SCENE II .
Inside of a Cottage — The Prisoner's Wife sitting with her F RIEND , surrounded by her Family .
Wife . Speak to me! let my weeping children speak,
Although it be with sobs of agony.
Friend . See how composed your sweetest children sit
All round your knees! They weep, and sigh, and sob,
For piteous they and most compassionate.
But nature steals upon them in their grief,
And happy thoughts, in spite even of themselves,
Come o'er them — the glad light of infancy.
Mourn not for them — in little William's hand,
Although his heart be framed of love and pity,
Already see that play-thing! none need weep
For them a gracious God preserves in bliss.
Wife . 'Tis not on them I think — O God! O God!
Friend . He soon will be in Heaven.
Wife . A dreadful path
Must first be trod. O 'tis most horrible!
Friend . Since that last scene is present to your soul
I dare to speak of it. The face of death
More hideous seems to us who gaze upon it
Bent towards a friend we love, than to the wretch
Who sees the black frown fix'd upon himself.
The fears of fancy are most terrible,
But when the apprehended misery comes,
The spirit smiles to feel how bearable
The heaviest stroke of fate.
Wife . Thy kind voice seems
To speak of comfort, though the words are dark.
Misery's sick soul is slow to understand,
Yet I will listen, for that gentle voice
Brings of itself relief.
Friend . Calm, unappall'd —
How many mount the scaffold! Even Guilt,
Strong in repentance, often standeth there
And quaketh not. And will not innocence
Victoriously from that most rueful place
Look o'er the grave — nor death's vain idle show
Have power to raise one beating in his heart?
Wife . O what a dreadful night he must have pass'd!
Friend . Nay — fear it not — the night before they die,
Condemned men enjoy unbroken sleep,
By mercy sent to their resigned souls,
Calming and strengthening for the morrow's trial.
While we were weeping — his closed eyes were dry,
And his soul hush'd in deep forgetfulness.
Wife . I feel as if I ne'er shall sleep again!
The look with which he flung his body down
On the stone-floor, when I was carried from him,
Will never pass away. O that sweet face
Was changed indeed by nature's agony,
Sunk, fallen, hollow, bloodless, and convulsed!
Friend . O strive to think on other prison-hours,
When, on your knees together, lost in prayer,
You seem'd two happy Beings offering up
Thanksgiving, rather than poor suppliants
Imploring resignation to your doom.
Wife . No. I will think but of that desperate hour
When darkness fell between us, there to brood
Until we meet in heaven. Come near to me,
For I must tell thee how my husband look'd
When wicked men did tear those two asunder
Whom God, and love, and nature had united.
Friend . O spare me — spare me — on yourself have pity,
And these soft-hearted ones — too apt to weep!
Wife . Why should I fear to speak?
Friend . Your Infant wakes!
Here, take it to your breast —
Wife . Heed, heed it not.
— For hours we sat, and dreamt, and spoke, and wept,
Recall'd our happy life to memory,
From the hour we first met on yon sunny brae!
Our friendship, love, and marriage, — the sweet child
That came to bless our first delightful spring —
All our sweet children! not forgetting her
Who went so young to heaven. The Jailor came,
Or some one with a black and cruel countenance,
And changed at once our sorrow to despair.
We had not thought of parting — in the past
So buried were our hearts! — such images
Blinded our spirits with the tears of love.
And though we felt a dire calamity
Brought us together in that hideous cell,
We thought not what it was; till all at once,
The prison-door flew open, and they dragg'd me,
Not shrieking — as perhaps I now do shriek —
But with a cold weight sickening at my heart
That in convulsions drown'd a thousand shrieks,
And brought at last a dark forgetfulness
Of my own sufferings, and my husband's doom.
Long streets seem'd passing slowly by my brain,
And fields and trees — until at once I knew
The faces of my weeping family,
And this my Father's house. A dreadful dream!
Yet could I wish to rave of it for ever!
Daughter . Here is a book which little Mary Grieve,
(She who has wept as much for my poor Father
As if she were a sister of our own,)
Gave me a week ago, a happy book,
Which lies below my pillow when I sleep.
Look at it, Mother! 'tis the history
Of one reprieved when just about to die.
I have read it till it seems a sad true tale
Of all my Father's woe — and when I read it
Even on the darkest day, believe me, Mother,
A gleam of sunshine falls upon the leaves,
Straight down from heaven! There is a picture — look!
Is it not like my Father's gentle face?
Wife , ( grasping the book .) As sure as God is in heaven! it is the same! —
His wife and children too with eyes and faces
Of mad delirious joy all fix'd on heaven!
And well they may — then and for evermore.
Daughter . Ishow'd it to our clergyman — he smiled —
And laid his gentle hand upon my hair,
And with a low kind voice he bade me hope.
Wife . He bade thee hope!
Daughter . Yes — and I thought he wept.
Wife . He tried to comfort the sweet innocent!
Daughter . Though I should see my father in the cart
Passing our very door...
Wife . Will he pass our door?
I will rush out and clasp him, and beseech
Kind heaven to let me die upon his breast.
I had forgot — we are not at Lea-side.
— Come to me, little William — weep not, child!
Boy . O yesterday we saw a dreadful sight!
Daughter . William — hold your peace.
Wife . What saw my little boy?
Boy . We went last night to meet with Mary Grieve
Coming from school. And oh! upon the bridge
Two men were building up — I did not ask them —
They told me what it was — and we ran home
Fearing to look back.
Wife . O shut out the sun,
That blinds my soul with its accursed light!
Close — close the shutters — that eternal darkness
May cover me and my poor family,
And the wild world with all its miseries
Be blank as if we all were in the grave.
Boy . Mother! let me come closer to your knees!
Wife . O let the light come in — this silent darkness
Is worse than light — light is but mockery —
But darkness is the haunted tomb of death
Which shuddering nature never may endure.
— I never thought thy face so sad before
As in that sudden light — ( Clock strikes. ) — What hour? what hour?
Friend . Your husband's strife is o'er.
Wife . Praise be to God.
( Falls on her knees .) O Thou that art an angel in the sky,
Strengthen my soul that I on earth may cherish
Those whom thou lovest — these infants round my feet.
Friend . Such prayers go up to heaven — swifter than light.
Wife . The body shall have Christian-burial!
I will away that no base hand disturb it.
What though it felt the cruel death of shame,
Is it not beautiful and fair to see,
As if he rested from the harvest-toil
In some cool shady place o'erhung with trees?
It shall be dress'd with flowers — a thousand times,
A thousand thousand times my lips will kiss it,
And when it is laid in the grave at last,
Oh! will not tears from many hundred eyes
Fall on the coffin, and a hundred tongues
Bless him th' unhappy — him the innocent?
— Methinks I can endure the daylight now.
O Lord! yon hill-side is quite black with people
All standing motionless — with heads uncover'd.
Are they gazing all on him? Alive? or dead? —
This is a sight to drive my soul to madness,
To blasphemy and disbelief in God!
Friend . I thought the hour was past.
Wife . You knew it was not.
Upon the self-same side of that black mount
I saw a pious congregation sitting
Last summer's sacrament! and now they come
To enjoy an execution. Wretched things!
They little understand the words of Christ.
Friend . It seems in truth most cruel — dreadful show
Of fixed faces! many a troubled soul
Is gazing there, yet loves the agony
It makes itself to suffer — turns away —
Then looks and shudders, and with cheeks as wan
And ghastly as the man about to die,
Waits for the hideous moment — greedily
Devouring every motion of his eyes
Now only bent to heaven.
Wife . O senseless wretches!
Thus tamely witnessing the guiltless die.
Rush down upon the scaffold — rend it — crush it
Into a thousand atoms — tear away
Th' accursed halter from his innocent neck,
And send him like a lark let loose to heaven,
Into the holy light of liberty.
— One hour delay the execution!
For from afar the words of mercy come —
I hear them on the wind — " Reprieve — Reprieve " —
O, gazing multitude! look grim no more,
But shout until both earth and heaven reply!
Salvation is at hand — Reprieve — Reprieve!
Inside of a Cottage — The Prisoner's Wife sitting with her F RIEND , surrounded by her Family .
Wife . Speak to me! let my weeping children speak,
Although it be with sobs of agony.
Friend . See how composed your sweetest children sit
All round your knees! They weep, and sigh, and sob,
For piteous they and most compassionate.
But nature steals upon them in their grief,
And happy thoughts, in spite even of themselves,
Come o'er them — the glad light of infancy.
Mourn not for them — in little William's hand,
Although his heart be framed of love and pity,
Already see that play-thing! none need weep
For them a gracious God preserves in bliss.
Wife . 'Tis not on them I think — O God! O God!
Friend . He soon will be in Heaven.
Wife . A dreadful path
Must first be trod. O 'tis most horrible!
Friend . Since that last scene is present to your soul
I dare to speak of it. The face of death
More hideous seems to us who gaze upon it
Bent towards a friend we love, than to the wretch
Who sees the black frown fix'd upon himself.
The fears of fancy are most terrible,
But when the apprehended misery comes,
The spirit smiles to feel how bearable
The heaviest stroke of fate.
Wife . Thy kind voice seems
To speak of comfort, though the words are dark.
Misery's sick soul is slow to understand,
Yet I will listen, for that gentle voice
Brings of itself relief.
Friend . Calm, unappall'd —
How many mount the scaffold! Even Guilt,
Strong in repentance, often standeth there
And quaketh not. And will not innocence
Victoriously from that most rueful place
Look o'er the grave — nor death's vain idle show
Have power to raise one beating in his heart?
Wife . O what a dreadful night he must have pass'd!
Friend . Nay — fear it not — the night before they die,
Condemned men enjoy unbroken sleep,
By mercy sent to their resigned souls,
Calming and strengthening for the morrow's trial.
While we were weeping — his closed eyes were dry,
And his soul hush'd in deep forgetfulness.
Wife . I feel as if I ne'er shall sleep again!
The look with which he flung his body down
On the stone-floor, when I was carried from him,
Will never pass away. O that sweet face
Was changed indeed by nature's agony,
Sunk, fallen, hollow, bloodless, and convulsed!
Friend . O strive to think on other prison-hours,
When, on your knees together, lost in prayer,
You seem'd two happy Beings offering up
Thanksgiving, rather than poor suppliants
Imploring resignation to your doom.
Wife . No. I will think but of that desperate hour
When darkness fell between us, there to brood
Until we meet in heaven. Come near to me,
For I must tell thee how my husband look'd
When wicked men did tear those two asunder
Whom God, and love, and nature had united.
Friend . O spare me — spare me — on yourself have pity,
And these soft-hearted ones — too apt to weep!
Wife . Why should I fear to speak?
Friend . Your Infant wakes!
Here, take it to your breast —
Wife . Heed, heed it not.
— For hours we sat, and dreamt, and spoke, and wept,
Recall'd our happy life to memory,
From the hour we first met on yon sunny brae!
Our friendship, love, and marriage, — the sweet child
That came to bless our first delightful spring —
All our sweet children! not forgetting her
Who went so young to heaven. The Jailor came,
Or some one with a black and cruel countenance,
And changed at once our sorrow to despair.
We had not thought of parting — in the past
So buried were our hearts! — such images
Blinded our spirits with the tears of love.
And though we felt a dire calamity
Brought us together in that hideous cell,
We thought not what it was; till all at once,
The prison-door flew open, and they dragg'd me,
Not shrieking — as perhaps I now do shriek —
But with a cold weight sickening at my heart
That in convulsions drown'd a thousand shrieks,
And brought at last a dark forgetfulness
Of my own sufferings, and my husband's doom.
Long streets seem'd passing slowly by my brain,
And fields and trees — until at once I knew
The faces of my weeping family,
And this my Father's house. A dreadful dream!
Yet could I wish to rave of it for ever!
Daughter . Here is a book which little Mary Grieve,
(She who has wept as much for my poor Father
As if she were a sister of our own,)
Gave me a week ago, a happy book,
Which lies below my pillow when I sleep.
Look at it, Mother! 'tis the history
Of one reprieved when just about to die.
I have read it till it seems a sad true tale
Of all my Father's woe — and when I read it
Even on the darkest day, believe me, Mother,
A gleam of sunshine falls upon the leaves,
Straight down from heaven! There is a picture — look!
Is it not like my Father's gentle face?
Wife , ( grasping the book .) As sure as God is in heaven! it is the same! —
His wife and children too with eyes and faces
Of mad delirious joy all fix'd on heaven!
And well they may — then and for evermore.
Daughter . Ishow'd it to our clergyman — he smiled —
And laid his gentle hand upon my hair,
And with a low kind voice he bade me hope.
Wife . He bade thee hope!
Daughter . Yes — and I thought he wept.
Wife . He tried to comfort the sweet innocent!
Daughter . Though I should see my father in the cart
Passing our very door...
Wife . Will he pass our door?
I will rush out and clasp him, and beseech
Kind heaven to let me die upon his breast.
I had forgot — we are not at Lea-side.
— Come to me, little William — weep not, child!
Boy . O yesterday we saw a dreadful sight!
Daughter . William — hold your peace.
Wife . What saw my little boy?
Boy . We went last night to meet with Mary Grieve
Coming from school. And oh! upon the bridge
Two men were building up — I did not ask them —
They told me what it was — and we ran home
Fearing to look back.
Wife . O shut out the sun,
That blinds my soul with its accursed light!
Close — close the shutters — that eternal darkness
May cover me and my poor family,
And the wild world with all its miseries
Be blank as if we all were in the grave.
Boy . Mother! let me come closer to your knees!
Wife . O let the light come in — this silent darkness
Is worse than light — light is but mockery —
But darkness is the haunted tomb of death
Which shuddering nature never may endure.
— I never thought thy face so sad before
As in that sudden light — ( Clock strikes. ) — What hour? what hour?
Friend . Your husband's strife is o'er.
Wife . Praise be to God.
( Falls on her knees .) O Thou that art an angel in the sky,
Strengthen my soul that I on earth may cherish
Those whom thou lovest — these infants round my feet.
Friend . Such prayers go up to heaven — swifter than light.
Wife . The body shall have Christian-burial!
I will away that no base hand disturb it.
What though it felt the cruel death of shame,
Is it not beautiful and fair to see,
As if he rested from the harvest-toil
In some cool shady place o'erhung with trees?
It shall be dress'd with flowers — a thousand times,
A thousand thousand times my lips will kiss it,
And when it is laid in the grave at last,
Oh! will not tears from many hundred eyes
Fall on the coffin, and a hundred tongues
Bless him th' unhappy — him the innocent?
— Methinks I can endure the daylight now.
O Lord! yon hill-side is quite black with people
All standing motionless — with heads uncover'd.
Are they gazing all on him? Alive? or dead? —
This is a sight to drive my soul to madness,
To blasphemy and disbelief in God!
Friend . I thought the hour was past.
Wife . You knew it was not.
Upon the self-same side of that black mount
I saw a pious congregation sitting
Last summer's sacrament! and now they come
To enjoy an execution. Wretched things!
They little understand the words of Christ.
Friend . It seems in truth most cruel — dreadful show
Of fixed faces! many a troubled soul
Is gazing there, yet loves the agony
It makes itself to suffer — turns away —
Then looks and shudders, and with cheeks as wan
And ghastly as the man about to die,
Waits for the hideous moment — greedily
Devouring every motion of his eyes
Now only bent to heaven.
Wife . O senseless wretches!
Thus tamely witnessing the guiltless die.
Rush down upon the scaffold — rend it — crush it
Into a thousand atoms — tear away
Th' accursed halter from his innocent neck,
And send him like a lark let loose to heaven,
Into the holy light of liberty.
— One hour delay the execution!
For from afar the words of mercy come —
I hear them on the wind — " Reprieve — Reprieve " —
O, gazing multitude! look grim no more,
But shout until both earth and heaven reply!
Salvation is at hand — Reprieve — Reprieve!
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