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Phalos. Nay, I must serve you! Let me but con- Full of redeeming knowledge, making wise tribute
Unto salvation, and the holy spring Unto your body's ease. This wretched room, Of all divine philosophy — and thou poor dust, And its poor pallet — would you not desire
For which the soul of man is often sold; A lighter, airier, more commodious chamber, Yet wast thou not by evil traffic won, Looking out to the hills; and where the shine Nor got by fraud, nor wrung from poverty — of the great sun might enter — where sweet odours, God blessed the labourer while he toiled for thee, And almost spiritual beauty of fair flowers
And may'st thou bless the widow !-lie thou thereMight gratify the sense — and you might fall I shall not need you more.*I am departing Gracefully into death, in downy ease ?
To the fruition of the hope of one,
And where the other cannot get admittance!
And now a few words will explain the rest: Here have I lived — here from my boyhood lived;
(He writes a few words, which he encloses These naked walls are like familiar faces,
with them, and making all into a packet, And that poor pallet has so oft given rest
seals them up. To my o'erwearied limbs, there will I die!
God comfort her poor heart, and heal its wounds, Philos. But you do need physicians — here is gold, which will bleed fresh when she shall break this seal. I know the scholar's fee is scant enough! I will go hence, and send you an attendant.
[Shortly after this is done, he becomes sudSchol. I cannot take your gold, I want it not.
denly paler - a convulsive spasm passes My sickness is beyond the aid of man;
over him; when he recovers, he slowly
rises, and kneels upon his pallet-bed. And soon, even now, I did expect my mother. Philos. [affecting sorrow.) My dear young friend, I Schol. Almighty God! look down have to ask your pardon ;
Upon thy feeble servant! strengthen him! The letter that I promised to deliver,
Give him the victor's crown,
And let not faith be dim!
How can I enter in
Oh my mother — Thy kingdom, and behold thy face ! Poor, broken-hearted one, I shall not see thee! Except thou hadst redeemed me, I had gone (He covers his face for a moment, then
Without sustaining knowledge to the grave! rises up with sudden energy.
For this I bless thee, oh thou Gracious One, Whoe'er you are, and for what purpose come,
And thou wilt surely save! I know not — you have troubled me too long
I bless thee for the life which thou hast crowned But something in my spirit, from the first,
With never-ending good ; Told me that you were evil ; and my thought For pleasures that were found Has often inly uttered the rebuke,
Like wayside flowers in quiet solitude. “ Get thee behind me, Satan!" Leave me now- I bless thee for the love that watch'd o'er me Leave me my lonely chamber to myself,
Through the weak years of infancy, And let me die in peace!
That has been, like thine everlasting truth, [The Philosopher goes out, abashed. The guide, the guardian-angel of my youth.
The scholar falls back into his chair, Oh, Thou that didst the mother's heart bestow, exhausted ; after some time recover- Sustain it in its woe,
ing, he faintly raises himself. For mourning give it joy, and praise for heaviness! 'Tis night-fall now — and through the uncurtained
[He falls speechless upon the bed. window
His mother enters hurriedly. I see the stars; there is no moon to-night.
Mother. Alas, my son! and am I come too late ? Here then I light my lamp for the last time;
Oh, Christ! can he be dead ? And ere that feeble flame has spent itself,
Schol. [looking up faintly.) Mother, is't thou ? A soul will have departed!
It is! who summoned thee, dear mother?
Molher. A little boy, the latest of thy class; Close my account with life; and to affection,
He left these walls at sunset, and came back And never-cancelled duty, give their rights : With me e'en now. He told me of thy words,
[He opens his Bible and inscribes it. And of thy pallid cheek and trembling hand ;This I return to thee, my dearest mother,
Sorrowing for all, but sorrowing most because Thy gift at first, and now my last bequest;
Thou saidst he would behold thy face no more! And these poor earnings, dust upon the balance Schol. My soul doth greatly magnify the Lord Compared with the great debt I owe to thee, For his unmeasured mercies ! --and for this Are also thine - would I had more to give!
Great comfort, thy dear presence! I am spentThere lie you, side by side.
The hand of death is on me! Ere the sun
THOMAS OF TORRES.
THE SECOND LORD OF TORRES.
AND OTHER SUBORDINATE CHARACTERS.
I sce as 't were heaven opened, and a troop
talents, and friends, yet has the moments when the Of beautiful spirits waiting my release!
soul, reacting upon itself, prays to be disenthralled. Mother. My son! my son! and thou so young, so None are retrieveless ; none are utterly alien to good, wise,
save the victim of avarice; for when did the soul, So well-beloved, alas, must thou depart!
abandoned to this vice, feel misgivings? when did it Oh, rest thy precious head within mine arms, feel either pity or love ? or when did it do one good My only one!-- Thou wast a son indeed!
thing, or repent of one evil thing? It will strip Scho X Mother, farewell! i hear the heavenly without remorse, the fatherless, the widow, nay even voices,
the very sanctuary of God! Avarice is the t'pas of They call! — I cannot stay: farewell — farewell! the soul – no green thing flourishes below it, no bird
of heaven flies over it; and the dew and the rain, and Choir of Spiritual Voices.
the virtues of the earth, become pestilential because
of it! It shall be the love of gold which shall be No more sighing, No more dying,
my next temptation." Come with us, thou pure and bright!
Time is done,
Joy is won,
THOMAS OF TORRES.
ACHZIB, A STRANGER.
ISABEL, A WIDOW,
Beauty and unending youth!
Time occupied, one-and-twenty years
Come to the eternal truth!
A green hill overlooking a broad valley, in the centre
of which, among a few old trees, stands a noble mansion of grey stone ; a fine lake appears in the
winding of the valley, and the hill-sides are scattered Achzib was surprised at the ill success of his
with a few worthless old trees, the remnants of woods attempt upon the Poor Scholar. He was humiliated
which have been felled. — Thomas of Torres comes to feel how powerfully he had been rebuked by one
forward, and throws himself on the grass. comparatively a youth-one who was poor, and who
Thomas. That was my home — the noble hall of had so little knowledge of men. It was before the
Torres ! authority of virtue he had shrunk, but he had never Mine were those meadows — yon bright lake was believed till that moment, that virtue possessed such
mine, authority; and almost confounded, he walked forth Where when a boy I fished, and swam, and hurled from the door of the Poor Scholar into the fields that Smooth pebbles o'er its surface; those green
hills surrounded the city.
Were mine, and mine the woods that clothed them Achzib had done unwisely in making too direct an This was my patrimony! a fair spot, attack. The integrity of principle may be under Than which this green and pleasant face of' earth mined, but is seldom taken by storm.
Can show none fairer! With this did descend When Achzib had duly pondered upon the cause
An honourable name - the lord of Torres! of his failure, his desire was only redoubled to make a fresh attempt. "I will neither choose a dying man, Without a blot on its escutcheon,
An unimpeachable and noble name, a scholar, nor one of inflexible virtue,” said he, “and Till it descended to a fool like me — yet my triumph shall be signal and complete.” He A spendthrift fool, who is become a proverb! thought over the baits for human souls - love ambition - pleasure; but all these he rejected. - My father was a good and quiet man " For,” said he, “is not avarice more absorbingly, He wedded late in life; and I was born more hopelessly cruel than all these? The lover may The child of his old age; my mother's face be fierce, ungovernable, extravagant; still is the I knew not, saving in its gilded frame, passion in itself amiable. The man of ambition may Where, in the chamber of her loving husband, wade through blood to a kingdom; yet even in his It hung before his bed. My father died career, give evidence of good and great qualities. The When I was in my nonage. Marvellous pains, votary of pleasure, though he sacrifice health, wealth, Reading of books, study, and exercise,
Made me, they said, a perfect gentleman;
This was a jeweller, and must be paid;
They must--they must be paid--they would be paid!
“The lord of Torres is a ruined man!" He laughed, he sung, he danced, he drank his wine, So said the cunning lawyer;- and they sold And all declared, “a pleasant gentleman!"
Horses and hounds and hawks, and then they said They came to him in need- his many friends — The house itself must go! The silent lord Money he had in plenty, it was theirs !
Rose up an angry man: “Tetch me my horse !" He paid their debis ; he gave them noble gists ;
Said he; for now a thought had crossed his mind He feasted them; he said, “ they are my friends,
Wherein lay hope. — Alas! he had no horseAnd what I have is their's !" and they exclaimed,
The lord of Torres walked a-foot that day! " Oh, what a noble, generous gentleman!"
“I'll seek my friends !" said he, “my right good He had his friends too, of another sori -
friends ; Fair women that seduced him with their eyes,
They'll help me in my need, each one of them." For these he had his fetes ; his pleasant shows;
He sought their doors - this saw him through the Ilis banquetings in forest solitudes,
blind, Beneath the green boughs, like the sylvan gods :
And bade his valet say, he was abroad : And these repaid him with sweet flatteries,
This spoke him pleasantly, and gave him wine, And with bewitching smiles and honeyed words
And pledged him in the cup, his excellent friend!
But when he told the purport of his visit, The lord of Torres did outgo his rents;
He shook his head, and said he had no gold, His many friends had la'en his ready cash;
Even while he paid a thousand pieces down “What then!” said they,“ thy lands are broad and For a vain bauble! From another's lips rich,
He heard the mocking words of " spendthrift," Get money on them!” Ah, poor thoughtless fool,
" beggar." He listened to their counsels ! - Feasts and gifts,
The lord of Torres turned upon his heel, And needy friends, again have made him bare!
And muttered curses while his heart was sad. “ Cut down thy woods !" said they. Ile cut them There's yet another friend,” said he, “ beloved down ;
Beyond them all; for while I held them churls, And then his wants lay open to the day,
This was the chosen brother of my heart!" And people said “ this thriltless lord is poor!"
The lord of Torres stood beside his gate; This touched his pride, and he grew yei more lavish. There was a show as for a festival. “Come to my heart,” said he, "my faithful friends;
"I come in a good hour!" said he to one We'll drink and laugh, to show we yet can spend !" Who stood hard by—“what means this merry show?" -“ The woods are folled; the money is all spent;
“ How! know you not,” said he, “ this very morn What now remains ? — The land's as good as gone,
The noble Count hath wedded the fair daughter The usurer doth take its yearly rent!"
Of Baron Vorm!” The young lord's cheek is white So spake the lord again unto his friends :
His brain doth reel – ho holds against the gate, "Sell house and all!" exclaimed the revellers.
And hides his face that none may see his tears! The young loru went to his uneasy bed
le back returned unto his fathers' house, A melancholy man. The portraits old
And entering in his chamber, barred the door, Looked from their gilded frames as if they spoke
And passed a night of sleepless agony ! Silent upbraidings- all seemed stern but one, The lord of Torres was an altered man: That youthful mother, whose kind eye and smile
A woe had shadowed o'er his countenance ; Appeared to say, Return, my son, return!
Ilis speech was low, and tremulous, and sad
He bore a wounded heart within his breast. The lord of Torres is a thoughtful man:
Then came his aged steward with streaming eyes, His days are full of care, his nights of fear;
And gave to him a little bag of gold ; Ile hecdeth not which way his feather sits;
* Take it," he said, “ I won it in thy service, He wears the velvet jerkin for the silk;
And in the service of thy noble father!" He hath forgot the roses in his shoes;
The lord of Torres took the old man's hand, He drinks the red wine and forgets the pledge;
And wept as weeps a child ; his heart was touched. He hears the jest, and yet he laugheth not:
"Take back thy gold," said he; “I wasted mine, Then said his friends “ Our lord hath lost his wits,
Yet will I not expend thy honest gains :Let's leave him ample space to look for them !"
Friend, take it back - I will not touch thy gold !
And now he is a landless, homeless man, -
Thomas of Torres, get thee from this place,
What dost thou here ? — art like a cursed sprite Thos. I'll do as thou hast said ! give me thy hand.
Witness my vow – witness, thou ancient earth,
All that gave joy and beauty to my life,
now keep it! Stranger. Are you the lord of Torres ?
But I must part from you my road lies hence. Thos.
I was he! Thos. My road lies any way. — I'll go with you. Strang. You are the man I seek !
Strang. (going forward.] The ground was good Thos. What is 't you want?
and now the seed is sown I can bestow no favours, give no gifts —
Which will produce a harvest for my reaping! I have not even a stiver for myself!
[Thomas remains, looking into the valley for Strang. Nothing I ask; I seek but to confer.
a few moments, and then follows him. Now listen to my words, my noble friend! I knew a man whose case was like your own;
The interior of a miserable hut, cold wood-ashes lie He saw his treeless woods, his desolate mansion,
upon the hearth, and straw, as for a bed, in one Gone to a stranger's name — yet what did he?
corner. - Enter Thomas of Torres, in a miner's Sit still and make a moan about the past,
dress; he carries a lighted fagot in one hand, and And call himself ill names and beat his breast ? a log in the other. No, no! - he was another kind of man!
Thos. I'll have a blaze anon.—The night is cold, He made a vow to win his lost lands back;
And firewood costs me nothing. To set a tree for every tree he felled;
[He lays wood upon the hearth, kindles it ; To dwell in his ancestral home again!
and then bolting his door, sits down upon Thos. And was his vow performed ?
a log by the fire. Strang. Indeed, it was!
'Tis bright and warm! Where he had counted one in his wild youth, These dry pine logs burn cheerily enough; In his old age he counted twenty fold;
Hissing and crackling, blazing merrily, And died within the room where he was born.
They are good company - and better still, Thos. To win the faithless lady of his love They cost me nothing - do not call for wine, Made hé a vow ?
Sauces and dainty meats, and savoury dishes Strang That vow he did not make; They live without rich doublets - do not need Because I know not if his heart had loved.
Gold-hilted swords, nor rings, nor laced cravats. But you may make that vow.
A fire's a good, companionable friend,
A comfortable friend, who meets your face
Hungry? he doth prepare your viands for you
She was to me Are you in darkness ? he gives light to you
Familiar from your childhood — are you poor?
What matters it to him? he knows no difference Strang. And she loved too?
Between an emperor and the poorest beggar! Thos. Methought she did.
Where is the friend that bears the name of man Strang: She did - nor would have wedded Will do as much for you? When I was rich, Another man might she have made her choice. I could have counted out a hundred men,
Thos. Ha! say you so ? Could I believe it true, And said, “ All these would serve me, were there I'd make the vow and keep it!
I swear to you
And any one, or all, had sworn they would; She was compelled to wed against her will - But when need came, where was the readv friord And, but that it were sin, she still would love you! Said “ Here's my purse, good fellow!"
Curse on them!
A fine moonlight night.- A lonely field in the ex
tremity of the valley of Torres. — Enter Thomuti I slept on down; the hangings of my bed Were damask; I did eat from silver;
with an ass, he takes off the bridle and turns il
graze. All sorts of meats, and rare elaborate dishes Were set before me, with the choicest wines;
Thomas. There, thou poor, half-starved, patien Upon my hands I wore most dainty rings,
animal, And of the whiteness of my hands did boast ! There's grass, rare, green grass for thee! eat thy fill Look at them now-hardened and seamed and dark, Would thou could'st take a store for forty days! I wear no jewels now – I drink no wine.
This once was mine - I tell thee, it was mine! A crust of bread, and a poor herb or lwo'
I know it inch by inch - yon leafy hedge
The time would come when I should steal in here My limbs I use — and I use all my senses ;
A thief o' nights ! I see, hear, feel, taste, smell as I did then.
Ah, I remember wellGo to! thou hast not lost much by the change! There is a little hollow hereabout, Ay, but thou hast! thou wast a rich man then, Where wild-briar roses, and lithe honeysuckle Had'st friends, at least thy riches made them for thee- Made a thick bower; 't was here I used to conie, Wast loved — poor wretch!-- art loved now, thinkest To read sweet books of witching poetry! thou ? Could it be I? No, no, I am so changed,
" Look at thy sordid frame — look at thy garb — I will not think this man was once that boy; Look at thy blackened face, thy length of beard, The thought would drive me mad! I will but think Thy uncombed, tangled locks — could she love thee? I once knew one who called this vale his own; "T is but a process I am passing through ;
I will but think I knew a merry boy, Today the grub, but on the morrow morn
And a kind, gentle father, years agone, The painted butterfly!
Who had their dwelling here ; and that the boy (A rap is heard at his door. Thomas
Did love this lonely nook, and used to find
And then, that as the boy became a youth,
And gentle feeling strengthened into passion, give me shelter.
Hither he wandered, with a girlish beauty, Thos. Who are you—and what brings you to this
Gathering, like Proserpine, sweet meadow-flowers; door?
And that they sate beneath the wild-briar rose, Trav. A weary traveller who hath lost his way;
And that he then did kiss that maiden's cheek
That was the heir of Torres — a brave boy,
And what became of him? Ha! pass we that you!
(He adrances into the hollow Thos. A little further on a village lieth ;
'Tis even as then! this bower hath liule changed, You 'll there get fire and shelter, and good cheer.
But hearts have changed since then- and thoughta Trav. Direct me there.
have changed, Thos. (carefully opening his door.] First you must And the great purpose of a life hath changed ! pass the mines;
Oh that I were a bird among these boughs,
To live a summer life of peace and joy ;
To never fret my soul for broken faith ;
To have no onward hope, no retrospection!
Ah! there's the tiny glow-worm as of old !
That's beautiful and pure have I forgotten! O'er the old tower; you cannot miss the way.
Years is it since a glow-worm crossed my thoughts, (He shuts to the door, and bars it. And it was the bright marvel of my boyhood Am I to lodge all weary travellers ?
A fire, and yet so cold! let's feel it now, If ne got shelter, he'd be asking food.
If 't is as it was then. (He stoops to pick it up. No, no, i' faith, the world was none so ready
Heavens, it is gold! To give me aught -- I've feasted guests enow!
And here is more! bright, shining, glorious gold ! (He puts out his fire, and then throws (He pulls away moss and rools, and draws himself on the straw.
out a small bag of gold coin.