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Ser. His servant told me so. De Mon. And at what hour? Ser. He 'parts from Amberg by the fall of eve. Save you, my lord! how changed your countenance is!

Are you not well?

De Mon. Yes, I am well: begone, And wait my orders by the city wall: I'll that way bend, and speak to thee again. [EXIT Servant. (De Monfort walks rapidly two or three times across the stage; then seizes his dagger from the wall; looks steadfastly at its point, and EXIT hastily.)

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 beats 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?

(Listens, and the owl cries again.) It is the screech owl's cry. 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,

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 18 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

It howls along the cloisters. How goes time? 2d Monk. It is the hour: I hear them near at hand:

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 Nuss, 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 el ry raise

To sug 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'

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.

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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.

1st Monk. I wish our brother Bernard were ar-
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.

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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 follow 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 seen?
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?

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go, brother?

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(Enter men, bearing the body of Rezen velt, covered with a white cloth, and set it down in the middle of the room: they then uncover it. De Monfort stands fixed and motionless with horror, only that a sudden shivering seems to pass over him when they uncover the corpse. The Abbess and Nuns shrink back and retire to some distance, all the rest fixing their eyes steadfastly upon De Monfort. A long pause.) Bern. (to De Mon.) Seest thou that lifeless corpse, those bloody wounds?

See how he lies, who but so shortly since
A living creature was, with all the powers

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

brother Thomas ;

I cannot now unhand the prisoner.

(All speak together, shrinking back from the door, and staring upon one another.)

He is with them!

(A folding door at the bottom of the stage is opened, and enter Bernard, Thomas, and the other two Monks, carrying lanterns in their hands and bringing in De Monfort. They are likewise followed by other Monks. As they lead forward De Monfort, the light is turned away, so that he is seen obscurely; but when they come to the front of the stage, they turn the light side of their lanterns on him at once, and his face is seen in all the strengthened horror of despair, with his hands and clothes bloody. Abbess and Nuns speak at once, and start back.)

Holy saints be with us! Bern. (to Abb.) Behold the man of blood! Abb. Of misery too; I cannot look upon him. Bern. (to Nuns.) Nay, holy sisters, turn not thus

away.

Speak to him, if, perchance, he will regard you: For from his mouth we have no utterance heard, Save one deep groan and smother'd exclamation, When first we seized him.

Abb. (to De Mon.) Most miserable man, how art thou thus? (Pauses.)

Thy tongue is silent, but those bloody hands Do witness horrid things. What is thy name? De Mon. (roused, looks steadfastly at the Abbess for some time, then speaking in a short hurried voice.) I have no name.

Abb. (to Bern.) Do it thyself; I'll speak to him

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O! what a heart had he who did this deed! 1st Monk. (looking at the body.) How hard those teeth against the lips are press'd,

As though he struggled still! 2d Monk. The hands, too, clench'd: the last efforts of nature.

(De Monfort still stands motionless. Brother Thomas then goes to the body, and raising up the head a little, turns it toward De Monfort.) Thom. Know'st thou this ghastly face? De Mon. (putting his hands before his face in violent perturbation.) O do not! do not! Veil it from my sight!

Put me to any agony but this!

Thom. Ha! dost thou then confess the dreadful deed ?

Hast thou against the laws of awful Heaven Such horrid murder done? What fiend could tempt thee?

(Pauses and looks steadfastly at De Monfort.) De Mon. I hear thy words, but do not hear their

sense

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.)
O! throw thy cloak upon this grisly form!
The unclosed eyes do stare upon me still.
O do not leave me thus !

[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;

Would, would it were to come!-
What fated end, what darkly gathering cloud
Will close on all this horror?

O that dire madness would unloose my thoughts,
And fill my mind with wildest fantasies,
Dark, restless, terrible! aught, aught but this!
(Pauses and shudders.)
How with convulsive life he heaved beneath me,
E'en with the death's wound gored! O horrid,
horrid !

Methinks I feel him still.-What sound is that?
I heard a smother'd groan.-It is impossible!
(Looking steadfastly at the body.)
It moves it moves! the cloth doth heave and

swell.

It moves again! I cannot suffer this

Whate'er it be, I will uncover it.

And seest thou not that motion of his hands?
He stands like one who hears a horrid tale.
Almighty God! (Manuel goes into the convent.)
He comes not back; he enters.
Freb. Bear up, my noble friend.
Jane. I will, I will! But this suspense is dread-
ful.

(A long pause.

Manuel re-enters from the convent, and comes forward slowly with a sad countenance.)

Is this the face of one who bears good tidings!
O God! his face doth tell the horrid fact;
There is naught doubtful here.
Freb.
How is it, Manuel
Man. I've seen him through a crevice in his door:
It is indeed my master. (Bursting into tears.)
(Jane faints, and is supported by Freberg.)

(Runs to the corpse, and tears off the cloth in Enter ABBESS and several NUNS from the convent, who despair.)

All still beneath.

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For, when between the trees, that abbey tower
First show'd its top, I saw your countenance
change.

But breathe a little here; I'll go before,
And make inquiry at the nearest gate.
Freb. Do so, good Manuel.

(Manuel goes and knocks at the gate.)
Courage, dear madam: all may yet be well.
Rezenvelt's servant, frighten'd with the storm,
And seeing that his master join'd him not,
As by appointment, at the forest edge,
Might be alarm'd, and give too ready ear
To an unfounded rumour.

He saw it not; he came not here himself.
Jane. (looking eagerly to the gate, where Manuel
talks with the Porter.) Ha! see, he talks
with some one earnestly.

gather about her, and apply remedies. She recovers.
1st Nun. The life returns again.

2d Nun.
Yes, she revives.
Abb. (to Freb.) Let me entreat this noble lady's
leave

To lead her in. She seems in great distress.
We would with holy kindness soothe her wo,
And do by her the deeds of Christian love.
Freb. Madam, your goodness has my grateful

A

thanks.

EXEUNT, supporting Jane into the convent.

SCENE IV.DE MONFORT IS DISCOVERED SITTING IN
THOUGHTFUL POSTURE. HE REMAINS SO FOR
SOME TIME. HIS FACE AFTERWARD BEGINS TO
APPEAR AGITATED, LIKE ONE WHOSE MIND IS
HARROWED WITH THE SEVEREST THOUGHTS;
THEN, STARTING FROM HIS SEAT, HE CLASPS HIS
HANDS TOGETHER, AND HOLDS THEM UP ΤΟ
HEAVEN.

De Mon. O that I ne'er had known the light of
day!

That filmy darkness on mine eyes had hung,
And closed me out from the fair face of nature'

that my mind in mental darkness pent,
Had no perception, no distinction known,
Of fair, or foul, perfection, or defect,
Nor thought conceived of proud pre-eminence!
O that it had! O that I had been form'd
An idiot from the birth! a senseless changeling,
Who eats his glutton's meal with greedy haste,
Nor knows the hand who feeds him.-

(Pauses; then, in a calmer, sorrowful voice.)
What am I now? how ends the day of life?
For end it must; and terrible this gloom,
This storm of horrors that surrounds its close.
This little term of nature's agony
Will soon be o'er, and what is past is past:
But shall I then, on the dark lap of earth
Lay me to rest, in still unconsciousness,
Like senseless clod that doth no pressure fee!
From wearing foot of daily passenger;
Like steeped rock o'er which the breaking waves
Bellow and foam unheard? O would I could!

Enter MANUEL, who springs forward to his master, but
is checked upon perceiving DE MONFORT draw back
and look sternly at him.

Man. My lord, my master! O my dearest master! (De Monfort still looks at him without speaking."

May, co not thus regard me, good my lord!
Speak to me: am I not your faithful Manuel?

De Mon. (in a hasty, broken voice.) Art thou
alone?

Man. No, sir, the Lady Jane is on her way; She is not far behind.

De Mon. (tossing his arm over his head in an
agony.) This is too much! All I can bear
but this!

It must not be.-Run and prevent her coming.
Say, he who is detain'd a prisoner here
Is one to her unknown. I now am nothing.
I am a man of holy claims bereft;

Out of the pale of social kindred cast;
Nameless and horrible.-

Tell her De Monfort far from hence is gone
Into a desolate and distant land,

Ne'er to return again. Fly, tell her this;
For we must meet no more.

Enter JANE DE MONFORT, bursting into the chamber,
and followed by FREBERG, ABBESS, and several NUNS.
Jane. We must! we must! My brother, O my
brother!

(De Monfort turns away his head and hides his
face with his arm. Jane stops short, and,
making a great effort, turns to Freberg, and
the others who followed her, and with an air of
dignity stretches out her hand, beckoning them
to retire. All retire but Freberg, who seems to
hesitate.)

And thou too, Freberg: call it not unkind.
[EXIT Freberg, Jane and De Monfort only remain.
Jane. My hapless Monfort!

'De Monfort turns round and looks sorrowfully
upon her; she opens her arms to him, and he,
rushing into them, hides his face upon her
breast and weeps.)

And in the rougher path of ripen'd years
We've been each other's stay. Dark lowers our
fate,

And terrible the storm that gathers o'er us;
But nothing, till that latest agony

Which severs thee from nature, shall unloose
This fix'd and sacred hold. In thy dark prison-
house;

In the terriffic face of armed law;

Yea, on the scaffold, if it needs must be,

I never will forsake thee.

De Mon. (looking at her with admiration.)
Heaven bless thy generous soul, my noble
Jane !

I thought to sink beneath this load of ill,
Depress'd with infamy and open shame ;

I thought to sink in abject wretchedness:
But for thy sake I'll rouse my manhood up,
And meet it bravely; no unseemly weakness,
I feel my rising strength, shall blot my end,
To clothe thy cheek with shame.

Jane. Yes, thou art noble still.

De Mon. With thee I am; who were not so with
thee?

But ah! my sister, short will be the term.
Death's stroke will come, and in that state beyond,
Where things unutterable wait the soul,
New from its earthly tenement discharged,
We shall be sever'd far.

Far as the spotless purity of virtue

Is from the murderer's guilt, far shall we be.
This is the gulf of dead uncertainty
From which the soul recoils.

Jane. The God who made thee is a God of mercy;
Think upon this.

De Mon. (shaking his head.) No, no! this blood! this blood!

Jane. Yes, e'en the sin of blood may be forgiven,

Jane. Ay, give thy sorrow vent; here mayst When humble penitence hath once atoned.

thou weep.

De Mon. (in broken accents.) O! this, my sister, makes me feel again

The kindness of affection.

My mind has in a dreadful storm been tost;
Horrid and dark.-I thought to weep no more.
I've done a deed-But I am human still.

De Mon. (eagerly.) What, after terms of length-
en'd misery,

Imprison'd anguish of tormented spirits,
Shall I again, a renovated soul,

Into the blessed family of the good

Admittance have? Think'st thou that this may be?
Speak if thou canst: 0 speak me comfort here!

Jane. I know thy sufferings: leave thy sorrow For dreadful fancies, like an armed host,

free:

Thou art with one who never did upbraid;

Who mourns, who loves thee still.

De Mon. Ah! sayst thou so? no, no; it should not be.

(Shrinking from her.) I am a foul and bloody murderer,

Have push'd me to despair. It is most horrible-
O speak of hope! If any hope there be.
(Jane is silent, and looks sorrowfully upon him;
then clasping her hands, and turning her eyes
to heaven, seems to mutter a prayer.)
De Mon. Ha! dost thou pray for me? Heaven
hear thy prayer!

For such embrace unmeet: Oleave me leave me! I fain would kneel.-Alas! I dare not do it.

Disgrace and public shame abide me now;
And all, alas! who do my kindred own,
The direful portion share.-Away, away!
Shall a disgraced and public criminal
Degrade thy name, and claim affinity

To noble worth like thine -I have no name-
I'm nothing now, not e'en to thee; depart.

(She takes his hand, and grasping it firmly,
speaks with a determined voice.)

Jane. De Monfort, hand in hand we have enjoy'd The playful term of infancy together;

Jane. Not so! all by th' Almighty Father form'd,
May in their deepest misery call on him.
Come, kneel with me, my brother.

(She kneels and prays to herself; he kneels by
her, and clasps his hands fervently, but speaks
not. A noise of chains clanking is heard
without, and they both rise.)

De Mon. Hear'st thou that noise? They come to interrupt us.

Jane. (moving towards a side door.) Then let us

enter here.

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