The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth — Volume 1 (of 8)

by William Wordsworth

Herbert, Idonea, and Host

Herbert	(seated) As I am dear to you, remember, Child! This last request.
Idonea	You know me, Sire; farewell!
Herbert	And are you going then? Come, come, Idonea, We must not part,—I have measured many a league When these old limbs had need of rest,—and now I will not play the sluggard.
Idonea	Nay, sit down. [Turning to Host.] Good Host, such tendance as you would expect From your own Children, if yourself were sick, Let this old Man find at your hands; poor Leader, [Looking at the dog.] We soon shall meet again. If thou neglect This charge of thine, then ill befall thee!—Look, The little fool is loth to stay behind. Sir Host! by all the love you bear to courtesy, Take care of him, and feed the truant well.
Host	Fear not, I will obey you;—but One so young, And One so fair, it goes against my heart That you should travel unattended, Lady!— I have a palfrey and a groom: the lad Shall squire you, (would it not be better, Sir?) And for less fee than I would let him run For any lady I have seen this twelvemonth.
Idonea	You know, Sir, I have been too long your guard Not to have learnt to laugh at little fears. Why, if a wolf should leap from out a thicket, A look of mine would send him scouring back, Unless I differ from the thing I am When you are by my side.
Herbert	Idonea, wolves Are not the enemies that move my fears.
Idonea	No more, I pray, of this. Three days at farthest Will bring me back—protect him, Saints—farewell!
	[Exit Idonea.]
Host	'Tis never drought with us—St. Cuthbert and his Pilgrims, Thanks to them, are to us a stream of comfort: Pity the Maiden did not wait awhile; She could not, Sir, have failed of company.
Herbert	Now she is gone, I fain would call her back.
Host	(calling) Holla!
Herbert	No, no, the business must be done.— What means this riotous noise?
Host	The villagers Are flocking in—a wedding festival— That's all—God save you, Sir.
	[Enter Oswald]
Oswald	Ha! as I live, The Baron Herbert.
Host	Mercy, the Baron Herbert!
Oswald	So far into your journey! on my life, You are a lusty Traveller. But how fare you?
Herbert	Well as the wreck I am permits. And you, Sir?
Oswald	I do not see Idonea.
Herbert	Dutiful Girl, She is gone before, to spare my weariness. But what has brought you hither?
Oswald	A slight affair, That will be soon despatched.
Herbert	Did Marmaduke Receive that letter?
Oswald	Be at peace.—The tie Is broken, you will hear no more of him.
Herbert	This is true comfort, thanks a thousand times!— That noise!—would I had gone with her as far As the Lord Clifford's Castle: I have heard That, in his milder moods, he has expressed Compassion for me. His influence is great With Henry, our good King;—the Baron might Have heard my suit, and urged my plea at Court. No matter—he's a dangerous Man.—That noise!— 'Tis too disorderly for sleep or rest. Idonea would have fears for me,—the Convent Will give me quiet lodging. You have a boy, good Host, And he must lead me back.
Oswald	You are most lucky; I have been waiting in the wood hard by For a companion—here he comes; our journey [Enter Marmaduke] Lies on your way; accept us as your Guides.
Herbert	Alas! I creep so slowly.
Oswald	Never fear; We'll not complain of that.
Herbert	My limbs are stiff And need repose. Could you but wait an hour?
Oswald	Most willingly!—Come, let me lead you in, And, while you take your rest, think not of us; We'll stroll into the wood; lean on my arm.
	[Conducts Herbert into the house. Exit Marmaduke.] [Enter Villagers]
Oswald	(to himself, coming out of the Hostel) I have prepared a most apt Instrument— The Vagrant must, no doubt, be loitering somewhere About this ground; she hath a tongue well skilled, By mingling natural matter of her own With all the daring fictions I have taught her, To win belief, such as my plot requires.
	[Exit Oswald.] [Enter more Villagers, a Musician among them]
Host	(to them) Into the court, my Friend, and perch yourself Aloft upon the elm-tree. Pretty Maids, Garlands and flowers, and cakes and merry thoughts, Are here, to send the sun into the west More speedily than you belike would wish.

Scene changes to the Wood adjoining the Hostel—

[

Marmaduke and Oswald entering]

Marmaduke	I would fain hope that we deceive ourselves: When first I saw him sitting there, alone, It struck upon my heart I know not how.
Oswald	To-day will clear up all.—You marked a Cottage, That ragged Dwelling, close beneath a rock By the brook-side: it is the abode of One, A Maiden innocent till ensnared by Clifford, Who soon grew weary of her; but, alas! What she had seen and suffered turned her brain. Cast off by her Betrayer, she dwells alone, Nor moves her hands to any needful work: She eats her food which every day the peasants Bring to her hut; and so the Wretch has lived Ten years; and no one ever heard her voice; But every night at the first stroke of twelve She quits her house, and, in the neighbouring Churchyard Upon the self-same spot, in rain or storm, She paces out the hour 'twixt twelve and one— She paces round and round an Infant's grave, And in the Churchyard sod her feet have worn A hollow ring; they say it is knee-deep— Ah[2]! what is [here]?
	[A female Beggar rises up, rubbing her eyes as if in sleep— a Child in her arms.]
Beggar	O Gentlemen, I thank you; I've had the saddest dream that ever troubled The heart of living creature.—My poor Babe Was crying, as I thought, crying for bread When I had none to give him; whereupon, I put a slip of foxglove in his hand, Which pleased him so, that he was hushed at once: When, into one of those same spotted bells A bee came darting, which the Child with joy Imprisoned there, and held it to his ear, And suddenly grew black, as he would die.
Marmaduke	We have no time for this, my babbling Gossip; Here's what will comfort you. [Gives her money.]
Beggar	The Saints reward you For this good deed!—Well, Sirs, this passed away; And afterwards I fancied, a strange dog, Trotting alone along the beaten road, Came to my child as by my side he slept And, fondling, licked his face, then on a sudden Snapped fierce to make a morsel of his head: But here he is, [kissing the Child] it must have been a dream.
Oswald	When next inclined to sleep, take my advice, And put your head, good Woman, under cover.
Beggar	Oh, Sir, you would not talk thus, if you knew What life is this of ours, how sleep will master The weary-worn.—You gentlefolk have got Warm chambers to your wish. I'd rather be A stone than what I am.—But two nights gone, The darkness overtook me—wind and rain Beat hard upon my head—and yet I saw A glow-worm, through the covert of the furze, Shine calmly as if nothing ailed the sky: At which I half accused the God in Heaven.— You must forgive me.
Oswald	Ay, and if you think The Fairies are to blame, and you should chide Your favourite saint—no matter—this good day Has made amends.
Beggar	Thanks to you both; but, Oh Sir! How would you like to travel on whole hours As I have done, my eyes upon the ground, Expecting still, I knew not how, to find A piece of money glittering through the dust.
Marmaduke	This woman is a prater. Pray, good Lady! Do you tell fortunes?
Beggar	Oh Sir, you are like the rest. This Little-one—it cuts me to the heart— Well! they might turn a beggar from their doors, But there are Mothers who can see the Babe Here at my breast, and ask me where I bought it: This they can do, and look upon my face— But you, Sir, should be kinder.
Marmaduke	Come hither, Fathers, And learn what nature is from this poor Wretch!
Beggar	Ay, Sir, there's nobody that feels for us. Why now—but yesterday I overtook A blind old Greybeard and accosted him, I' th' name of all the Saints, and by the Mass He should have used me better!—Charity! If you can melt a rock, he is your man; But I'll be even with him—here again Have I been waiting for him.
Oswald	Well, but softly, Who is it that hath wronged you?
Beggar	Mark you me; I'll point him out;—a Maiden is his guide, Lovely as Spring's first rose; a little dog, Tied by a woollen cord, moves on before With look as sad as he were dumb; the cur, I owe him no ill will, but in good sooth He does his Master credit.
Marmaduke	As I live, 'Tis Herbert and no other!
Beggar	'Tis a feast to see him, Lank as a ghost and tall, his shoulders bent, And long beard white with age—yet evermore, As if he were the only Saint on earth, He turns his face to heaven.
Oswald	But why so violent Against this venerable Man?
Beggar	I'll tell you: He has the very hardest heart on earth; I had as lief turn to the Friar's school And knock for entrance, in mid holiday.
Marmaduke	But to your story.
Beggar	I was saying, Sir— Well!—he has often spurned me like a toad, But yesterday was worse than all;—at last I overtook him, Sirs, my Babe and I, And begged a little aid for charity: But he was snappish as a cottage cur. Well then, says I—I'll out with it; at which I cast a look upon the Girl, and felt As if my heart would burst; and so I left him.
Oswald	I think, good Woman, you are the very person Whom, but some few days past, I saw in Eskdale, At Herbert's door.
Beggar	Ay; and if truth were known I have good business there.
Oswald	I met you at the threshold, And he seemed angry.
Beggar	Angry! well he might; And long as I can stir I'll dog him.—Yesterday, To serve me so, and knowing that he owes The best of all he has to me and mine. But 'tis all over now.—That good old Lady Has left a power of riches; and I say it, If there's a lawyer in the land, the knave Shall give me half.
Oswald	What's this?—I fear, good Woman, You have been insolent.
Beggar	And there's the Baron, I spied him skulking in his peasant's dress.
Oswald	How say you? in disguise?—
Marmaduke	But what's your business With Herbert or his Daughter?
Beggar	Daughter! truly— But how's the day?—I fear, my little Boy, We've overslept ourselves.—Sirs, have you seen him? [Offers to go.]
Marmaduke	I must have more of this;—you shall not stir An inch, till I am answered. Know you aught That doth concern this Herbert?
Beggar	You are provoked, And will misuse me, Sir!
Marmaduke	No trifling, Woman!—
Oswald	You are as safe as in a sanctuary; Speak.
Marmaduke	Speak!
Beggar	He is a most hard-hearted Man.
Marmaduke	Your life is at my mercy.
Beggar	Do not harm me, And I will tell you all!—You know not, Sir, What strong temptations press upon the Poor.
Oswald	Speak out.
Beggar	Sir, I've been a wicked Woman.
Oswald	Nay, but speak out!
Beggar	He flattered me, and said What harvest it would bring us both; and so, I parted with the Child.
Marmaduke	[Parted] with whom[3]?
Beggar	Idonea, as he calls her; but the Girl Is mine.
Marmaduke	Yours, Woman! are you Herbert's wife?
Beggar	Wife, Sir! his wife—not I; my husband, Sir, Was of Kirkoswald—many a snowy winter We've weathered out together. My poor Gilfred! He has been two years in his grave.
Marmaduke	Enough.
Oswald	We've solved the riddle—Miscreant!
Marmaduke	Do you, Good Dame, repair to Liddesdale and wait For my return; be sure you shall have justice.
Oswald	A lucky woman!—go, you have done good service.[Aside.]
Marmaduke	(to himself) Eternal praises on the power that saved her!—
Oswald	(gives her money) Here's for your little boy—and when you christen him I'll be his Godfather.
Beggar	O Sir, you are merry with me. In grange or farm this Hundred scarcely owns A dog that does not know me.—These good Folks, For love of God, I must not pass their doors; But I'll be back with my best speed: for you— God bless and thank you both, my gentle Masters.
	[Exit Beggar.]
Marmaduke	(to himself) The cruel Viper!—Poor devoted Maid, Now I do love thee.
Oswald	I am thunderstruck.
Marmaduke	Where is she—holla! [Calling to the Beggar, who returns; he looks at her stedfastly.] You are Idonea's Mother?— Nay, be not terrified—it does me good To look upon you.
Oswald	(interrupting) In a peasant's dress You saw, who was it?
Beggar	Nay, I dare not speak; He is a man, if it should come to his ears I never shall be heard of more.
Oswald	Lord Clifford?
Beggar	What can I do? believe me, gentle Sirs, I love her, though I dare not call her daughter.
Oswald	Lord Clifford—did you see him talk with Herbert?
Beggar	Yes, to my sorrow—under the great oak At Herbert's door—and when he stood beside The blind Man—at the silent Girl he looked With such a look—it makes me tremble, Sir, To think of it.
Oswald	Enough! you may depart.
Marmaduke	(to himself) Father!—to God himself we cannot give A holier name; and, under such a mask, To lead a Spirit, spotless as the blessed, To that abhorrèd den of brutish vice!— Oswald, the firm foundation of my life Is going from under me; these strange discoveries— Looked at from every point of fear or hope, Duty, or love—involve, I feel, my ruin.

Act II

Scene—A Chamber in the Hostel.
Oswald alone, rising from a Table on which he had been writing.

Oswald	They chose him for their Chief!—what covert part He, in the preference, modest Youth, might take, I neither know nor care. The insult bred More of contempt than hatred; both are flown; That either e'er existed is my shame: 'Twas a dull spark—a most unnatural fire That died the moment the air breathed upon it. —These fools of feeling are mere birds of winter That haunt some barren island of the north, Where, if a famishing man stretch forth his hand, They think it is to feed them. I have left him To solitary meditation;—now For a few swelling phrases, and a flash Of truth, enough to dazzle and to blind, And he is mine for ever—here he comes.
	[Enter Marmaduke.]
Marmaduke	These ten years she has moved her lips all day And never speaks!
Oswald	Who is it?
Marmaduke	I have seen her.
Oswald	Oh! the poor tenant of that ragged homestead, Her whom the Monster, Clifford, drove to madness.
Marmaduke	I met a peasant near the spot; he told me, These ten years she had sate all day alone Within those empty walls.
Oswald	I too have seen her; Chancing to pass this way some six months gone, At midnight, I betook me to the Churchyard: The moon shone clear, the air was still, so still The trees were silent as the graves beneath them. Long did I watch, and saw her pacing round Upon the self-same spot, still round and round, Her lips for ever moving.
Marmaduke	At her door Rooted I stood; for, looking at the woman, I thought I saw the skeleton of Idonea.
Oswald	But the pretended Father—
Marmaduke	Earthly law Measures not crimes like his.
Oswald	We rank not, happily, With those who take the spirit of their rule From that soft class of devotees who feel Reverence for life so deeply, that they spare The verminous brood, and cherish what they spare While feeding on their bodies. Would that Idonea Were present, to the end that we might hear What she can urge in his defence; she loves him.
Marmaduke	Yes, loves him; 'tis a truth that multiplies His guilt a thousand-fold.
Oswald	'Tis most perplexing: What must be done?
Marmaduke	We will conduct her hither; These walls shall witness it—from first to last He shall reveal himself.
Oswald	Happy are we, Who live in these disputed tracts, that own No law but what each man makes for himself; Here justice has indeed a field of triumph.
Marmaduke	Let us begone and bring her hither;—here The truth shall be laid open, his guilt proved Before her face. The rest be left to me.
Oswald	You will be firm: but though we well may trust The issue to the justice of the cause, Caution must not be flung aside; remember, Yours is no common life. Self-stationed here, Upon these savage confines, we have seen you Stand like an isthmus 'twixt two stormy seas That oft have checked their fury at your bidding. 'Mid the deep holds of Solway's mossy waste, Your single virtue has transformed a Band Of fierce barbarians into Ministers Of peace and order. Aged men with tears Have blessed their steps, the fatherless retire For shelter to their banners. But it is, As you must needs have deeply felt, it is In darkness and in tempest that we seek The majesty of Him who rules the world. Benevolence, that has not heart to use The wholesome ministry of pain and evil, Becomes at last weak and contemptible. Your generous qualities have won due praise, But vigorous Spirits look for something more Than Youth's spontaneous products; and to-day You will not disappoint them; and hereafter—
Marmaduke	You are wasting words; hear me then, once for all: You are a Man—and therefore, if compassion, Which to our kind is natural as life, Be known unto you, you will love this Woman, Even as I do; but I should loathe the light, If I could think one weak or partial feeling—
Oswald	You will forgive me—
Marmaduke	If I ever knew My heart, could penetrate its inmost core, 'Tis at this moment.—Oswald, I have loved To be the friend and father of the oppressed, A comforter of sorrow;—there is something Which looks like a transition in my soul, And yet it is not.—Let us lead him hither.
Oswald	Stoop for a moment; 'tis an act of justice; And where's the triumph if the delegate Must fall in the execution of his office? The deed is done—if you will have it so— Here where we stand—that tribe of vulgar wretches (You saw them gathering for the festival) Rush in—the villains seize us—
Marmaduke	Seize!
Oswald	Yes, they— Men who are little given to sift and weigh— Would wreak on us the passion of the moment.
Marmaduke	The cloud will soon disperse—farewell—but stay, Thou wilt relate the story.
Oswald	Am I neither To bear a part in this Man's punishment, Nor be its witness?
Marmaduke	I had many hopes That were most dear to me, and some will bear To be transferred to thee.
Oswald	When I'm dishonoured!
Marmaduke	I would preserve thee. How may this be done?
Oswald	By showing that you look beyond the instant. A few leagues hence we shall have open ground, And nowhere upon earth is place so fit To look upon the deed. Before we enter The barren Moor, hangs from a beetling rock The shattered Castle in which Clifford oft Has held infernal orgies—with the gloom, And very superstition of the place, Seasoning his wickedness. The Debauchee Would there perhaps have gathered the first fruits Of this mock Father's guilt.
	[Enter Host conducting Herbert.]
Host	The Baron Herbert Attends your pleasure.
Oswald	(to Host) We are ready— (to Herbert) Sir! I hope you are refreshed.—I have just written A notice for your Daughter, that she may know What is become of you.—You'll sit down and sign it; 'Twill glad her heart to see her father's signature. [Gives the letter he had written.]
Herbert	Thanks for your care.
	[Sits down and writes. Exit Host.]
Oswald	(aside to Marmaduke) Perhaps it would be useful That you too should subscribe your name.
Marmaduke	I cannot leave this paper.
	[He puts it up, agitated.]
Oswald	(aside) Dastard! Come.
	[Marmaduke goes towards Herbert and supports him—Marmaduke tremblingly beckons Oswald to take his place.]
Marmaduke	(as he quits Herbert) There is a palsy in his limbs—he shakes.
	[Exeunt Oswald and Herbert—Marmaduke following.]

Scene changes to a Wood—