PART I.
SCENE I.
Wife . 'Tis twelve o'clock, and no news from the City
Oh! had he been acquitted, many hundreds
Would have been hurried hither in their joy,
Headlong into the house of misery,
To shout the tidings of salvation there.
But now that he is doom'd unto the death,
They fear to bring with black and silent faces
The sentence of despair. O God! to think
That all this long interminable night,
Which I have pass'd in thinking on two words —
" Guilty " — " Not guilty! " like one happy moment
O'er many a head hath flown unheeded by —
O'er happy sleepers dreaming in their bliss
Of bright to-morrows — or far happier still,
With deep breath buried in forgetfulness.
O all the dismallest images of death
Did swim before my eyes! The cruel face
Of that most wicked old man, whom in youth
I once saw in the city — that wan wretch,
The public Executioner, rose up
Close by my husband's side, and in his hand
A most accursed halter which he shook
In savage mockery — and then grimly smiled,
Pointing to a scaffold with his shrivell'd fingers,
Where, on a sudden, my own husband stood
Drest all in white, and with a fixed face
Far whiter still — I felt as if in hell,
And shriek'd out till my weeping children rose
In terror from their beds.
Friend . 'Twas but a dream.
Wife . No, I was broad awake — but still the vision
Stood steadfastly before me — till I sank
Upon my knees in prayer — and Jesus Christ
Had pity on me — and it came no more.
Friend . Full many a sleepless eye did weep for thee
Last night, and for thy husband. Think it not
That pity dwells but in the hearts of kindred.
Even strangers weep — they think him innocent,
And prayers from many who never saw his face,
For him have gone to heaven — they will be heard.
Wife . Oh! what are prayers, and shriekings of despair,
Or frantic outcries of insanity,
Unto the ear of the great dreadful God!
Can we believe that prayers of ours will change
Th' Almighty's steadfast purpose! Things like us!
Poor miserable worms! — All night I cried,
" Save, save my husband, God! O save my husband! "
But back the words return'd unto my heart,
And the dead silence of the senseless walls
With horrid mockery in the darkness stood
Between me and my God.
Friend . Yet it is written,
" Ask, and it shall be given thee. "
Wife . Blessed words!
And did they come from his most holy lips
Who cannot lie?
Friend . They are our Saviour's words.
Wife . Joy, joy unto the wretched! Hear me then,
O Son of God! while near my cradled infant,
Sleeping in ignorance of its Father's sorrows,
I fall down on my knees before thy face!
Hear, hear the broken voice of misery!
" Ask, and it shall be given thee! " Holy One!
I ask, beseech, implore, and supplicate,
That Thou wilt save my husband, and henceforth
Will I an alter'd creature walk this earth
With Thee, and none but Thee, most Holy Being,
For ever in my heart, my inmost heart.
Friend . Is not my friend already comforted?
Wife . The heavy burden of despair is lighten'd.
In this my hour of tribulation
My Saviour's words return upon my heart,
Like breath of Spring reviving the dead flowers
In our sweet little garden.
Friend . Heaven bless thee,
A smile is on thy cheek, a languid smile!
Wife . I know not why I smiled — a sudden gleam
Of hope did flash across me. — Hark! a footstep!
Friend . 'Tis the dog stirring on his straw.
Wife . Poor Luath!
Thy kind affectionate heart doth miss thy master.
Mary! the poor dumb creature walks about
As if some sickness wore him, always wandering
Round, round the house, and all the neighbouring fields,
Seeking the absent. He will disappear
For hours together, and come home at night
Wearied and joyless — for he has been running
No doubt o'er all the hills, and round the lochs,
Trying to find his master's well-known footsteps.
Then will he look with dim complaining eyes
Full in my face, and with a wailing whine
Goes to his straw, and there at once lies down
Without a gambol or a loving frisk
Among the little children. Many a Christian
Might take a lesson from that poor dumb creature.
— When Frank comes home — how Luath will partake
The general happiness! When Frank comes home!
What am I raving of? When Frank comes home!
That blank and weeping face too plainly says,
" That hour will never be! " Look not so black,
Unless you wish to kill me with despair.
Friend . I wish'd not to appear so sorrowful.
Within the silent grave my husband sleeps,
And I am reconciled unto the doom
Of widowhood — this Babe doth reconcile me.
But thine is lying in the fearful darkness
Of an uncertain fate — and I now feel
A beating at my heart — a cold sick flutter
That sends this black expression to my face,
Although it nothing mean.
Wife . O that some bird,
Some beautiful bird, with soft and purple feathers,
Would sail into this room, in silence floating
All round these blessed walls, with the boon of life
Beneath its outspread wings — a holy letter
In mercy written by an angel's hand,
In bright words speaking of deliverance!
— A raven! hear that dismal raven croak
Of death and judgment! See the Demon sitting
On the green before the window — croak, croak, croak!
'Tis the Evil-One in likeness of that bird
Enjoying there my mortal misery!
Boy . 'Tis not a raven, mother — the tame crow
Of cousin William, that comes hopping here
With its clipt wings — ay, almost every day —
My father himself oft fed that bird, and put it
Upon my head, where it would sit and caw,
And flutter with its wings, — and all the while
My father laugh'd — it was so comical,
He said, to see that black and sooty crow
Sitting on my white hair.
Wife . Your father laugh'd!
Boy . Oh! that he were come back from prison — Mother!
Last night I fought a boy who said in sport
That my father would be hang'd.
Wife . The little wretch!
What did he say?
Boy . That my father would be hang'd!
Wife . O God! the senseless child did speak the truth!
He hath heard his parents talking of the trial,
And in his careless levity repeated
The shocking words — ay — laughing all the while,
Then running to his play — perhaps intending
To ask the master for a holiday
To see the execution. Cursed brat!
What place is sacred held from cruelty,
When it doth leer within an infant's eyes
And harden his glad heart!
Boy . I beat him, mother.
He is a lying boy — he ne'er speaks truth —
And when my father is come home again,
I will ask him if he recollects that saying!
No, I will look at him, and pass him by
With a proud smiling face — I will forgive him
And shake hands with him in my happiness.
Wife . The sun is shining — children, go to play
For an hour out-of-doors.
Boy . Come, sisters — come!
We will go out-of-doors — but not to play.
Come to the little green-plat in the wood,
And say our prayers together for our father.
Then if we play — 'twill be some gentle game,
And all the while we will think upon our father
Coming out of that dark cell. — Come, sisters — come!
Friend . Children so good as these must not be orphans!
Yet I am glad to see thy soul prepared
Even for the worst.
Wife . My soul prepared for the worst!
No; that can never be — ( goes to the window ,) — A cloud of thunder
Is hanging o'er the city! black as night!
I hear it rumbling — what a hollow growl!
O dreadful building where the Judge is sitting
In judgment on my husband! All the darkness
Of the disturbed heavens is on its walls.
— And now the fatal sentence is pronouncing.
The Court at once is hush'd — and every eye
Bent on my husband! " Hang'd till you are dead,
" Hang'd by the neck! " — As thou dost hope for mercy,
O savage Judge! recall these wicked words!
For thy own wife who waits for thee at home
Is not more innocent than my poor husband!
Friend . Mercy is with the King — and he is merciful!
Wife . What! what! do you believe an innocent man
Was e'er condemn'd to die! — To die for murder!
— Did mercy ever reach one so condemn'd?
Friend . Yes! I have read of one wretch pardoned
Even on the scaffold — where the light of truth
Struck, like the sunshine suddenly burst forth,
And tinged with fearful joy the ghastly face
Of him who had no thought but that of death.
And back unto his widow-wife went he,
Like a ghost from the grave — and there he sat
Before the eyes of her who knew him not,
But took him for a vision, and fell down
In a death-fit of wilder'd happiness.
Wife . Mercy dwells with the King — and he is merciful!
O blest for ever be the hoary head
Of our kind-hearted King! — I will away
And fling myself down before his royal feet!
Who knows but that the monarch in his palace
Will see within his soul this wretched cottage,
And, like a saving angel, with one word
Breathe over it the air of paradise.
— Mercy is with the King — and he is merciful!
Friend . Fortune is blind — but justice eagle-eyed,
He will not be condemn'd.
Wife . Give me some water!
My soul is faint with thirst! — Do they not say
That men upon the scaffold call for water?
— " Give me a glass of water! " 'tis his voice —
My husband's voice! — No! he is not condemn'd!
A thousand voices from these silent walls
Cry out " he shall not die! " —
Enter a young Clergyman .
Clergyman . Methinks that God hath shed a calm to-day
Over the house of mourning. Is it so?
Wife . Thy presence brings a calm. Oh! one like thee
Should bear good tidings.
Clergyman . Last night in his cell
I saw your husband after his long trial,
And sure I am that never did he sit
Even in this room among his family
With more composed face, or stiller soul,
Than he sat there upon his bed of straw,
With fetters on his limbs.
Wife . Fetters on his limbs!
Clergyman . He felt them not — or if he faintly felt them,
It was not in his soul — for it was free
As a lark in heaven.
Wife . He was not shedding tears!
Clergyman . No — with a calm and quiet face he look'd at me,
And in his eyes there was a steadfast light
By grief unclouded, and undimm'd by tears.
So was it while the blameless man was speaking
Of himself and of his trial: then he spake
Of those he loved, and as he breath'd the name
Of this sweet farm " Lea-side! " then truly tears
Did force their way, but soon he wiped them off,
And raised to heaven a clear unfaltering prayer
For his wife and children — the most touching prayer,
I think, that ever flow'd from human lips!
Wife . Is there no hope, then, after all, of life?
Clergyman . Yes! there is hope — though I am forced to say
That he doth stand upon the darksome brink
Of danger and of death.
Wife . I hear thy words,
And I can bear them! For my suffering spirit
Hath undergone its pains, and I am left,
Even like a woman after travail, weak —
But in a slumbrous quiet that succeeds
The hour of agony.
Clergyman . My friend! behold
How quietly that worn-out wretch doth sleep.
Friend . Calm as an infant!
Clergyman . Even too deep for dreams!
How meekly beautiful her face doth smile
As from a soul that never had known grief!
Methinks that God, in that profound repose,
Will breathe submission through her innocent soul,
And she who lay down with a mortal's weakness
May wake in power and glory like an angel
Whom trouble cannot touch.
Enter the Children weeping.
Friend . What ails ye, my sweet children — but speak softly —
Your mother is asleep.
Girl . O tell it, brother!
For my heart beats so that I cannot speak!
Boy . When we were coming homewards down the lane
That leads from the Fox-wood, that old dumb Woman
Who tells folk's fortunes, from behind the hedge
Leapt out upon the road, before our faces,
And with that dreadful barking voice of hers,
And grinning mouth, and red and fiery eyes,
All the while shaking at us her black hair,
She took a rope of rushes and did tie it
Like a halter round her neck, and pull'd it tight
Till she grew black in the face! Then shook her hand
Against our cottage, while my father's name
Seem'd half-pronounced in that most hideous gabble.
Then with one spring she leapt behind the hedge,
Where, as we ran away, we heard her laughing!
And oh! a long, loud, cruel laugh it was!
As if she laugh'd to know that our poor father
Was now condemn'd to die!
Friend . O wicked wretch! the silence of her soul
Is fill'd with cruel thoughts — even like a mad-house
With the din of creatures raving. None can guess
The wrath of this dumb savage!
Wife . Thou silent, speechless messenger of death!
Louder thy dumbness than a roaring cannon!
Away — away — thou fury, from my sight!
— God save me from that woman! or deliver
Her soul from the devils that torment her thus!
Her face was black with death — a hellish joy
Shone through her idiot eyes — as if a fiend
Had taken that rueful body for a dwelling,
And from these glazed sockets loved to look
With a horrid leer upon us mortal creatures,
A leer of unrepentant wickedness,
Hating us because we are the work of God!
Boy . I wish that she were dead and buried.
Wife . O now that she is gone, hope leaps again
Within my heart — her hideous mummery
Must not be suffer'd to confound me so.
And yet, they say, that she did prophesy,
With the wild motion of her witch-like hands,
That fatal sinking of the ferry-boat
In which whole families perish'd. Hush! I hear
The tread of feet — it is the Messenger
Come from the City.
Wife . Speak, speak instantly —
Speak! Why do you come here unless you speak?
His face doth seem composed.
Messenger . Poor Francis Russel!
Now all is over with him — he is condemn'd!
Wife . What did he say? — Why art thou gabbling thus,
As none can understand? — Give me that letter.
" They have found me guilty, Mary! trust in God. "
Messenger . I cannot bear the sight — good folks, farewell.
Wife . " My Mary, trust in God. " I cannot trust
In God! — Oh! wilt thou in thy wrath allow
My innocent husband thus to be destroyed? — —
I cannot trust in God! O cursed for ever
Be all the swarm of idiot witnesses,
Jury and Judge, who thus have murder'd him,
And may his blood for generations lie
Heavy on their children's souls!
Girl . O brother! see
'Tis our poor Father's writing. Yet his hand
Seems never to have shaken — Innocence,
He used to say, did make small children fearless,
And it will make him happy in his prison,
Till we rush in, and wait till he is pardon'd,
Which will be...
Wife . Never will he leave his dungeon
But for the scaffold. Would that I were dead,
And all my children corpses at my side,
Never again to wake...for Mercy is not
In heaven or earth. There is no Providence!
Clergyman . These are affecting words from one so good
And truly pious. But our human nature,
When touch'd at the heart by Misery's icy hand,
Oft shrieks out with a wild impiety,
Against its better will. Yet that shrill cry
Is heard in heaven with pity, and on earth
Is often follow'd by the calm still voice
Of resignation melting into prayer.
Wife , ( starting up .) Where art thou? What impenetrable cloud.
Hides thee from justice, thou grim murderer!
On whom the dead man's blood, the quick man's tears,
Now call with twofold vengeance? Drive him forth,
O Fear, into the light, and I shall know him,
Soon as my eye meets his. His very name
Will burst instinctively from my big heart,
And he will answer to it. Where art thou
With thy red hands, that never may be cleansed?
Friend . 'Tis five weeks to the day of execution,
And he may be discover'd — —
Wife . Execution!
And will they make my husband mount a ladder
Up to a scaffold? May he rather die
Of anguish in his cell! — Where are my children?
— O they are weeping even upon my breast!
Would they had ne'er been born! — Eternal shame
Will lie upon them! lovely as they are,
And good, and pure, and innocent as angels,
They will be scorn'd and hated! — Save my husband,
Great God of Mercy! Jesus! save my husband.
O many thousand miles of clouds and air
Lie between me and God! and my faint voice
Returns unto the earth, while the still heavens,
Like the deep sea above a drowning head,
Mind not the stifled groans of agony!
Clergyman . I will go to his cell and pray with him.
He had foreseen his doom, — and be assured
That he is sitting in the eye of God,
With meek composure, not in agony.
The Children . O take us with you!
Clergyman . For a while, farewell.
The wife's heart now is like a heavy cloud,
But tears will lighten it — God be with you all!
SCENE I.
Wife . 'Tis twelve o'clock, and no news from the City
Oh! had he been acquitted, many hundreds
Would have been hurried hither in their joy,
Headlong into the house of misery,
To shout the tidings of salvation there.
But now that he is doom'd unto the death,
They fear to bring with black and silent faces
The sentence of despair. O God! to think
That all this long interminable night,
Which I have pass'd in thinking on two words —
" Guilty " — " Not guilty! " like one happy moment
O'er many a head hath flown unheeded by —
O'er happy sleepers dreaming in their bliss
Of bright to-morrows — or far happier still,
With deep breath buried in forgetfulness.
O all the dismallest images of death
Did swim before my eyes! The cruel face
Of that most wicked old man, whom in youth
I once saw in the city — that wan wretch,
The public Executioner, rose up
Close by my husband's side, and in his hand
A most accursed halter which he shook
In savage mockery — and then grimly smiled,
Pointing to a scaffold with his shrivell'd fingers,
Where, on a sudden, my own husband stood
Drest all in white, and with a fixed face
Far whiter still — I felt as if in hell,
And shriek'd out till my weeping children rose
In terror from their beds.
Friend . 'Twas but a dream.
Wife . No, I was broad awake — but still the vision
Stood steadfastly before me — till I sank
Upon my knees in prayer — and Jesus Christ
Had pity on me — and it came no more.
Friend . Full many a sleepless eye did weep for thee
Last night, and for thy husband. Think it not
That pity dwells but in the hearts of kindred.
Even strangers weep — they think him innocent,
And prayers from many who never saw his face,
For him have gone to heaven — they will be heard.
Wife . Oh! what are prayers, and shriekings of despair,
Or frantic outcries of insanity,
Unto the ear of the great dreadful God!
Can we believe that prayers of ours will change
Th' Almighty's steadfast purpose! Things like us!
Poor miserable worms! — All night I cried,
" Save, save my husband, God! O save my husband! "
But back the words return'd unto my heart,
And the dead silence of the senseless walls
With horrid mockery in the darkness stood
Between me and my God.
Friend . Yet it is written,
" Ask, and it shall be given thee. "
Wife . Blessed words!
And did they come from his most holy lips
Who cannot lie?
Friend . They are our Saviour's words.
Wife . Joy, joy unto the wretched! Hear me then,
O Son of God! while near my cradled infant,
Sleeping in ignorance of its Father's sorrows,
I fall down on my knees before thy face!
Hear, hear the broken voice of misery!
" Ask, and it shall be given thee! " Holy One!
I ask, beseech, implore, and supplicate,
That Thou wilt save my husband, and henceforth
Will I an alter'd creature walk this earth
With Thee, and none but Thee, most Holy Being,
For ever in my heart, my inmost heart.
Friend . Is not my friend already comforted?
Wife . The heavy burden of despair is lighten'd.
In this my hour of tribulation
My Saviour's words return upon my heart,
Like breath of Spring reviving the dead flowers
In our sweet little garden.
Friend . Heaven bless thee,
A smile is on thy cheek, a languid smile!
Wife . I know not why I smiled — a sudden gleam
Of hope did flash across me. — Hark! a footstep!
Friend . 'Tis the dog stirring on his straw.
Wife . Poor Luath!
Thy kind affectionate heart doth miss thy master.
Mary! the poor dumb creature walks about
As if some sickness wore him, always wandering
Round, round the house, and all the neighbouring fields,
Seeking the absent. He will disappear
For hours together, and come home at night
Wearied and joyless — for he has been running
No doubt o'er all the hills, and round the lochs,
Trying to find his master's well-known footsteps.
Then will he look with dim complaining eyes
Full in my face, and with a wailing whine
Goes to his straw, and there at once lies down
Without a gambol or a loving frisk
Among the little children. Many a Christian
Might take a lesson from that poor dumb creature.
— When Frank comes home — how Luath will partake
The general happiness! When Frank comes home!
What am I raving of? When Frank comes home!
That blank and weeping face too plainly says,
" That hour will never be! " Look not so black,
Unless you wish to kill me with despair.
Friend . I wish'd not to appear so sorrowful.
Within the silent grave my husband sleeps,
And I am reconciled unto the doom
Of widowhood — this Babe doth reconcile me.
But thine is lying in the fearful darkness
Of an uncertain fate — and I now feel
A beating at my heart — a cold sick flutter
That sends this black expression to my face,
Although it nothing mean.
Wife . O that some bird,
Some beautiful bird, with soft and purple feathers,
Would sail into this room, in silence floating
All round these blessed walls, with the boon of life
Beneath its outspread wings — a holy letter
In mercy written by an angel's hand,
In bright words speaking of deliverance!
— A raven! hear that dismal raven croak
Of death and judgment! See the Demon sitting
On the green before the window — croak, croak, croak!
'Tis the Evil-One in likeness of that bird
Enjoying there my mortal misery!
Boy . 'Tis not a raven, mother — the tame crow
Of cousin William, that comes hopping here
With its clipt wings — ay, almost every day —
My father himself oft fed that bird, and put it
Upon my head, where it would sit and caw,
And flutter with its wings, — and all the while
My father laugh'd — it was so comical,
He said, to see that black and sooty crow
Sitting on my white hair.
Wife . Your father laugh'd!
Boy . Oh! that he were come back from prison — Mother!
Last night I fought a boy who said in sport
That my father would be hang'd.
Wife . The little wretch!
What did he say?
Boy . That my father would be hang'd!
Wife . O God! the senseless child did speak the truth!
He hath heard his parents talking of the trial,
And in his careless levity repeated
The shocking words — ay — laughing all the while,
Then running to his play — perhaps intending
To ask the master for a holiday
To see the execution. Cursed brat!
What place is sacred held from cruelty,
When it doth leer within an infant's eyes
And harden his glad heart!
Boy . I beat him, mother.
He is a lying boy — he ne'er speaks truth —
And when my father is come home again,
I will ask him if he recollects that saying!
No, I will look at him, and pass him by
With a proud smiling face — I will forgive him
And shake hands with him in my happiness.
Wife . The sun is shining — children, go to play
For an hour out-of-doors.
Boy . Come, sisters — come!
We will go out-of-doors — but not to play.
Come to the little green-plat in the wood,
And say our prayers together for our father.
Then if we play — 'twill be some gentle game,
And all the while we will think upon our father
Coming out of that dark cell. — Come, sisters — come!
Friend . Children so good as these must not be orphans!
Yet I am glad to see thy soul prepared
Even for the worst.
Wife . My soul prepared for the worst!
No; that can never be — ( goes to the window ,) — A cloud of thunder
Is hanging o'er the city! black as night!
I hear it rumbling — what a hollow growl!
O dreadful building where the Judge is sitting
In judgment on my husband! All the darkness
Of the disturbed heavens is on its walls.
— And now the fatal sentence is pronouncing.
The Court at once is hush'd — and every eye
Bent on my husband! " Hang'd till you are dead,
" Hang'd by the neck! " — As thou dost hope for mercy,
O savage Judge! recall these wicked words!
For thy own wife who waits for thee at home
Is not more innocent than my poor husband!
Friend . Mercy is with the King — and he is merciful!
Wife . What! what! do you believe an innocent man
Was e'er condemn'd to die! — To die for murder!
— Did mercy ever reach one so condemn'd?
Friend . Yes! I have read of one wretch pardoned
Even on the scaffold — where the light of truth
Struck, like the sunshine suddenly burst forth,
And tinged with fearful joy the ghastly face
Of him who had no thought but that of death.
And back unto his widow-wife went he,
Like a ghost from the grave — and there he sat
Before the eyes of her who knew him not,
But took him for a vision, and fell down
In a death-fit of wilder'd happiness.
Wife . Mercy dwells with the King — and he is merciful!
O blest for ever be the hoary head
Of our kind-hearted King! — I will away
And fling myself down before his royal feet!
Who knows but that the monarch in his palace
Will see within his soul this wretched cottage,
And, like a saving angel, with one word
Breathe over it the air of paradise.
— Mercy is with the King — and he is merciful!
Friend . Fortune is blind — but justice eagle-eyed,
He will not be condemn'd.
Wife . Give me some water!
My soul is faint with thirst! — Do they not say
That men upon the scaffold call for water?
— " Give me a glass of water! " 'tis his voice —
My husband's voice! — No! he is not condemn'd!
A thousand voices from these silent walls
Cry out " he shall not die! " —
Enter a young Clergyman .
Clergyman . Methinks that God hath shed a calm to-day
Over the house of mourning. Is it so?
Wife . Thy presence brings a calm. Oh! one like thee
Should bear good tidings.
Clergyman . Last night in his cell
I saw your husband after his long trial,
And sure I am that never did he sit
Even in this room among his family
With more composed face, or stiller soul,
Than he sat there upon his bed of straw,
With fetters on his limbs.
Wife . Fetters on his limbs!
Clergyman . He felt them not — or if he faintly felt them,
It was not in his soul — for it was free
As a lark in heaven.
Wife . He was not shedding tears!
Clergyman . No — with a calm and quiet face he look'd at me,
And in his eyes there was a steadfast light
By grief unclouded, and undimm'd by tears.
So was it while the blameless man was speaking
Of himself and of his trial: then he spake
Of those he loved, and as he breath'd the name
Of this sweet farm " Lea-side! " then truly tears
Did force their way, but soon he wiped them off,
And raised to heaven a clear unfaltering prayer
For his wife and children — the most touching prayer,
I think, that ever flow'd from human lips!
Wife . Is there no hope, then, after all, of life?
Clergyman . Yes! there is hope — though I am forced to say
That he doth stand upon the darksome brink
Of danger and of death.
Wife . I hear thy words,
And I can bear them! For my suffering spirit
Hath undergone its pains, and I am left,
Even like a woman after travail, weak —
But in a slumbrous quiet that succeeds
The hour of agony.
Clergyman . My friend! behold
How quietly that worn-out wretch doth sleep.
Friend . Calm as an infant!
Clergyman . Even too deep for dreams!
How meekly beautiful her face doth smile
As from a soul that never had known grief!
Methinks that God, in that profound repose,
Will breathe submission through her innocent soul,
And she who lay down with a mortal's weakness
May wake in power and glory like an angel
Whom trouble cannot touch.
Enter the Children weeping.
Friend . What ails ye, my sweet children — but speak softly —
Your mother is asleep.
Girl . O tell it, brother!
For my heart beats so that I cannot speak!
Boy . When we were coming homewards down the lane
That leads from the Fox-wood, that old dumb Woman
Who tells folk's fortunes, from behind the hedge
Leapt out upon the road, before our faces,
And with that dreadful barking voice of hers,
And grinning mouth, and red and fiery eyes,
All the while shaking at us her black hair,
She took a rope of rushes and did tie it
Like a halter round her neck, and pull'd it tight
Till she grew black in the face! Then shook her hand
Against our cottage, while my father's name
Seem'd half-pronounced in that most hideous gabble.
Then with one spring she leapt behind the hedge,
Where, as we ran away, we heard her laughing!
And oh! a long, loud, cruel laugh it was!
As if she laugh'd to know that our poor father
Was now condemn'd to die!
Friend . O wicked wretch! the silence of her soul
Is fill'd with cruel thoughts — even like a mad-house
With the din of creatures raving. None can guess
The wrath of this dumb savage!
Wife . Thou silent, speechless messenger of death!
Louder thy dumbness than a roaring cannon!
Away — away — thou fury, from my sight!
— God save me from that woman! or deliver
Her soul from the devils that torment her thus!
Her face was black with death — a hellish joy
Shone through her idiot eyes — as if a fiend
Had taken that rueful body for a dwelling,
And from these glazed sockets loved to look
With a horrid leer upon us mortal creatures,
A leer of unrepentant wickedness,
Hating us because we are the work of God!
Boy . I wish that she were dead and buried.
Wife . O now that she is gone, hope leaps again
Within my heart — her hideous mummery
Must not be suffer'd to confound me so.
And yet, they say, that she did prophesy,
With the wild motion of her witch-like hands,
That fatal sinking of the ferry-boat
In which whole families perish'd. Hush! I hear
The tread of feet — it is the Messenger
Come from the City.
Wife . Speak, speak instantly —
Speak! Why do you come here unless you speak?
His face doth seem composed.
Messenger . Poor Francis Russel!
Now all is over with him — he is condemn'd!
Wife . What did he say? — Why art thou gabbling thus,
As none can understand? — Give me that letter.
" They have found me guilty, Mary! trust in God. "
Messenger . I cannot bear the sight — good folks, farewell.
Wife . " My Mary, trust in God. " I cannot trust
In God! — Oh! wilt thou in thy wrath allow
My innocent husband thus to be destroyed? — —
I cannot trust in God! O cursed for ever
Be all the swarm of idiot witnesses,
Jury and Judge, who thus have murder'd him,
And may his blood for generations lie
Heavy on their children's souls!
Girl . O brother! see
'Tis our poor Father's writing. Yet his hand
Seems never to have shaken — Innocence,
He used to say, did make small children fearless,
And it will make him happy in his prison,
Till we rush in, and wait till he is pardon'd,
Which will be...
Wife . Never will he leave his dungeon
But for the scaffold. Would that I were dead,
And all my children corpses at my side,
Never again to wake...for Mercy is not
In heaven or earth. There is no Providence!
Clergyman . These are affecting words from one so good
And truly pious. But our human nature,
When touch'd at the heart by Misery's icy hand,
Oft shrieks out with a wild impiety,
Against its better will. Yet that shrill cry
Is heard in heaven with pity, and on earth
Is often follow'd by the calm still voice
Of resignation melting into prayer.
Wife , ( starting up .) Where art thou? What impenetrable cloud.
Hides thee from justice, thou grim murderer!
On whom the dead man's blood, the quick man's tears,
Now call with twofold vengeance? Drive him forth,
O Fear, into the light, and I shall know him,
Soon as my eye meets his. His very name
Will burst instinctively from my big heart,
And he will answer to it. Where art thou
With thy red hands, that never may be cleansed?
Friend . 'Tis five weeks to the day of execution,
And he may be discover'd — —
Wife . Execution!
And will they make my husband mount a ladder
Up to a scaffold? May he rather die
Of anguish in his cell! — Where are my children?
— O they are weeping even upon my breast!
Would they had ne'er been born! — Eternal shame
Will lie upon them! lovely as they are,
And good, and pure, and innocent as angels,
They will be scorn'd and hated! — Save my husband,
Great God of Mercy! Jesus! save my husband.
O many thousand miles of clouds and air
Lie between me and God! and my faint voice
Returns unto the earth, while the still heavens,
Like the deep sea above a drowning head,
Mind not the stifled groans of agony!
Clergyman . I will go to his cell and pray with him.
He had foreseen his doom, — and be assured
That he is sitting in the eye of God,
With meek composure, not in agony.
The Children . O take us with you!
Clergyman . For a while, farewell.
The wife's heart now is like a heavy cloud,
But tears will lighten it — God be with you all!
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