ÆäÀÌÁö À̹ÌÁö
PDF
ePub

upon a lofty room, gaily furnished; a pert lady's-maid moving about the room, with all the pretension and bustle of her class; and felt as well that her head ached to a degree that almost made her incapable of submitting herself to the tender mercies of that most startling of innovators, a London lady's-maid !

[blocks in formation]

SCENE. An apartment in Sir Henry Trevor's house. Sir Henry discovered seated at a table, reading; Harcourt, his secretary, at another, writing.

Sir Henry (laying down the book).-Harcourt, a word.

Harcourt (rising).—I'm all attention, sir.

Sir Henry (rising).—I have observed of late, and, with much concern, Thine eyes fixed on my daughter Julia's face,

With such a rivetted intensity

Thou didst not mark mine eyes the load-star path

Of thine did follow! Sir, what means that gaze?

Harcourt (eagerly).-Is she offended? Hath she noticed it?

Sir Henry, tell me! is Miss Trevor pained?

I did not know I looked, sir,-is she vexed?

Outraged at my presumption?

Sir Henry.-I know not.

Harcourt. She hath not then complained?

Sir Henry (with warmth).-Thou lov'st my child!

Young man, young man! bethink thee,-how I took

Thee in mine house; how I have trusted thee!
Bethink thee what thou wast, would'st be again,
Flung back upon thy former nothingness!

Harcourt.-I do, I do. I never have forgot,—
Nay, lest I should (inebriate with thy gifts),

I've kept the remnants of my origin,

Like him, in Eastern tale, his shepherd's crook;
To visit daily, when raised to a height

His virtue claimed, by a discerning prince,
Not to forget the beggar that he was!

I know thy bounty is a robe of state

Fortune hath lent me, and which fortune may
E'en strip me of, in moment of caprice;

Therefore, I wear it only as her loan,

With grateful wariness, for rays prepared.

Sir Henry.-But, of my daughter! How dar'st thou to think

Harcourt.-I never thought of her, nor thought of love,

Till one day strolling in a verdant mead,—

Where fatt❜ning kine were browsing at their ease,
Half buried in luxuriant pasturage,

One, younger than the rest, or mettlesome
From its high keeping (still, I think, in sport),
Or teased with gadding fly, that sultry day;
With tail erect, and shaking, threat'ning head,
Towards thy daughter ran, with wanton speed.
Her hands were full of flow'rs, which she flung down,
And with a faint scream, like a note of song,
Her white arms sudden round my neck she twined,
With the spontaneous confidence of fear.
Then, when I felt her breath upon my cheek;
Then, when I felt her heart beat close to mine;
Then, when I felt her circling arms me draw
Nearer and nearer to her throbbing breast,
Which palpitated with its strong alarm,—
Ah! when, because her face was hid on mine,
I was constrained to fling my head far back
To look on it, I saw how fair it was,-

How soft her eyes,-how beautiful her cheek,—

How smiled her sweet lips, though bright tears still hung
Upon the silken fringes of her lids,-

I felt a transformation in my soul.

I was no more the same,—the world was changed,

And hath been since that hour, and ever will.

Oh! such an accident might well awake

Love in another's heart; as will be seen

In any book, that its true hist'ry tells!
Sir Henry.-Well.

Harcourt.-I've little more to weary thine ear with.

I know not what I did, nor what I said;

But she was reassured, and gath'ring up

The flow'rs she had let fall,-but with one hand;

The other still I held (I tell thee all).

For, had I not, I should have deemed the whole
A dream of ecstacy young seraph weaves,
When poet sings of love and happiness.

[blocks in formation]

With head averted from me, home we came,
As slowly as we could; she gazing still
Upon the poesy, while I nothing saw,

Save the deep blush which rested on her cheek,
And the long lashes of her shunning eye.
Yet, did she quite forget I held her hand,
And I also forgot it to resign,-

So lost was I in the deliciousness
Of that bewild'ring walk!

Sir Henry.-Hast thou revealed,

Harcourt, thy love to her?

Harcourt.-Never! nor would,

Though secrecy should kill!

Sir Henry (going, hastily).-Stay here till I return,-I'll not be long.

Be sure you stay.

Harcourt (solus).—What can he mean? Indignant at the story I have told,

Is he

And gone to meditate some easy mode
To rid him of the danger of disgrace?
Let him but speak, and I am instant gone!
I'd scorn to stay, though it is heaven to be
So near to Julia, if he could suspect
Me base enough to undermine her peace.
(Julia heard singing.)
Oh! that angelic voice! I dare not stay!
She's coming here! I must appear absorbed !

[Exit Sir Henry.

(Snatches up a book, seats himself, as if reading.)

Enter Julia, sees Harcourt, and stops; he rises.

Julia.--My father sent me for a book, 'twas on

Ah! 'tis the volume you are reading, sir,

Harcourt.-I am not reading it.

Julia.-You seemed engrossed.

Harcourt.-Mine eyes were on the page, but yet, my thoughts Wandered far, far from it!

Julia,-It is the same with me,

Now, frequently, when I attempt to read.

Harcourt (with warmth).-Do you, too, think like me? Oh! do your thoughts

Stray to the past?

Julia (rather retreating).-I'd better take the book,

My father waits.

Harcourt (sorrowfully).-Have I offended thee?
Julia.-Oh, no! Oh, no! but-but, I feared I had

Said more than prudence should.

Harcourt.-Why, you said nought!

Julia.—What! not about the past ?

Harcourt.-Dost think of it?

Dost thou remember one exquisite day,

(It is the brightest in my memory),

When we two saunt'ring in the summer's noon,
And thou wast frighted?

Julia (archly).-Dost thou treasure up
That which gave me such pain?
Harcourt.-No, lady, no!

I treasure but the pleasure of that fear!
Ah! leave me, or I shall indeed forget
The sacred promise to thy father made.

Julia (with surprise).—My father! promise! what could he extort
Such solemn promise for? Doth it concern
Thyself alone? Thy future welfare,-peace?

Harcourt (energetically).—It doth. But, pray
Julia (reproachfully).-And thinkest thou that I,
His daughter, takes no int'rest in such theme?
It is unkind in both, to make me strange

To the good fortune he intendeth thee!

Harcourt.-Not good! not good! or you should learn it straight.
Julia (tenderly).—If bad, be sure my woman's sympathy

Will lighten its rude burden. Tell it me!

What thou didst promise? Come! I cannot wait!

I long to show how I can pity thee!

Harcourt (irresolutely).-Was ever man so tempted to betray

The holy confidence reposed in him?

O, lady, do not urge me, I implore;

My death might be in one imprudent word!

Julia (starting).—Thy death?

Harcourt.-Yes! banishment from thee is death!

The truth escaped me in my eagerness

To hide it from thee; then, then hear it all.

Julia, I know not whether he compelled,
Or I did volunteer,-it matters not,-
But I did promise, and I meant it too,
As He's my judge, now hearing what I say,

Never to tell thee of the love I have!

Julia (energetically).-Thy love! thy love! Harcourt! Thou lov'st me,

then?

Harcourt. To adoration! How dare I proceed?

But, but that day (hast thou forgotten it?)

When, in the agony of thy alarm,

Thou didst cast round my neck those snowy arms,

Thou didst cast round mine heart a chain also,

Me to destruction drawing, and to thee!

Julia (flinging her arms round him).-No! no! these arms so weak in terror then,

Shall now be strong to save thee from all ill.

Harcourt (embracing her).-Now let thy father come! I can endure The utmost penalty he inflict;

may

I shall feel nothing, after this delight!

(Eater SIR HENRY.)

Sir Henry (to her).-Why, how now, truant! where's the book I want ? (To him) my daughter on thy bosom? in thine arms?

Is this thy promise?

Julia (running to him).-Oh! 'twas I, indeed,

Forced him to break it, trying ev'ry mean

To tempt the probity, unshaken still,

But for my importunity and taunts.

Harcourt (eagerly).-No! no! the fault is mine! I did not strive

[blocks in formation]

Harcourt.-You, Sir Henry, in what way ?

Sir Henry. In this, I knew your honourable love
From its first budding, and have watched its growth
E'en to its present blossoming. I sent

My daughter here, to test the strength of it.
I heard her tempt,-heard how you did resist,-
And, my heart melting with the by-gone time,
When her sweet mother tempted me the same;
(I being then a student, poor as thou,)

And yielding to the influence mem'ı y hath,

When she gives back our youthful days once more, hither came, to tell thee Julia's thine.

Harcourt (in a transport).—Mine! Julia mine! excuse me, I must

weep.

The tear, that sorrow never yet could wiing,

Flows freely at this overpow'ring joy,

How meanly I must show in both your eyes!

Julia (laying her head on his bosom).-Dear Harcourt, no.

Sir Henry (taking his hand).-How nobly, rather say!

The manly tear a pure affection wakes,

Ne'er shames the heart, that melts bencath its sway!
It is a richer dower for my child

Than all the wealth I can on her bestow.

But she is weeping, too! Oh, foolish things

And yet, in sooth, 'tis very natural.

LIBRARY

« ÀÌÀü°è¼Ó »