Arl. We thought that he was gone, when the quick step
Of his despairing father sounded near.
Stern death relaxed his hold, and for short space
Allowed his spirit to reanimate
His chilly frame. He raised him on his side,
Clung round his father's neck, and looking on him,
Feebly he said, "Have I done well, my father?
Am I John Talbot's son?" "Too well! too well!
My brave"—was all the father could reply;
But 'twas enough—the young man caught the sound.
And dropping back his head, he smiled and died.
Off. And his brave sire?
Arl. As if transfixed, he gazed,
And mute—then by the body of his son
He threw him down, kissed his cold lips, and oft,
Midst sobs, he cried, "And art thou gone so soon?
Thy morning ended ere thy noon begun;
And such a noon!" but sudden on his hands
He saw the crimson stain of that dear blood,
And like a lion maddened at the sight,
His grief was checked, and springing on his feet
He seized his massy sword, and wildly rushed
Into the fight.
Off. See figures in the dusk
Moving apace. (Two soldiers appear.)
Arl. Let's draw aside.
Off. They make
For yonder cottage.
Scene II.—A Cottage.
Widow of Camouse.
Wid. Half light, half dark. Oh, would that reason's lamp
Were utterly extinct, and I could lose
The sense that thus I am a tomb to self,
Where the dim taper only shows its gloom.
Then I should feel no more, no longer mourn,
And my poor heart would cease to throb, my head
To burn. One,—three are gone, and now the last.
I have no more to lose!
I'll lay him in the bed these hands have dug,
(I've kiss'd his eyes to sleep,) and then I'll seek
The spirits of my lord and other boys,
And bring them here to see, how, e'en in poverty,
I've made a home fitting Camouse's son.
E'en now I lose myself, and at my folly
Smile while I weep. But hark! what steps are these?
I must within and guard.