THE ENGLISH MARTYRS;
A SCENE OF THE DAYS OF QUEEN MARY.
“Thy face
Is all at once spread over with a calm
More beautiful than sleep, or mirth, or joy!
I am no more disconsolate.” Wilson.
Scene I.—A Prison.
Edith alone.
Edith. Morn once again! Morn in the lone, dim cell,
The cavern of the prisoner’s fever-dream;
And morn on all the green, rejoicing hills,
And the bright waters round the prisoner’s home,
Far, far away! Now wakes the early bird,
That in the lime’s transparent foliage sings,
Close to my cottage-lattice—he awakes,
To stir the young leaves with his gushing soul,
And to call forth rich answers of delight
From voices buried in a thousand trees
Through the dim, starry hours. Now doth the lake
Darken and flash in rapid interchange
Unto the matin breeze; and the blue mist
Rolls, like a furling banner, from the brows
Of the forth-gleaming hills and woods that rise
As if new-born. Bright world! and I am here!
And thou, O thou! the awakening thought of whom
Was more than dayspring, dearer than the sun,
Herbert! the very glance of whose clear eye
Made my soul melt away to one pure fount
Of living, bounding gladness!—where art thou?
My friend! my only and my blessed love!
Herbert, my soul’s companion!
Gomez, a Spanish Priest, enters.
Gom. Daughter, hail!
I bring thee tidings.
Ed. Heaven will aid my soul
Calmly to meet whate’er thy lips announce.
Gom. Nay, lift a song of thanksgiving to heaven,
And bow thy knee down for deliverance won!
Hast thou not pray’d for life? and wouldst thou not
Once more be free!
Ed. Have I not pray’d for life?
I, that am so beloved! that love again
With such a heart of tendrils? Heaven! thou know’st
The gushings of my prayer! And would I not
Once more be free? I that have been a child
Of breezy hills, a playmate of the fawn
In ancient woodlands from mine infancy!
A watcher of the clouds and of the stars,
Beneath the adoring silence of the night;
And a glad wanderer with the happy streams,
Whose laughter fills the mountains! Oh! to hear
Their blessed sounds again!
Gom. Rejoice, rejoice!
Our queen hath pity, maiden! on thy youth;
She wills not thou shouldst perish. I am come
To loose thy bonds.
Ed. And shall I see his face,
And shall I listen to his voice again,
And lay my head upon his faithful breast,
Weeping there in my gladness? Will this be?
Blessings upon thee, father! my quick heart
Hath deem’d thee stern—say, wilt thou not forgive
The wayward child, too long in sunshine rear’d—
Too long unused to chastening? Wilt thou not?
But Herbert, Herbert! Oh, my soul hath rush’d
On a swift gust of sudden joy away,
Forgetting all beside! Speak, father! speak!
Herbert—is he, too, free?
Gom. His freedom lies
In his own choice—a boon like thine.
Ed. Thy words
Fall changed and cold upon my boding heart.
Leave not this dim suspense o’ershadowing me;
Let all be told.
Gom. The monarchs of the earth
Shower not their mighty gifts without a claim
Unto some token of true vassalage,
Some mark of homage.
Ed. Oh! unlike to Him
Who freely pours the joy of sunshine forth,
And the bright, quickening rain, on those who serve
And those who heed Him not!
Gom. (laying a paper before her.) Is it so much
That thine own hand should set the crowning seal
To thy deliverance? Look, thy task is here!
Sign but these words for liberty and life.
Ed. (examining and then throwing it from her.)
Sign but these words! and wherefore saidst thou not
—“Be but a traitor to God’s light within?”
Cruel, oh cruel! thy dark sport hath been
With a young bosom’s hope! Farewell, glad life!
Bright opening path to love and home, farewell!
And thou—now leave me with my God alone!
Gom. Dost thou reject heaven’s mercy?
Ed. Heaven’s! doth heaven
Woo the free spirit for dishonour’d breath
To sell its birthright?—doth heaven set a price
On the clear jewel of unsullied faith,
And the bright calm of conscience? Priest, away!
God hath been with me midst the holiness
Of England’s mountains. Not in sport alone
I trod their heath-flowers; but high thoughts rose up
From the broad shadow of the enduring rocks,
And wander’d with me into solemn glens,
Where my soul felt the beauty of His word.
I have heard voices of immortal truth,
Blent with the everlasting torrent-sounds
That make the deep hills tremble.—Shall I quail?
Shall England’s daughter sink? No! He who there
Spoke to my heart in silence and in storm,
Will not forsake His child!
Gom. (turning from her.) Then perish! lost
In thine own blindness!
Ed. (suddenly throwing herself at his feet.)
Father! hear me yet!
Oh! if the kindly touch of human love
Hath ever warm’d thy breast——
Gom. Away—away!
I know not love.
Ed. Yet hear! if thou hast known
The tender sweetness of a mother’s voice—
If the true vigil of affection’s eye
Hath watch’d thy childhood—if fond tears have e’er
Been shower’d upon thy head—if parting words
E’er pierced thy spirit with their tenderness—
Let me but look upon his face once more,
Let me but say—Farewell, my soul’s beloved!
And I will bless thee still!
Gom. (aside.) Her soul may yield,
Beholding him in fetters; woman’s faith
Will bend to woman’s love.
Thy prayer is heard;
Follow, and I will guide thee to his cell.
Ed. O stormy hour of agony and joy!
But I shall see him—I shall hear his voice!
[They go out.
Scene II.—Another part of the Prison.
Herbert, Edith.
Ed. Herbert! my Herbert! is it thus we meet?
Her. The voice of my own Edith! Can such joy
Light up this place of death! And do I feel
Thy breath of love once more upon my cheek,
And the soft floating of thy gleamy hair,
My blessed Edith? Oh, so pale! so changed!
My flower, my blighted flower! thou that wert made
For the kind fostering of sweet, summer airs,
How hath the storm been with thee? Lay thy head
On this true breast again, my gentle one!
And tell me all.
Ed. Yes! take me to thy heart,
For I am weary, weary! Oh! that heart!
The kind, the brave, the tender!—how my soul
Hath sicken’d in vain yearnings for the balm
Of rest on that warm heart!—full, deep repose!
One draught of dewy stillness after storm!
And God hath pitied me, and I am here—
Yet once before I die.
Her. They cannot slay
One young, and meek, and beautiful as thou,
My broken lily! Surely the long days
Of the dark cell have been enough for thee!
Oh! thou shalt live, and raise thy gracious head
Yet in calm sunshine.
Ed. Herbert! I have cast
The snare of proferr’d mercy from my soul,
This very hour. God to the weak hath given
Victory o’er life and death. The tempter’s price
Hath been rejected—Herbert, I must die.
Her. O Edith! Edith! I, that led thee first
From the old path wherein thy fathers trod—
I, that received it as an angel’s task,
To pour the fresh light on thine ardent soul,
Which drank it as a sunflower—I have been
Thy guide to death.
Ed. To heaven! my guide to heaven,
My noble and my blessed! Oh! look up,
Be strong, rejoice, my Herbert! But for thee,
How could my spirit have sprung up to God
Through the dark cloud which o’er its vision hung,
The night of fear and error?—thy dear hand
First raised that veil, and show’d the glorious world
My heritage beyond. Friend! love, and friend!
It was as if thou gavest me mine own soul
In those bright days! Yes! a new earth and heaven,
And a new sense for all their splendours born—
These were thy gifts; and shall I not rejoice
To die, upholding their immortal worth,
Even for thy sake? Yes! fill’d with nobler life
By thy pure love, made holy to the truth,
Lay me upon the altar of thy God,
The first fruits of thy ministry below—
Thy work, thine own!
Her. My love, my sainted love!
Oh! I can almost yield thee unto heaven;
Earth would but sully thee! Thou must depart,
With the rich crown of thy celestial gifts
Untainted by a breath. And yet, alas!
Edith! what dreams of holy happiness,
Even for this world, were ours!—the low sweet home,
The pastoral dwelling, with its ivied porch,
And lattice gleaming through the leaves—and thou
My life’s companion! Thou, beside my hearth,
Sitting with thy meek eyes, or greeting me
Back from brief absence with thy bounding step,
In the green meadow-path, or by my side
Kneeling—thy calm uplifted face to mine,
In the sweet hush of prayer! And now—oh, now!—
How have we loved—how fervently! how long!
And this to be the close!
Ed. Oh! bear me up
Against the unutterable tenderness
Of earthly love, my God!—in the sick hour
Of dying human hope, forsake me not!
Herbert, my Herbert! even from that sweet home
Where it had been too much of Paradise
To dwell with thee—even thence the oppressor’s hand
Might soon have torn us; or the touch of death
Might one day there have left a widow’d heart,
Pining alone. We will go hence, beloved!
To the bright country where the wicked cease
From troubling, where the spoiler hath no sway;
Where no harsh voice of worldliness disturbs
The Sabbath-peace of love. We will go hence,
Together with our wedded souls, to heaven:
No solitary lingering, no cold void,
No dying of the heart! Our lives have been
Lovely through faithful love, and in our deaths
We will not be divided.
Her. Oh! the peace
Of God is lying far within thine eyes,
Far underneath the mist of human tears
Lighting those blue, still depths, and sinking thence
On my worn heart. Now am I girt with strength,
Now I can bless thee, my true bride for heaven!
Ed. And let me bless thee, Herbert!—in this hour
Let my soul bless thee with prevailing might!
Oh! thou hast loved me nobly! thou didst take
An orphan to thy heart—a thing unprized
And desolate; and thou didst guard her there,
That lone and lowly creature, as a pearl
Of richest price; and thou didst fill her soul
With the high gifts of an immortal wealth.
I bless, I bless thee! Never did thine eye
Look on me but in glistening tenderness,
My gentle Herbert! Never did thy voice
But in affection’s deepest music speak
To thy poor Edith! Never was thy heart
Aught but the kindliest sheltering home to mine,
My faithful, generous Herbert! Woman’s peace
Ne’er on a breast so tender and so true
Reposed before. Alas! thy showering tears
Fall fast upon my cheek—forgive, forgive!
I should not melt thy noble strength away
In such an hour.
Her. Sweet Edith, no! my heart
Will fail no more. God bears me up through thee,
And by thy words, and by thy heavenly light
Shining around thee, through thy very tears,
Will yet sustain me! Let us call on Him!
Let us kneel down, as we have knelt so oft,
Thy pure cheek touching mine, and call on Him,
Th’ all-pitying One, to aid.
[They kneel.
Oh, look on us,
Father above!—in tender mercy look
On us, thy children!—through th’ o’ershadowing cloud
Of sorrow and mortality, send aid—
Save, or we perish! We would pour our lives
Forth as a joyous offering to thy truth;
But we are weak—we, the bruised reeds of earth,
Are sway’d by every gust. Forgive, O God!
The blindness of our passionate desires,
The fainting of our hearts, the lingering thoughts
Which cleave to dust! Forgive the strife; accept
The sacrifice, though dim with mortal tears,
From mortal pangs wrung forth! And if our souls,
In all the fervent dreams, the fond excess,
Of their long-clasping love, have wander’d not,
Holiest! from thee—oh! take them to thyself,
After the fiery trial—take them home
To dwell, in that imperishable bond
Before thee link’d, for ever. Hear!—thro’ Him
Who meekly drank the cup of agony,
Who pass’d through death to victory, hear and save!
Pity us, Father! we are girt with snares:
Father in Heaven! we have no help but thee.
[They rise.
Is thy soul strengthen’d, my beloved one?
O Edith! couldst thou lift up thy sweet voice,
And sing me that old solemn-breathing hymn
We loved in happier days—the strain which tells
Of the dread conflict in the olive shade?
Edith sings.
He knelt, the Saviour knelt and pray’d,
When but his Father’s eye
Look’d through the lonely garden’s shade
On that dread agony;
The Lord of all above, beneath,
Was bow’d with sorrow unto death.
The sun set in a fearful hour,
The stars might well grow dim,
When this mortality had power
So to o’ershadow Him!
That He who gave man’s breath, might know
The very depths of human woe.
He proved them all!—the doubt, the strife,
The faint perplexing dread,
The mists that hang o’er parting life,
All gather’d round his head;
And the Deliverer knelt to pray—
Yet pass’d it not, that cup, away!
It pass’d not—though the stormy wave
Had sunk beneath his tread;
It pass’d not—though to Him the grave
Had yielded up its dead.
But there was sent him from on High
A gift of strength for man to die.
And was the Sinless thus beset
With anguish and dismay?
How may we meet our conflict yet,
In the dark, narrow way?
Through Him—through Him that path who trod.
—Save, or we perish, Son of God!
Hark, hark! the parting signal.
[Prison attendants enter.
Fare thee well!
O thou unutterably loved, farewell!
Let our hearts bow to God!
Her. One last embrace—
On earth the last! We have eternity
For love’s communion yet! Farewell!—farewell!
[She is led out.
’Tis o’er!—the bitterness of death is past!