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

by William Wordsworth

Herbert	A sound of laughter, too!—'tis well—I feared, The Stranger had some pitiable sorrow Pressing upon his solitary heart. Hush!—'tis the feeble and earth-loving wind That creeps along the bells of the crisp heather. Alas! 'tis cold—I shiver in the sunshine— What can this mean? There is a psalm that speaks Of God's parental mercies—with Idonea I used to sing it.—Listen!—what foot is there?
	[Enter Marmaduke]
Marmaduke	(aside—looking at Herbert) And I have loved this Man! and she hath loved him! And I loved her, and she loves the Lord Clifford! And there it ends;—if this be not enough To make mankind merry for evermore, Then plain it is as day, that eyes were made For a wise purpose—verily to weep with! [Looking round.] A pretty prospect this, a masterpiece Of Nature, finished with most curious skill! (To Herbert.) Good Baron, have you ever practised tillage? Pray tell me what this land is worth by the acre?
Herbert	How glad I am to hear your voice! I know not Wherein I have offended you;—last night I found in you the kindest of Protectors; This morning, when I spoke of weariness, You from my shoulder took my scrip and threw it About your own; but for these two hours past Once only have you spoken, when the lark Whirred from among the fern beneath our feet, And I, no coward in my better days, Was almost terrified.
Marmaduke	That's excellent!— So, you bethought you of the many ways In which a man may come to his end, whose crimes Have roused all Nature up against him—pshaw!—
Herbert	For mercy's sake, is nobody in sight? No traveller, peasant, herdsman?
Marmaduke	Not a soul: Here is a tree, raggèd, and bent, and bare, That turns its goat's-beard flakes of pea-green moss From the stern breathing of the rough sea-wind; This have we, but no other company: Commend me to the place. If a man should die And leave his body here, it were all one As he were twenty fathoms underground.
Herbert	Where is our common Friend?
Marmaduke	A ghost, methinks— The Spirit of a murdered man, for instance— Might have fine room to ramble about here, A grand domain to squeak and gibber in.
Herbert	Lost Man! if thou have any close-pent guilt Pressing upon thy heart, and this the hour Of visitation—
Marmaduke	A bold word from you!
Herbert	Restore him, Heaven!
Marmaduke	The desperate Wretch!—A Flower, Fairest of all flowers, was she once, but now They have snapped her from the stem—Poh! let her lie Besoiled with mire, and let the houseless snail Feed on her leaves. You knew her well—ay, there, Old Man! you were a very Lynx, you knew The worm was in her—
Herbert	Mercy! Sir, what mean you?
Marmaduke	You have a Daughter!
Herbert	Oh that she were here!— She hath an eye that sinks into all hearts, And if I have in aught offended you, Soon would her gentle voice make peace between us.
Marmaduke	I do believe he weeps—I could weep too— There is a vein of her voice that runs through his: Even such a Man my fancy bodied forth From the first moment that I loved the Maid; And for his sake I loved her more: these tears— I did not think that aught was left in me Of what I have been—yes, I thank thee, Heaven! One happy thought has passed across my mind. —It may not be—I am cut off from man; No more shall I be man—no more shall I Have human feelings!—(To Herbert)--Now, for a little more About your Daughter!
Herbert	Troops of armed men, Met in the roads, would bless us; little children, Rushing along in the full tide of play, Stood silent as we passed them! I have heard The boisterous carman, in the miry road, Check his loud whip and hail us with mild voice, And speak with milder voice to his poor beasts.
Marmaduke	And whither were you going?
Herbert	Learn, young Man,— To fear the virtuous, and reverence misery, Whether too much for patience, or, like mine, Softened till it becomes a gift of mercy.
Marmaduke	Now, this is as it should be!
Herbert	I am weak!— My Daughter does not know how weak I am; And, as thou see'st, under the arch of heaven Here do I stand, alone, to helplessness, By the good God, our common Father, doomed!— But I had once a spirit and an arm—
Marmaduke	Now, for a word about your Barony: I fancy when you left the Holy Land, And came to—what's your title—eh? your claims Were undisputed!
Herbert	Like a mendicant, Whom no one comes to meet, I stood alone;— I murmured—but, remembering Him who feeds The pelican and ostrich of the desert, From my own threshold I looked up to Heaven And did not want glimmerings of quiet hope. So, from the court I passed, and down the brook, Led by its murmur, to the ancient oak I came; and when I felt its cooling shade, I sate me down, and cannot but believe— While in my lap I held my little Babe And clasped her to my heart, my heart that ached More with delight than grief—I heard a voice Such as by Cherith on Elijah called; It said, "I will be with thee." A little boy, A shepherd-lad, ere yet my trance was gone, Hailed us as if he had been sent from heaven, And said, with tears, that he would be our guide: I had a better guide—that innocent Babe— Her, who hath saved me, to this hour, from harm, From cold, from hunger, penury, and death; To whom I owe the best of all the good I have, or wish for, upon earth—and more And higher far than lies within earth's bounds: Therefore I bless her: when I think of Man, I bless her with sad spirit,—when of God, I bless her in the fulness of my joy!
Marmaduke	The name of daughter in his mouth, he prays! With nerves so steady, that the very flies Sit unmolested on his staff.—Innocent!— If he were innocent—then he would tremble And be disturbed, as I am. (Turning aside.) I have read In Story, what men now alive have witnessed, How, when the People's mind was racked with doubt, Appeal was made to the great Judge: the Accused With naked feet walked over burning ploughshares. Here is a Man by Nature's hand prepared For a like trial, but more merciful. Why else have I been led to this bleak Waste? Bare is it, without house or track, and destitute Of obvious shelter, as a shipless sea. Here will I leave him—here—All-seeing God! Such as he is, and sore perplexed as I am, I will commit him to this final Ordeal!— He heard a voice—a shepherd-lad came to him And was his guide; if once, why not again, And in this desert? If never—then the whole Of what he says, and looks, and does, and is, Makes up one damning falsehood. Leave him here To cold and hunger!—Pain is of the heart, And what are a few throes of bodily suffering If they can waken one pang of remorse? [Goes up to Herbert.] Old Man! my wrath is as a flame burnt out, It cannot be rekindled. Thou art here Led by my hand to save thee from perdition: Thou wilt have time to breathe and think—
Herbert	Oh, Mercy!
Marmaduke	I know the need that all men have of mercy, And therefore leave thee to a righteous judgment.
Herbert	My Child, my blessèd Child!
Marmaduke	No more of that; Thou wilt have many guides if thou art innocent; Yea, from the utmost corners of the earth, That Woman will come o'er this Waste to save thee. [He pauses and looks at Herbert's staff.] Ha! what is here? and carved by her own hand! [Reads upon the staff.] "I am eyes to the blind, saith the Lord. He that puts his trust in me shall not fail!" Yes, be it so;—repent and be forgiven— God and that staff are now thy only guides. [He leaves Herbert on the Moor.]

Scene—an Eminence, A Beacon On The Summit
Lacy, Wallace, Lennox, Etc. Etc.

Several of the Band	(confusedly) But patience!
One of the Band	Curses on that Traitor, Oswald!— Our Captain made a prey to foul device!—
Lennox (to Wallace)	His tool, the wandering Beggar, made last night A plain confession, such as leaves no doubt, Knowing what otherwise we know too well, That she revealed the truth. Stand by me now; For rather would I have a nest of vipers Between my breast-plate and my skin, than make Oswald my special enemy, if you Deny me your support.
Lacy	We have been fooled— But for the motive?
Wallace	Natures such as his Spin motives out of their own bowels, Lacy! I learn'd this when I was a Confessor. I know him well; there needs no other motive Than that most strange incontinence in crime Which haunts this Oswald. Power is life to him And breath and being; where he cannot govern, He will destroy.
Lacy	To have been trapped like moles!— Yes, you are right, we need not hunt for motives: There is no crime from which this man would shrink; He recks not human law; and I have noticed That often when the name of God is uttered, A sudden blankness overspreads his face.
Lennox	Yet, reasoner as he is, his pride has built Some uncouth superstition of its own.
Wallace	I have seen traces of it.
Lennox	Once he headed A band of Pirates in the Norway seas; And when the King of Denmark summoned him To the oath of fealty, I well remember, 'Twas a strange answer that he made; he said, "I hold of Spirits, and the Sun in heaven."
Lacy	He is no madman.
Wallace	A most subtle doctor Were that man, who could draw the line that parts Pride and her daughter, Cruelty, from Madness, That should be scourged, not pitied. Restless Minds, Such Minds as find amid their fellow-men No heart that loves them, none that they can love, Will turn perforce and seek for sympathy In dim relation to imagined Beings.
One of the Band	What if he mean to offer up our Captain An expiation and a sacrifice To those infernal fiends!
Wallace	Now, if the event Should be as Lennox has foretold, then swear, My Friends, his heart shall have as many wounds As there are daggers here.
Lacy	What need of swearing!
One of the Band	Let us away!
Another	Away!
A Third	Hark! how the horns Of those Scotch Rovers echo through the vale.
Lacy	Stay you behind; and when the sun is down, Light up this beacon.
One of the Band	You shall be obeyed.
	[They go out together.]

Scene—The Wood on the edge of the Moor.
Marmaduke (alone)

Marmaduke	Deep, deep and vast, vast beyond human thought, Yet calm.—I could believe, that there was here The only quiet heart on earth. In terror, Remembered terror, there is peace and rest. [Enter Oswald]
Oswald	Ha! my dear Captain.
Marmaduke	A later meeting, Oswald, Would have been better timed.
Oswald	Alone, I see; You have done your duty. I had hopes, which now I feel that you will justify.
Marmaduke	I had fears, From which I have freed myself—but 'tis my wish To be alone, and therefore we must part.
Oswald	Nay, then—I am mistaken. There's a weakness About you still; you talk of solitude— I am your friend.
Marmaduke	What need of this assurance At any time? and why given now?
Oswald	Because You are now in truth my Master; you have taught me What there is not another living man Had strength to teach;—and therefore gratitude Is bold, and would relieve itself by praise.
Marmaduke	Wherefore press this on me?
Oswald	Because I feel That you have shown, and by a signal instance, How they who would be just must seek the rule By diving for it into their own bosoms. To-day you have thrown off a tyranny That lives but in the torpid acquiescence Of our emasculated souls, the tyranny Of the world's masters, with the musty rules By which they uphold their craft from age to age: You have obeyed the only law that sense Submits to recognise; the immediate law, From the clear light of circumstances, flashed Upon an independent Intellect. Henceforth new prospects open on your path; Your faculties should grow with the demand; I still will be your friend, will cleave to you Through good and evil, obloquy and scorn, Oft as they dare to follow on your steps.
Marmaduke	I would be left alone.
Oswald	(exultingly) I know your motives! I am not of the world's presumptuous judges, Who damn where they can neither see nor feel, With a hard-hearted ignorance; your struggles I witness'd, and now hail your victory.
Marmaduke	Spare me awhile that greeting.
Oswald	It may be, That some there are, squeamish half-thinking cowards, Who will turn pale upon you, call you murderer, And you will walk in solitude among them. A mighty evil for a strong-built mind!— Join twenty tapers of unequal height And light them joined, and you will see the less How 'twill burn down the taller; and they all Shall prey upon the tallest. Solitude!— The Eagle lives in Solitude!
Marmaduke	Even so, The Sparrow so on the house-top, and I, The weakest of God's creatures, stand resolved To abide the issue of my act, alone.
Oswald	Now would you? and for ever?—My young Friend, As time advances either we become The prey or masters of our own past deeds. Fellowship we must have, willing or no; And if good Angels fail, slack in their duty, Substitutes, turn our faces where we may, Are still forthcoming; some which, though they bear Ill names, can render no ill services, In recompense for what themselves required. So meet extremes in this mysterious world, And opposites thus melt into each other.
Marmaduke	Time, since Man first drew breath, has never moved With such a weight upon his wings as now; But they will soon be lightened.
Oswald	Ay, look up— Cast round you your mind's eye, and you will learn Fortitude is the child of Enterprise: Great actions move our admiration, chiefly Because they carry in themselves an earnest That we can suffer greatly.
Marmaduke	Very true.
Oswald	Action is transitory—a step, a blow, The motion of a muscle—this way or that— 'Tis done, and in the after-vacancy We wonder at ourselves like men betrayed: Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
Marmaduke	Truth—and I feel it.
Oswald	What! if you had bid Eternal farewell to unmingled joy And the light dancing of the thoughtless heart; It is the toy of fools, and little fit For such a world as this. The wise abjure All thoughts whose idle composition lives In the entire forgetfulness of pain. —I see I have disturbed you.
Marmaduke	By no means.
Oswald	Compassion!—pity!—pride can do without them; And what if you should never know them more!— He is a puny soul who, feeling pain, Finds ease because another feels it too. If e'er I open out this heart of mine It shall be for a nobler end—to teach And not to purchase puling sympathy. —Nay, you are pale.
Marmaduke	It may be so.
Oswald	Remorse— It cannot live with thought; think on, think on, And it will die. What! in this universe, Where the least things control the greatest, where The faintest breath that breathes can move a world; What! feel remorse, where, if a cat had sneezed, A leaf had fallen, the thing had never been Whose very shadow gnaws us to the vitals.
Marmaduke	Now, whither are you wandering? That a man So used to suit his language to the time, Should thus so widely differ from himself— It is most strange.
Oswald	Murder!—what's in the word!— I have no cases by me ready made To fit all deeds. Carry him to the Camp!— A shallow project;—you of late have seen More deeply, taught us that the institutes Of Nature, by a cunning usurpation Banished from human intercourse, exist Only in our relations to the brutes That make the fields their dwelling. If a snake Crawl from beneath our feet we do not ask A license to destroy him: our good governors Hedge in the life of every pest and plague That bears the shape of man; and for what purpose, But to protect themselves from extirpation?— This flimsy barrier you have overleaped.
Marmaduke	My Office is fulfilled—the Man is now Delivered to the Judge of all things.
Oswald	Dead!
Marmaduke	I have borne my burthen to its destined end.
Oswald	This instant we'll return to our Companions— Oh how I long to see their faces again!
	[Enter Idonea with Pilgrims who continue their journey.]
Idonea	(after some time) What, Marmaduke! now thou art mine for ever. And Oswald, too! (To Marmaduke.) On will we to my Father With the glad tidings which this day hath brought; We'll go together, and, such proof received Of his own rights restored, his gratitude To God above will make him feel for ours.
Oswald	I interrupt you?
Idonea	Think not so.
Marmaduke	Idonea, That I should ever live to see this moment!
Idonea	Forgive me.—Oswald knows it all—he knows, Each word of that unhappy letter fell As a blood drop from my heart.
Oswald	'Twas even so.
Marmaduke	I have much to say, but for whose ear?—not thine.
Idonea	Ill can I bear that look—Plead for me, Oswald! You are my Father's Friend. (To Marmaduke.) Alas, you know not, And never can you know, how much he loved me. Twice had he been to me a father, twice Had given me breath, and was I not to be His daughter, once his daughter? could I withstand His pleading face, and feel his clasping arms, And hear his prayer that I would not forsake him In his old age— [Hides her face.]
Marmaduke	Patience—Heaven grant me patience!— She weeps, she weeps—my brain shall burn for hours Ere I can shed a tear.
Idonea	I was a woman; And, balancing the hopes that are the dearest To womankind with duty to my Father, I yielded up those precious hopes, which nought On earth could else have wrested from me;—if erring, Oh let me be forgiven!
Marmaduke	I do forgive thee.
Idonea	But take me to your arms—this breast, alas! It throbs, and you have a heart that does not feel it.
Marmaduke	(exultingly) She is innocent. [He embraces her.]
Oswald	(aside) Were I a Moralist, I should make wondrous revolution here; It were a quaint experiment to show The beauty of truth— [Addressing them.] I see I interrupt you; I shall have business with you, Marmaduke; Follow me to the Hostel. [Exit Oswald.]
Idonea	Marmaduke, This is a happy day. My Father soon Shall sun himself before his native doors; The lame, the hungry, will be welcome there. No more shall he complain of wasted strength, Of thoughts that fail, and a decaying heart; His good works will be balm and life to him.
Marmaduke	This is most strange!—I know not what it was, But there was something which most plainly said, That thou wert innocent.
Idonea	How innocent!— Oh heavens! you've been deceived.
Marmaduke	Thou art a Woman To bring perdition on the universe.
Idonea	Already I've been punished to the height Of my offence. [Smiling affectionately.] I see you love me still, The labours of my hand are still your joy; Bethink you of the hour when on your shoulder I hung this belt. [Pointing to the belt on which was suspended Herbert's scrip.]
Marmaduke	Mercy of Heaven! [Sinks.]
Idonea	What ails you? [Distractedly.]
Marmaduke	The scrip that held his food, and I forgot To give it back again!
Idonea	What mean your words?
Marmaduke	I know not what I said—all may be well.
Idonea	That smile hath life in it!
Marmaduke	This road is perilous; I will attend you to a Hut that stands Near the wood's edge—rest there to-night, I pray you: For me, I have business, as you heard, with Oswald, But will return to you by break of day.
	[Exeunt.]

Act IV

Scene—A desolate prospect—a ridge of rocks—a Chapel on the summit of one—Moon behind the rocks— night stormy—irregular sound of a bell—
Herbert enters exhausted.

Herbert	That Chapel-bell in mercy seemed to guide me, But now it mocks my steps; its fitful stroke Can scarcely be the work of human hands. Hear me, ye Men, upon the cliffs, if such There be who pray nightly before the Altar. Oh that I had but strength to reach the place! My Child—my Child—dark—dark—I faint—this wind— These stifling blasts—God help me!
	[Enter Eldred.]
Eldred	Better this bare rock, Though it were tottering over a man's head, Than a tight case of dungeon walls for shelter From such rough dealing. [A moaning voice is heard.] Ha! what sound is that? Trees creaking in the wind (but none are here) Send forth such noises—and that weary bell! Surely some evil Spirit abroad to-night Is ringing it—'twould stop a Saint in prayer, And that—what is it? never was sound so like A human groan. Ha! what is here? Poor Man— Murdered! alas! speak—speak, I am your friend: No answer—hush—lost wretch, he lifts his hand And lays it to his heart—(Kneels to him.) I pray you speak! What has befallen you?
Herbert	(feebly) A stranger has done this, And in the arms of a stranger I must die.
Eldred	Nay, think not so: come, let me raise you up: [Raises him.] This is a dismal place—well—that is well— I was too fearful—take me for your guide And your support—my hut is not far off. [Draws him gently off the stage.]

Scene—A room in the Hostel—
Marmaduke and Oswald

Marmaduke	But for Idonea!—I have cause to think That she is innocent.
Oswald	Leave that thought awhile, As one of those beliefs which in their hearts Lovers lock up as pearls, though oft no better Than feathers clinging to their points of passion. This day's event has laid on me the duty Of opening out my story; you must hear it, And without further preface.—In my youth, Except for that abatement which is paid By envy as a tribute to desert, I was the pleasure of all hearts, the darling Of every tongue—as you are now. You've heard That I embarked for Syria. On our voyage Was hatched among the crew a foul Conspiracy Against my honour, in the which our Captain Was, I believed, prime Agent. The wind fell; We lay becalmed week after week, until The water of the vessel was exhausted; I felt a double fever in my veins, Yet rage suppressed itself;—to a deep stillness Did my pride tame my pride;—for many days, On a dead sea under a burning sky, I brooded o'er my injuries, deserted By man and nature;—if a breeze had blown, It might have found its way into my heart, And I had been—no matter—do you mark me?
Marmaduke	Quick—to the point—if any untold crime Doth haunt your memory.
Oswald	Patience, hear me further!— One day in silence did we drift at noon By a bare rock, narrow, and white, and bare; No food was there, no drink, no grass, no shade, No tree, nor jutting eminence, nor form Inanimate large as the body of man, Nor any living thing whose lot of life Might stretch beyond the measure of one moon. To dig for water on the spot, the Captain Landed with a small troop, myself being one: There I reproached him with his treachery. Imperious at all times, his temper rose; He struck me; and that instant had I killed him, And put an end to his insolence, but my Comrades Rushed in between us: then did I insist (All hated him, and I was stung to madness) That we should leave him there, alive!—we did so.
Marmaduke	And he was famished?
Oswald	Naked was the spot; Methinks I see it now—how in the sun Its stony surface glittered like a shield; And in that miserable place we left him, Alone but for a swarm of minute creatures Not one of which could help him while alive, Or mourn him dead.
Marmaduke	A man by men cast off, Left without burial! nay, not dead nor dying, But standing, walking, stretching forth his arms, In all things like ourselves, but in the agony With which he called for mercy; and—even so— He was forsaken?
Oswald	There is a power in sounds: The cries he uttered might have stopped the boat That bore us through the water—
Marmaduke	You returned Upon that dismal hearing—did you not?
Oswald	Some scoffed at him with hellish mockery, And laughed so loud it seemed that the smooth sea Did from some distant region echo us.
Marmaduke	We all are of one blood, our veins are filled At the same poisonous fountain!
Oswald	'Twas an island Only by sufferance of the winds and waves, Which with their foam could cover it at will. I know not how he perished; but the calm, The same dead calm, continued many days.
Marmaduke	But his own crime had brought on him this doom, His wickedness prepared it; these expedients Are terrible, yet ours is not the fault.
Oswald	The man was famished, and was innocent!
Marmaduke	Impossible!
Oswald	The man had never wronged me.
Marmaduke	Banish the thought, crush it, and be at peace. His guilt was marked—these things could never be Were there not eyes that see, and for good ends, Where ours are baffled.
Oswald	I had been deceived.
Marmaduke	And from that hour the miserable man No more was heard of?
Oswald	I had been betrayed.
Marmaduke	And he found no deliverance!
Oswald	The Crew Gave me a hearty welcome; they had laid The plot to rid themselves, at any cost, Of a tyrannic Master whom they loathed. So we pursued our voyage: when we landed, The tale was spread abroad; my power at once Shrunk from me; plans and schemes, and lofty hopes— All vanished. I gave way—do you attend?
Marmaduke	The Crew deceived you?
Oswald	Nay, command yourself.
Marmaduke	It is a dismal night—how the wind howls!
Oswald	I hid my head within a Convent, there Lay passive as a dormouse in mid winter. That was no life for me—I was o'erthrown But not destroyed.
Marmaduke	The proofs—you ought to have seen The guilt—have touched it—felt it at your heart— As I have done.
Oswald	A fresh tide of Crusaders Drove by the place of my retreat: three nights Did constant meditation dry my blood; Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on, Through words and things, a dim and perilous way; And, wheresoe'er I turned me, I beheld A slavery compared to which the dungeon And clanking chains are perfect liberty. You understand me—I was comforted; I saw that every possible shape of action Might lead to good—I saw it and burst forth Thirsting for some of those exploits that fill The earth for sure redemption of lost peace. [Marking Marmaduke's countenance.] Nay, you have had the worst. Ferocity Subsided in a moment, like a wind That drops down dead out of a sky it vexed. And yet I had within me evermore A salient spring of energy; I mounted From action up to action with a mind That never rested—without meat or drink Have I lived many days—my sleep was bound To purposes of reason—not a dream But had a continuity and substance That waking life had never power to give.
Marmaduke	O wretched Human-kind!—Until the mystery Of all this world is solved, well may we envy The worm, that, underneath a stone whose weight Would crush the lion's paw with mortal anguish, Doth lodge, and feed, and coil, and sleep, in safety. Fell not the wrath of Heaven upon those traitors?
Oswald	Give not to them a thought. From Palestine We marched to Syria: oft I left the Camp, When all that multitude of hearts was still, And followed on, through woods of gloomy cedar, Into deep chasms troubled by roaring streams; Or from the top of Lebanon surveyed The moonlight desert, and the moonlight sea: In these my lonely wanderings I perceived What mighty objects do impress their forms To elevate our intellectual being; And felt, if aught on earth deserves a curse, 'Tis that worst principle of ill which dooms A thing so great to perish self-consumed. —So much for my remorse!
Marmaduke	Unhappy Man!
Oswald	When from these forms I turned to contemplate The World's opinions and her usages, I seemed a Being who had passed alone Into a region of futurity, Whose natural element was freedom—
Marmaduke	Stop— I may not, cannot, follow thee.
Oswald	You must. I had been nourished by the sickly food Of popular applause. I now perceived That we are praised, only as men in us Do recognise some image of themselves, An abject counterpart of what they are, Or the empty thing that they would wish to be. I felt that merit has no surer test Than obloquy; that, if we wish to serve The world in substance, not deceive by show, We must become obnoxious to its hate, Or fear disguised in simulated scorn.
Marmaduke	I pity, can forgive, you; but those wretches— That monstrous perfidy!
Oswald	Keep down your wrath. False Shame discarded, spurious Fame despised, Twin sisters both of Ignorance, I found Life stretched before me smooth as some broad way Cleared for a monarch's progress. Priests might spin Their veil, but not for me—'twas in fit place Among its kindred cobwebs. I had been, And in that dream had left my native land, One of Love's simple bondsmen—the soft chain Was off for ever; and the men, from whom This liberation came, you would destroy: Join me in thanks for their blind services.
Marmaduke	'Tis a strange aching that, when we would curse And cannot.—You have betrayed me—I have done— I am content—I know that he is guiltless— That both are guiltless, without spot or stain, Mutually consecrated. Poor old Man! And I had heart for this, because thou lovedst Her who from very infancy had been Light to thy path, warmth to thy blood!—Together [Turning to Oswald.] We propped his steps, he leaned upon us both.
Oswald	Ay, we are coupled by a chain of adamant; Let us be fellow-labourers, then, to enlarge Man's intellectual empire. We subsist In slavery; all is slavery; we receive Laws, but we ask not whence those laws have come; We need an inward sting to goad us on.
Marmaduke	Have you betrayed me? Speak to that.
Oswald	The mask, Which for a season I have stooped to wear, Must be cast off.—Know then that I was urged, (For other impulse let it pass) was driven, To seek for sympathy, because I saw In you a mirror of my youthful self; I would have made us equal once again, But that was a vain hope. You have struck home, With a few drops of blood cut short the business; Therein for ever you must yield to me. But what is done will save you from the blank Of living without knowledge that you live: Now you are suffering—for the future day, 'Tis his who will command it.—Think of my story— Herbert is innocent.
Marmaduke	(in a faint voice, and doubtingly) You do but echo My own wild words?
Oswald	Young Man, the seed must lie Hid in the earth, or there can be no harvest; 'Tis Nature's law. What I have done in darkness I will avow before the face of day. Herbert is innocent.
Marmaduke	What fiend could prompt This action? Innocent!—oh, breaking heart!— Alive or dead, I'll find him. [Exit.]
Oswald	Alive—perdition! [Exit.]