You shall not be disturb'd.

(Stooping to lift the handkerchief.)
You have dropp'd somewhat.

De Mon. (preventing him.) Nay, do not stoop,
my friend! I pray thee not!

Thou art too old to stoop.

I'm much indebted to thee.-Take this ring-
I love thee better than I seem to do.

I pray thee do it-thank me not-What stranger?
Jer. A man who does most earnestly entreat
To see your honour; but I know him not.
De Mon. Then let him enter.

A pause.

[Exir Jerome.

Enter CONRAD.

A tale so damn'd?-It chokes my breath-
(Stamping with his foot.) What wretch did tell it

thee?

Con. Nay, every one with whom I have con-
versed

Has held the same discourse. I judge it not.
But you, my lord, who with the lady dwell,
You best can tell what her deportment speaks;
Whether her conduct and unguarded words
Belie such rumour.

(De Monfort pauses, staggers backward, ana
sinks into a chair; then starting up hastily.)
De Mon. Where am I now? midst all the
cursed thoughts,

De Mon. You are the stranger who would speak That on my soul like stinging scorpions prey'd,

The tiresome preface of apology

I will forbear, and tell my tale at once.-
In plodding drudgery I've spent my youth,
A careful penman in another's office;
And now, my master and employer dead,
They seek to set a stripling o'er my head,
And leave me on to drudge, e'en to old age,
Because I have no friend to take my part.
It is an office in your native town,
For I am come from thence, and I am told
You can procure it for me. Thus, my lord,
From the repute of goodness which you bear,
I have presumed to beg.

De Mon. They have befool'd thee with a false
report.

Con. Alas! I see it is in vain to plead. Your mind is prepossess'd against a wretch, Who has, unfortunately for his weal, Offended the revengeful Rezen velt.

De Mon. What dost thou say?

Con. What I, perhaps, had better leave unsaid.
Who will believe n.y wrongs if I complain?
I am a stranger, Rezenve't my foe,
Who will believe my wrongs?

De Mon. (eagerly catching him by the coat.)
I will believe them!
Though they were base as basest, vilest deeds,
In ancient record told, I would believe them!
Let not the smallest atom of unworthiness
That he has put upon thee be conceal'd.
Speak boldly, tell it all; for, by the light!
I'll be thy friend, I'll be thy warmest friend,

If he has done thee wrong.

This never came before-0, if it be !
The thought will drive me mad.-Was it for this
She urged her warm request on bended knee?
Alas! I wept, and thought of sister's love,
No damned love like this.

Fell devil! 'tis hell itself has lent thee aid

To work such sorcery! (Pauses.) I'll not believe it,
I must have proof clear as the noonday sun
For such foul charge as this! Who waits without?
(Paces up and down, furiously agitated.)
Con. (aside.) What have I done? I've carried
this too far.

I've roused a fierce, ungovernable madman.

unseen,

And mark them as they pass. Draw back a little. (Conrad seems alarmed, and steals off unnoticed.

De Monfort grasps Jerome tightly by the hand, and drawing back with him two or three steps, not to be seen from the garden, waits in silence, with his eyes fixed on the glass door.) I hear their footsteps on the grating sand:

Con. Nay, pardon me, it were not well advised, How like the croaking of a carrion bird,

If I should speak so freely of the man

Who would so soon your nearest kinsman be.
De Mon. What canst thou mean by this?
Con.
That Marquis Rezenvelt
Has pledged his faith unto your noble sister,
And soon will be the husband of her choice.
So I am told, and so the world believes.

De Mon. 'Tis false! 'tis basely false !

What wretch could drop from his envenom'd tongue

That hateful voice sounds to the distant ear!
And now she speaks-her voice sounds cheerly
too-

Cursed be their mirth !-

Now, now, they come; keep closer still! keep

steady!

(Taking hold of Jerome with both hands.) Jer. My lord, you tremble much.

De Mon.

What, do I shake?

Jer. You do, in truth, and your teeth chatter too. De Mon. See! see they come! he strutting by her side.

(Jane, Rezen velt, and Countess Freberg appear
through the glass door, pursuing their way up
a short walk leading to the other wing of the
house.)

See, his audacious face he turns to hers;
Uttering with confidence some nauseous jest.
And she endures it too-O this looks vilely!
Ha! mark that courteous motion of his arm-
What does he mean?-he dares not take her hand!
(Pauses and looks eagerly.) By heaven and hell
he does!

(Letting go his hold of Jerome, he throws out his
hands vehemently, and thereby pushes him
against the scene.)

Jer. O! I am stunn'd! my head is crack'd in twain:

Your honour does forget how old I am.

And my soul shudder'd at the horrid brink,
I would not flinch.-Fy, this recalling nature!
O that his sever'd limbs were strew'd in air,
So as I saw it not!

Enter REZENVELT behind from the glass door. DE MON-
FORT turns round, and on seeing him starts back, then
drawing his sword, rushes furiously upon him.
Detested robber! now all forms are over;
Now open villany, now open hate!
Defend thy life!

Rez. De Monfort, thou art mad.

De Mon. Speak not, but draw. Now for thy hated life!

(They fight: Rezen velt parries his thrusts with great skill, and at last disarms him.)

Then take my life, black fiend, for hell assists thee.

Rez. No, Monfort, but I'll take away your sword,

De Mon. Well, well, the wall is harder than I Not as a mark of disrespect to you,

wist.

Begone, and whine within.

[Exrr Jerome, with a sad, rueful countenance. De Monfort comes forward to the front of the stage, and makes a long pause, expressive of great agony of mind.)

It must be so: each passing circumstance;
Her hasty journey here; her keen distress
Whene'er my soul's abhorrence I express'd;
Ay, and that damned reconciliation,
With tears extorted from me; O, too well!
All, all too well bespeak the shameful tale.

I should have thought of heaven and hell conjoin'd,
The morning star mix'd with infernal fire,
Ere I had thought of this-

Hell's blackest magic, in the midnight hour,
With horrid spells and incantation dire,
Such combination opposite, unseemly,
of fair and loathsome, excellent and base,
Did ne'er produce-But every thing is possible,
So as it may my misery enhance!

O! I did love her with such pride of soul!
When other men, in gay pursuit of love,
Each beauty follow'd, by her side I stay'd
Far prouder of a brother's station there,
Than all the favours favour'd lovers boast.
We quarrell'd once, and when I could no more
The alter'd coldness of her eye endure,

I slipp'd o' tip-toe to her chamber door;

His servant told me,

De Mon. How! is he gone so soon?
Ser.
He was in haste to go; as night comes on,
And at the evening hour he purposes

To visit some old friend, whose lonely mansion
Stands a short mile beyond the farther wood,
In which a convent is of holy nuns
Who chant this night a requiem to the soul
Of a departed sister. For so well
He loves such solemn music, he has order'd
His horses onward by the usual road,
Meaning on foot to cross the wood alone.

And when she ask'd who gently knock'd-0! O! So says his knave. Good may it do him, sooth! Who could have thought of this?

(Throws himself into a chair, covers his face with
his hand, and bursts into tears. After some
time he starts up from his seat furiously.)
Hell's direst torment seize the infernal villain!
Detested of my soul! I will have vengeance!
I'll crush thy swelling pride--I'll still thy vaunt-
ing-

I'll do a deed of blood!-Why shrink I thus ?
If, by some spell or magic sympathy,
Piercing the lifeless figure on that wall
Could pierce his bosom too, would I not cast it?

|

I would not walk through those wild dells alone
For all his wealth. For there, as I have heard,
Foul murders have been done, and ravens scream,
And things unearthly, stalking through the night,
Have scared the lonely traveller from his wits.
(De Monfort stands fixed in thought.)
I've ta'en your mare, an' please you, from her field,
And wait your farther orders.

(De Monfort heeds him not.)
Her hoofs are sound, and where the saddle gall'd,
Begins to mend. What further must be done?
(De Monfort still weeds him not.)

(Throwing a dagger against the wall.) | His honour heeds me not. Why should I stay? De Mon. (eagerly, as he is going.) He goes

Shall groans and blood affright me? No, I'll do it. ough gasping life beneath my pressure heaved,

alone, saidst thou?

SCENE III-MOONLIGHT. A WILD PATH IN A
WOOD, SHADED WITH TREES.

Enter DE MONFORT, with a strong expression of disquiet,
mixed with fear, upon his face, looking behind him,
and bending his ear to the ground, as if he listened to
something.

I've leant my back against some knotted oak,
And loudly mimick'd him, till to my call
He answer would return, and through the gloom,
We friendly converse held.

Between me and the star-bespangled sky,
Those aged oaks their crossing branches wave,
And through them looks the pale and placid moon.
How like a crocodile, or winged snake,
Yon sailing cloud bears on its dusky length!
And now transformed by the passing wind,
Methinks it seems a flying Pegasus.
Ay, but a shapeless band of blacker hue
Come swiftly after.-

A hollow murmuring wind sounds through the

trees;

I hear it from afar; this bodes a storm.
I must not linger here-

(A bell heard at some distance.)

The convent bell.

"Tis distant still: it tells their hour of prayer. It sends a solemn sound upon the breeze,

De Mon. How hollow groans the earth beneath That, to a fearful superstitious mind,

my tread!

Is there an echo here? Methinks it sounds

As though some heavy footstep follow'd me

I will advance no farther.

Deep settled shadows rest across the path,
And thickly-tangled boughs o'erhang this spot.
O that a tenfold gloom did cover it!

That midst the murky darkness I might strike;
As in the wild confusion of a dream,
Things horrid, bloody, terrible do pass,

As though they pass'd not; nor impress the mind
With the fix'd clearness of reality.

(An owl is heard screaming near him.) (Starting.) What sound is that?

In such a scene, would like a death-knell come.
[EXIT.

ACT V.

SCENE I. THE INSIDE OF A CONVENT CHAPEL, OF
OLD GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE, ALMOST DARK: TWO
TORCHES ONLY ARE SEEN AT A DISTANCE, BURNING
OVER A NEWLY-COVERED GRAVE. LIGHTNING IS
SEEN FLASHING THROUGH THE WINDOWS, AND
THUNDER HEARD, WITH THE SOUND OF WIND
BEATING UPON THE BUILDING.

Enter two MONKS.

1st Monk. The storm increases: hark how
dismally

(Listens, and the owl cries again.)
It is the screech owl's cry. It howls along the cloisters. How goes time?
2d Monk. It is the hour: I hear them near at
hand:

Foul bird of night! what spirit guides thee here?
Art thou instinctive drawn to scenes of horror?
I've heard of this.
(Pauses and listens.)
How those fall'n leaves so rustle on the path,
With whispering noise, as though the earth around

me

Did utter secret things!

The distant river too, bears to mine ear

A dismal wailing. O mysterious night!
Thou art not silent; many tongues hast thou.

A distant gathering blast sounds through the wood,
And dark clouds fleetly hasten o'er the sky:
O! that a storm would rise, a raging storm;
Amidst the roar of warring elements

I'd lift my hand and strike! but this pale light,
The calm distinctness of each stilly thing,
Is terrible. (Starting.) Footsteps are near-
He comes he comes! I'll watch him farther on-
I cannot do it here.
[EXIT.

Enter REZENVELT, and continues his way slowly from
the bottom of the stage: as he advances to the front,
the owl screams, he stops and listens, and the owl
screams again.

Rez. Ha! does the night-bird greet me on my way?

How much his hooting is in harmony

With such a scene as this! I like it well.

Oft when a boy, at the still twilight hour,

And when the solemn requiem has been sung
For the departed sister, we'll retire.
Yet, should this tempest still more violent grow,
We'll beg a friendly shelter till the morn.

1st Monk. See, the procession enters: let us join. (The organ strikes up a solemn prelude.) Enter a procession of NUNS, with the ABBESS, bearing torches. After compassing the grave twice, and remaining there some time, the organ plays a grand dirge, whilst they stand round the grave.

THE BURIAL.

Departed soul, whose poor remains
This hallow'd lonely grave contains;
Whose passing storm of life is o'er,
Whose pains and sorrows are no more;
Bless'd be thou with the bless'd above!
Where all is joy, and purity, and love.

Let HIM, in might and mercy dread,
Lord of the living and the dead;
In whom the stars of heaven rejoice,
And the ocean lifts its voice;
Thy spirit, purified, to glory raise

To sing with holy saints his everlasting praise!

Departed soul, who in this earthly scene
Hast our lowly sister been,

Swift be thy way to where the blessed dwell!
Until we meet thee there, farewell! farewell'

2 G

350

Enter a young PENSIONER, with a wild, terrified look, her hair and dress al scattered, an rushes forward amongst them.

Abb. Why comest thou here, with such disorder'd looks,

To break upon our sad solemnity?

Pen. O! I did hear through the receding blast,
Such horrid cries! they made my blood run chill.
Abb. 'Tis but the varied voices of the storm,
Which many times will sound like distant screams;
It has deceived thee.

Pen. O no, for twice it call'd, so loudly call'd,
With horrid strength, beyond the pitch of nature;
And murder! murder! was the dreadful cry.
A third time it return'd with feeble strength,
But o' the sudden ceased, as though the words
Were smother'd rudely in the grappled throat,
And all was still again, save the wild blast
Which at a distance growl'd-

O! it will never from my mind depart!
That dreadful cry, all i' the instant still'd:
For then, so near, some horrid deed was done,
And none to rescue.

Abb. Where didst thou hear it?
Pen.

came,

Turning my feeble lantern from the wind,

Its light upon a dreadful visage gleam'd,
Which paused and look'd upon me as it pass'd.
But such a look, such wildness of despair,

In the higher cells, Such horror-strain'd features, never yet

As now a window, open'd by the storm,
I did attempt to close.

Did earthly visage show. I shrunk and shudder'd.
If a damn'd spirit may to earth return,

1st Monk. I wish our brother Bernard were ar- I've seen it.

rived;

He is upon his way.

Abb. Be not alarm'd; it still may be deception. "Tis meet we finish our solemnity,

Nor show neglect unto the honour'd dead.
(Gives a sign, and the organ plays again: just
as it ceases a loud knocking is heard without.)
Abb. Ha! who may this be? hush!

(Knocking heard again.) 2d Monk. It is the knock of one in furious haste, Hush! hush! What footsteps come? Ha! brother Bernard.

Enter BERNARD, bearing a lantern.

Bern. Was there any blood upon it?

Thom. Nay, as it pass'd, I did not see its form;
Naught but the horrid face.

Bern. It is the murderer.
1st Monk,

What way went it?
Thom. I durst not look till I had pass'd it far.
Then turning round, upon the rising bank,
I saw, between me and the paly sky,
A dusky form, tossing and agitated.

I stopp'd to mark it; but, in truth, I found
'Twas but a sapling bending to the wind,
And so I onward hied, and look'd no more.
1st Monk. But we must look to't; we must fol-
low it:

1st Monk. See, what a look he wears of stiffen'd Our duty so commands. (To 2d Monk.) Will you

fear!

Where hast thou been, good brother?
Bern. I've seen a horrid sight!

(All gathering round him and speaking at once.)
What hast thou scen?
Bern. As on I hasten'd, bearing thus my light,
Across the path, not fifty paces off,

I saw a murder'd corse, stretch'd on his back,
Smear'd with new blood, as though but newly slain.
Abb. A man or woman was't?

Bern.
A man, a man!
Abb. Didst thou examine if within its breast
There yet were lodged some small remains of life?
Was it quite dead?

Bern.

Naught in the grave is deader.
I look'd but once, yet life did never lodge
In any form so laid.-

A chilly horror seized me, and I fled.

1st Monk. And does the face seem all unknown to thee?

Bern. The face! I would not on the face have look'd

For e'en a kingdom's wealth, for all the world!

Bern.

go, brother?

(To Bernard.) And you, good Bernard?
If I needs must go.
1st Monk. Come, we must all go.
Abb.

Heaven be with you, then! [EXEUNT Monks. Pen. Amen! amen! Good heaven be with us all!

O what a dreadful night!

Abb. Daughters, retire; peace to the peaceful
dead!

Our solemn ceremony now is finish'd. [EXEUNT.
SCENE II.-A LARGE ROOM IN THE CONVENT, VERY
DARK.

Enter the ABBESS, young PENSIONER bearing a light,
and several NUNS; she sets down the light on a table
at the bottom of the stage, so that the room is still very
gloomy.

Abb. They have been longer absent than I thought;

I fear he has escaped them.

1st Nun.

Heaven forbid !

Bern. (without.) Open the door, I pray thee, Of sense, and motion, and humanity!

Hast thou not cover'd it?

Bern. (to Thom.) Forbear, my brother, for thou
seest right well

He is not in a state to answer thee.
Let us retire and leave him for a while.
These windows are with iron grated o'er;
He is secured, and other duty calls.

Thom. Then let it be.

Bern. (to Monks, &c.) Come, let us all depart.
'EXEUNT Abbess and Nuns, followed by the
Monks. One Monk lingering a little behind.)
De Mon. All gone! (Perceiving the Monk.) O
stay thou here!

Monk.
It must not be.
De Mon. I'll give thee gold; I'll make thee rich
in gold,

If thou wilt stay e'en but a little while.
Monk. I must not, must not stay.
De Mon.

I do conjure thee!
Monk. I dare not stay with thee. (Going.)
De Mon.

And wilt thou go? (Catching hold of him eagerly.)

Pen. Yes, it is past! art thou not he who did it? O! throw thy cloak upon this grisly form!
(De Monfort utters a deep groan, and is supported The unclosed eyes do stare upon me still.
from falling by the Monks. A noise is heard | O do not leave me thus !
without.)

Abb. What noise is this of heavy lumbering steps,

Like men who with a weighty burden come?
Bern. It is the body: I have orders given
That here it should be laid.

[Monk covers the body, and EXIT.

De Mon. (alone, looking at the covered body, but at a distance.) Alone with thee! but thou art nothing now.

'Tis done, 'tis number'd with the things o'erpast;