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 bears 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.

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.
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 IS 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 NUNs, 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 glory raise,

To sing 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 all scattered, and 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.

came,

As now a window, open'd by the storm, did attempt to close.

Did earthly visage show. I shrunk and shudder'd. If a damn'd spirit may to earth return,

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.

!

|

Bern. Was there any blood upon it? Thom. Nay, as it pass'd, I did not see its form; Naught but the horrid face.

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:

fear!

go, brother?

(Enter men, bearing the body of Rezenvelt, 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

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

no more.

Pen. O holy saints! that this should be the man
Who did against his fellow lift the stroke,
Whilst he so loudly call'd.—

Still in my ears it rings: O murder! murder!
De Mon. (starting.) He calls again!

Pen. No, he did call, but now his voice is still'd. "Tis past.

De Mon. 'Tis past.

Pen. Yes, it is past! art thou not he who did it? (De Monfort utters a deep groan, and is supported from falling by the Monks. A noise is heard without.)

Abb. What noise is this of heavy lumbering steps, Like men who with a weighty burden come? Bern. It is the body: I have orders given That here it should be laid.

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.
Monk. I dare not stay with thee.
De Mon.

I do conjure thee! (Going.) 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. 0 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.)

All still beneath.

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.
Rezervelt'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.

EXEUNT, supporting Jane into the convent. SCENE IV. DE MONFORT IS DISCOVERED SITTING IN A 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 feel 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, bat 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.)