery.
  Riv. Oh, wherefore wast thou false? how have I lov'd thee!
  Or. Of that no more: think of thy father's grief,
Of Emmelina's wrongs—
  Riv. Provoke me not.
  Or. Of Julia—
  Riv. Ha! I shall forget my honour,
And do a brutal violence upon thee,
Would tarnish my fair fame. Villain and coward!
Traitor! will nothing rouse thee?
  Or. Swelling heart!
Yet this I have deserv'd, all this, and more.
  Em. Lend me your swiftness, lightnings—'tis too late.
See they're engaged—oh no—they live, both live!
Hold, cruel men!
  Riv. Unlucky! 'tis my sister.
  Em. Ye men of blood! if yet you have not lost
All sense of human kindness, love, or pity;
If ever you were dear to one another;
If ever you desire or look for mercy,
When, in the wild extremity of anguish,
You supplicate that Judge who has declared
That vengeance is his own—oh, hear me now;
Hear a fond wretch, whom misery has made bold;
Spare, spare each other's life—spare your own souls.
  Or. Thou shouldst have struck at once!
  O tardy hand!
  Em. Does death want engines? is his power curtail'd?
Has fell disease forgotten to destroy?
Are there not pestilence and spotted plagues,
Devouring deluges, consuming fires,
Earthquakes, volcanoes, hurricanes, and famine,
That man must perish by the hand of man?
Nay, to complete the horror, friend by friend?
  Riv. What! shall I then endure this outrage tamely?
  Em. No,—If you covet death; if you're in lova
With slaughter and destruction—does not war
Invite you to her banner? Far and wide
Her dire dominion reaches.—There seek death.
There fall without a crime. There, where no bate,
No individual rage, no private wrong,
Arms man against his brother.—Not as here,
Where both are often murderers in the act ;
In the foul purpose—always .
  Riv. Is honour nothing?
  Em. Honour! O yes, I know him. 'Tis a phantom;
A shadowy figure wanting bulk and life;
Who having nothing solid in himself,
Wraps his thin form in Virtue's plunder'd robe,
And steals her title. Honour! 'tis the fiend
Who feeds on orphans' tears and widows' groans,
And slakes his impious thirst in brothers' blood.
Honour! why, 'tis the primal law of hell!
The grand device to people the dark realms
With noble spirits, who, but for this curst honour,
Had been at peace on earth, or bless'd in heaven.
With this false honour, Christians have no commerce.
Religion disavows, and truth disowns it.
  Or. An angel speaks, and angels claim obedience.
  Riv. This is the heart thou hast wrong'd.
  Em. I pity thee!
Calamity has taught me how to pity:
Before I knew distress, my heart was hard;
But now it melts at every touch of wo;
And wholesome sufferings bring it back to virtue.
Rivers, he once was good and just like thee:
Who shall he proud, and think he stands secure,
If thy Orlando's false?
  Riv. Think of his crime.
  Em. Oh, think of his temptation! think 'twas Julia;
Thy heart could not resist her; how should his?
It is the very error of his friendship.
Your souls were fram'd so very much alike,
He could not choose but to love whom Rivers lov'd.
  Or. Think'st thou there is in death a pang like this
Strike, my brave friend! be sudden and be silent.
Death, which is terrible to happy men,
To me will be a blessing: I have lost
All that could make life dear; I've lost my friend;
I've stabb'd the peace of mind of that fair creature,
I have surviv'd my honour: this is dying!
The mournful fondness of officious love
Will plant no thorns upon my dying pillow;
No precious tears embalm my memory,
But curses follow it.
  Em. See, Rivers melts;
He pities thee.
  Or. I'll spare thy noble heart
The pain of punishing; Orlando's self
Revenges both.
  Em. Barbarian! kill me first.
  Riv. Thou shalt not die! I swear I love thee still:
That secret sympathy which long has bound us,
Pleads for thy life with sweet but strong entreaty.
Thou shalt repair the wrongs of that dear saint,
And be again my friend.
  Or. Oh, hear me,
  Em. No.
I cannot stoop to live on charity,
And what but charity is love compell'd?
I've been a weak, a fond, believing woman,
And credulous beyond my sex's softness:
But with the weakness, I've the pride of woman.
I loved with virtue, but I fondly loved;
That passion fixed my fate, determined all,
And marked at once the colour of my life.
Hearts that love well, love long, they love but once.
My peace thou hast destroyed, my honour's mine;
She who aspired to gain Orlando's heart,
Shall never owe Orlando's hand to pity.

  Or. And I still live!
  Riv. Farewell! should I stay longer
I might forget my vow.
  Or. Yet hear me, Rivers.

  Ber. How's this? my fortune fails me, both alive!
I thought by stirring Rivers to this quarrel,
There was at least an equal chance against him.
I work invisibly, and, like the tempter,
My agency is seen in its effects.
Well, honest Bertrand! now for Julia's letter.
 This fond epistle of a love-sick maid,
I've sworn to give, but did not swear to whom.
“Give it my love,” said she, “my dearest lord!”
Rivers she meant; there's no address—that's lucky.
Then where's the harm? Orlando is a lord,
As well as Rivers, loves her too as well.
I must admire your style—your pardon, fair one.
 I trend in air—methinks I brush the stars,
And spurn the subject world which rolls beneath me.—
There's not a word but fits Orlando's case.
As well as Rivers';—tender to excess—
No name—'twill do; his faith in me is boundless;
Then, as the brave are still, he's unsuspecting,
And credulous beyond a woman's weakness.
Orlando's dagger! ha! 'tis greatly thought.
This may do noble service; such a scheme!
My genius catches fire! the bright idea
Is formed at once, and fit for instant action.