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

by William Wordsworth

Scene—The inside of a poor Cottage
Eleanor and Idonea seated

.

Idonea	The storm beats hard—Mercy for poor or rich, Whose heads are shelterless in such a night!
A Voice Without	Holla! to bed, good Folks, within!
Eleanor	O save us!
Idonea	What can this mean?
Eleanor	Alas, for my poor husband!— We'll have a counting of our flocks to-morrow; The wolf keeps festival these stormy nights: Be calm, sweet Lady, they are wassailers [The voices die away in the distance.] Returning from their Feast—my heart beats so— A noise at midnight does so frighten me.
Idonea	Hush! [Listening.]
Eleanor	They are gone. On such a night, my husband, Dragged from his bed, was cast into a dungeon, Where, hid from me, he counted many years, A criminal in no one's eyes but theirs— Not even in theirs—whose brutal violence So dealt with him.
Idonea	I have a noble Friend First among youths of knightly breeding, One Who lives but to protect the weak or injured. There again! [Listening.]
Eleanor	'Tis my husband's foot. Good Eldred Has a kind heart; but his imprisonment Has made him fearful, and he'll never be The man he was.
Idonea	I will retire;—good night! [She goes within.]
	[Enter Eldred (hides a bundle)]
Eldred	Not yet in bed, Eleanor!—there are stains in that frock which must be washed out.
Eleanor	What has befallen you?
Eldred	I am belated, and you must know the cause— (speaking low) that is the blood of an unhappy Man.
Eleanor	Oh! we are undone for ever.
Eldred	Heaven forbid that I should lift my hand against any man. Eleanor, I have shed tears to-night, and it comforts me to think of it.
Eleanor	Where, where is he?
Eldred	I have done him no harm, but——it will be forgiven me; it would not have been so once.
Eleanor	You have not buried anything? You are no richer than when you left me?
Eldred	Be at peace; I am innocent.
Eleanor	Then God be thanked— [A short pause; she falls upon his neck.]
Eldred	Tonight I met with an old Man lying stretched upon the ground—a sad spectacle: I raised him up with a hope that we might shelter and restore him.
Eleanor	(as if ready to run) Where is he? You were not able to bring him all the way with you; let us return, I can help you.
	[Eldred shakes his head.]
Eldred	He did not seem to wish for life: as I was struggling on, by the light of the moon I saw the stains of blood upon my clothes—he waved his hand, as if it were all useless; and I let him sink again to the ground.
Eleanor	Oh that I had been by your side!
Eldred	I tell you his hands and his body were cold—how could I disturb his last moments? he strove to turn from me as if he wished to settle into sleep.
Eleanor	But, for the stains of blood—
Eldred	He must have fallen, I fancy, for his head was cut; but I think his malady was cold and hunger.
Eleanor	Oh, Eldred, I shall never be able to look up at this roof in storm or fair but I shall tremble.
Eldred	Is it not enough that my ill stars have kept me abroad to-night till this hour? I come home, and this is my comfort!
Eleanor	But did he say nothing which might have set you at ease?
Eldred	I thought he grasped my hand while he was muttering something about his Child—his Daughter—(starting as if he heard a noise). What is that?
Eleanor	Eldred, you are a father.
Eldred	God knows what was in my heart, and will not curse my son for my sake.
Eleanor	But you prayed by him? you waited the hour of his release?
Eldred	The night was wasting fast; I have no friend; I am spited by the world—his wound terrified me—if I had brought him along with me, and he had died in my arms!——I am sure I heard something breathing—and this chair!
Eleanor	Oh, Eldred, you will die alone. You will have nobody to close your eyes—no hand to grasp your dying hand—I shall be in my grave. A curse will attend us all.
Eldred	Have you forgot your own troubles when I was in the dungeon?
Eleanor	And you left him alive?
Eldred	Alive!—the damps of death were upon him—he could not have survived an hour.
Eleanor	In the cold, cold night.
Eldred	(in a savage tone) Ay, and his head was bare; I suppose you would have had me lend my bonnet to cover it.—You will never rest till I am brought to a felon's end.
Eleanor	Is there nothing to be done? cannot we go to the Convent?
Eldred	Ay, and say at once that I murdered him!
Eleanor	Eldred, I know that ours is the only house upon the Waste; let us take heart; this Man may be rich; and could he be saved by our means, his gratitude may reward us.
Eldred	'Tis all in vain.
Eleanor	But let us make the attempt. This old Man may have a wife, and he may have children—let us return to the spot; we may restore him, and his eyes may yet open upon those that love him.
Eldred	He will never open them more; even when he spoke to me, he kept them firmly sealed as if he had been blind.
Idonea	(rushing out) It is, it is, my Father—
Eldred	We are betrayed (looking at Idonea).
Eleanor	His Daughter!—God have mercy! (turning to Idonea)
Idonea	(sinking down) Oh! lift me up and carry me to the place. You are safe; the whole world shall not harm you.
Eleanor	This Lady is his Daughter.
Eldred	(moved) I'll lead you to the spot.
Idonea	(springing up) Alive!—you heard him breathe? quick, quick—
	[Exeunt.]

Act V

Scene—A wood on the edge of the Waste
Enter Oswald and a Forester.

Forester	He leaned upon the bridge that spans the glen, And down into the bottom cast his eye, That fastened there, as it would check the current.
Oswald	He listened too; did you not say he listened?
Forester	As if there came such moaning from the flood As is heard often after stormy nights.
Oswald	But did he utter nothing?
Forester	See him there!
	[Marmaduke appearing.]
Marmaduke	Buzz, buzz, ye black and winged freebooters; That is no substance which ye settle on!
Forester	His senses play him false; and see, his arms Outspread, as if to save himself from falling!— Some terrible phantom I believe is now Passing before him, such as God will not Permit to visit any but a man Who has been guilty of some horrid crime.
	[Marmaduke disappears.]
Oswald	The game is up!—
Forester	If it be needful, Sir, I will assist you to lay hands upon him.
Oswald	No, no, my Friend, you may pursue your business— 'Tis a poor wretch of an unsettled mind, Who has a trick of straying from his keepers; We must be gentle. Leave him to my care. [Exit Forester.] If his own eyes play false with him, these freaks Of fancy shall be quickly tamed by mine; The goal is reached. My Master shall become A shadow of myself—made by myself.

Scene—The edge of the Moor.
Marmaduke and Eldred enter from opposite sides.

Marmaduke	(raising his eyes and perceiving Eldred) In any corner of this savage Waste, Have you, good Peasant, seen a blind old Man?
Eldred	I heard—
Marmaduke	You heard him, where? when heard him?
Eldred	As you know The first hours of last night were rough with storm: I had been out in search of a stray heifer; Returning late, I heard a moaning sound; Then, thinking that my fancy had deceived me, I hurried on, when straight a second moan, A human voice distinct, struck on my ear. So guided, distant a few steps, I found An aged Man, and such as you describe.
Marmaduke	You heard!—he called you to him? Of all men The best and kindest!—but where is he? guide me, That I may see him.
Eldred	On a ridge of rocks A lonesome Chapel stands, deserted now: The bell is left, which no one dares remove; And, when the stormy wind blows o'er the peak, It rings, as if a human hand were there To pull the cord. I guess he must have heard it; And it had led him towards the precipice, To climb up to the spot whence the sound came; But he had failed through weakness. From his hand His staff had dropped, and close upon the brink Of a small pool of water he was laid, As if he had stooped to drink, and so remained Without the strength to rise.
Marmaduke	Well, well, he lives, And all is safe: what said he?
Eldred	But few words: He only spake to me of a dear Daughter, Who, so he feared, would never see him more; And of a Stranger to him, One by whom He had been sore misused; but he forgave The wrong and the wrong-doer. You are troubled— Perhaps you are his son?
Marmaduke	The All-seeing knows, I did not think he had a living Child.— But whither did you carry him?
Eldred	He was torn, His head was bruised, and there was blood about him—
Marmaduke	That was no work of mine.
Eldred	Nor was it mine.
Marmaduke	But had he strength to walk? I could have borne him A thousand miles.
Eldred	I am in poverty, And know how busy are the tongues of men; My heart was willing, Sir, but I am one Whose good deeds will not stand by their own light; And, though it smote me more than words can tell, I left him.
Marmaduke	I believe that there are phantoms, That in the shape of man do cross our path On evil instigation, to make sport Of our distress—and thou art one of them! But things substantial have so pressed on me—
Eldred	My wife and children came into my mind.
Marmaduke	Oh Monster! Monster! there are three of us, And we shall howl together. [After a pause and in a feeble voice.] I am deserted At my worst need, my crimes have in a net (Pointing to Eldred) Entangled this poor man.— Where was it? where? [Dragging him along.]
Eldred	'Tis needless; spare your violence. His Daughter—
Marmaduke	Ay, in the word a thousand scorpions lodge: This old man had a Daughter.
Eldred	To the spot I hurried back with her.—Oh save me, Sir, From such a journey!—there was a black tree, A single tree; she thought it was her Father.— Oh Sir, I would not see that hour again For twenty lives. The daylight dawned, and now— Nay; hear my tale, 'tis fit that you should hear it— As we approached, a solitary crow Rose from the spot;—the Daughter clapped her hands, And then I heard a shriek so terrible [Marmaduke shrinks back.] The startled bird quivered upon the wing.
Marmaduke	Dead, dead!—
Eldred	(after a pause) A dismal matter, Sir, for me, And seems the like for you; if 'tis your wish, I'll lead you to his Daughter; but 'twere best That she should be prepared; I'll go before.
Marmaduke	There will be need of preparation.
	[Eldred goes off.]
Eleanor	(enters) Master! Your limbs sink under you, shall I support you?
Marmaduke	(taking her arm) Woman, I've lent my body to the service Which now thou tak'st upon thee. God forbid That thou shouldst ever meet a like occasion With such a purpose in thine heart as mine was.
Eleanor	Oh, why have I to do with things like these?
	[Exeunt.]

Scene changes to the door of ELDRED'S cottage—
Idonea seated—enter Eldred.

Eldred	Your Father, Lady, from a wilful hand Has met unkindness; so indeed he told me, And you remember such was my report: From what has just befallen me I have cause To fear the very worst.
Idonea	My Father is dead; Why dost thou come to me with words like these?
Eldred	A wicked Man should answer for his crimes.
Idonea	Thou seest me what I am.
Eldred	It was most heinous, And doth call out for vengeance.
Idonea	Do not add, I prith'ee, to the harm thou'st done already.
Eldred	Hereafter you will thank me for this service. Hard by, a Man I met, who, from plain proofs Of interfering Heaven, I have no doubt, Laid hands upon your Father. Fit it were You should prepare to meet him.
Idonea	I have nothing To do with others; help me to my Father— [She turns and sees Marmaduke leaning on Eleanor—throws herself upon his neck, and after some time,] In joy I met thee, but a few hours past; And thus we meet again; one human stay Is left me still in thee. Nay, shake not so.
Marmaduke	In such a wilderness—to see no thing, No, not the pitying moon!
Idonea	And perish so.
Marmaduke	Without a dog to moan for him.
Idonea	Think not of it, But enter there and see him how he sleeps, Tranquil as he had died in his own bed.
Marmaduke	Tranquil—why not?
Idonea	Oh, peace!
Marmaduke	He is at peace; His body is at rest: there was a plot, A hideous plot, against the soul of man: It took effect—and yet I baffled it, In some degree.
Idonea	Between us stood, I thought, A cup of consolation, filled from Heaven For both our needs; must I, and in thy presence, Alone partake of it?—Beloved Marmaduke!
Marmaduke	Give me a reason why the wisest thing That the earth owns shall never choose to die, But some one must be near to count his groans. The wounded deer retires to solitude, And dies in solitude: all things but man, All die in solitude. [Moving towards the cottage door.] Mysterious God, If she had never lived I had not done it!—
Idonea	Alas! the thought of such a cruel death Has overwhelmed him.—I must follow.
Eldred	Lady! You will do well; (she goes) unjust suspicion may Cleave to this Stranger: if, upon his entering, The dead Man heave a groan, or from his side Uplift his hand—that would be evidence.
Eleanor	Shame! Eldred, shame!
Marmaduke	(both returning) The dead have but one face. (To himself.) And such a Man—so meek and unoffending— Helpless and harmless as a babe: a Man, By obvious signal to the world's protection, Solemnly dedicated—to decoy him!—
Idonea	Oh, had you seen him living!—
Marmaduke	I (so filled With horror is this world) am unto thee The thing most precious, that it now contains: Therefore through me alone must be revealed By whom thy Parent was destroyed, Idonea! I have the proofs!—
Idonea	O miserable Father! Thou didst command me to bless all mankind; Nor to this moment, have I ever wished Evil to any living thing; but hear me, Hear me, ye Heavens!—(kneeling)—may vengeance haunt the fiend For this most cruel murder: let him live And move in terror of the elements; The thunder send him on his knees to prayer In the open streets, and let him think he sees, If e'er he entereth the house of God, The roof, self-moved, unsettling o'er his head; And let him, when he would lie down at night, Point to his wife the blood-drops on his pillow!
Marmaduke	My voice was silent, but my heart hath joined thee.
Idonea	(leaning on Marmaduke) Left to the mercy of that savage Man! How could he call upon his Child!—O Friend! [Turns to Marmaduke.] My faithful true and only Comforter.
Marmaduke	Ay, come to me and weep. (He kisses her.) (To Eldred.) Yes, Varlet, look, The devils at such sights do clap their hands. [Eldred retires alarmed.]
Idonea	Thy vest is torn, thy cheek is deadly pale; Hast thou pursued the monster?
Marmaduke	I have found him.— Oh! would that thou hadst perished in the flames!
Idonea	Here art thou, then can I be desolate?—
Marmaduke	There was a time, when this protecting hand Availed against the mighty; never more Shall blessings wait upon a deed of mine.
Idonea	Wild words for me to hear, for me, an orphan, Committed to thy guardianship by Heaven; And, if thou hast forgiven me, let me hope, In this deep sorrow, trust, that I am thine For closer care;—here, is no malady. [Taking his arm.]
Marmaduke	There, is a malady— (Striking his heart and forehead.) And here, and here, A mortal malady.—I am accurst: All nature curses me, and in my heart Thy curse is fixed; the truth must be laid bare. It must be told, and borne. I am the man, (Abused, betrayed, but how it matters not) Presumptuous above all that ever breathed, Who, casting as I thought a guilty Person Upon Heaven's righteous judgment, did become An instrument of Fiends. Through me, through me, Thy Father perished.
Idonea	Perished—by what mischance?
Marmaduke	Belovèd!—if I dared, so would I call thee— Conflict must cease, and, in thy frozen heart, The extremes of suffering meet in absolute peace. [He gives her a letter.]
Idonea	(reads) "Be not surprised if you hear that some signal judgment has befallen the man who calls himself your father; he is now with me, as his signature will shew: abstain from conjecture till you see me. "Herbert. "Marmaduke." The writing Oswald's; the signature my Father's: (Looks steadily at the paper.) And here is yours,—or do my eyes deceive me? You have then seen my Father?
Marmaduke	He has leaned Upon this arm.
Idonea	You led him towards the Convent?
Marmaduke	That Convent was Stone-Arthur Castle. Thither We were his guides. I on that night resolved That he should wait thy coming till the day Of resurrection.
Idonea	Miserable Woman, Too quickly moved, too easily giving way, I put denial on thy suit, and hence, With the disastrous issue of last night, Thy perturbation, and these frantic words. Be calm, I pray thee!
Marmaduke	Oswald—
Idonea	Name him not.
	[Enter Female Beggar.]
Beggar	And he is dead!—that Moor—how shall I cross it? By night, by day, never shall I be able To travel half a mile alone.—Good Lady! Forgive me!—Saints forgive me. Had I thought It would have come to this!—
Idonea	What brings you hither? speak!
Beggar	(pointing to Marmaduke) This innocent Gentleman. Sweet heavens! I told him Such tales of your dead Father!—God is my judge, I thought there was no harm: but that bad Man, He bribed me with his gold, and looked so fierce. Mercy! I said I know not what—oh pity me— I said, sweet Lady, you were not his Daughter— Pity me, I am haunted;—thrice this day My conscience made me wish to be struck blind; And then I would have prayed, and had no voice.
Idonea	(to Marmaduke) Was it my Father?—no, no, no, for he Was meek and patient, feeble, old and blind, Helpless, and loved me dearer than his life —But hear me. For one question, I have a heart That will sustain me. Did you murder him?
Marmaduke	No, not by stroke of arm. But learn the process: Proof after proof was pressed upon me; guilt Made evident, as seemed, by blacker guilt, Whose impious folds enwrapped even thee; and truth And innocence, embodied in his looks, His words and tones and gestures, did but serve With me to aggravate his crimes, and heaped Ruin upon the cause for which they pleaded. Then pity crossed the path of my resolve: Confounded, I looked up to Heaven, and cast, Idonea! thy blind Father, on the Ordeal Of the bleak Waste—left him—and so he died!— [Idonea sinks senseless; Beggar, Eleanor, etc., crowd round, and bear her off.] Why may we speak these things, and do no more; Why should a thrust of the arm have such a power, And words that tell these things be heard in vain? She is not dead. Why!—if I loved this Woman, I would take care she never woke again; But she will wake, and she will weep for me, And say, no blame was mine—and so, poor fool, Will waste her curses on another name. [He walks about distractedly.] [Enter Oswald.]
Oswald	(to himself) Strong to o'erturn, strong also to build up. [To Marmaduke.] The starts and sallies of our last encounter Were natural enough; but that, I trust, Is all gone by. You have cast off the chains That fettered your nobility of mind— Delivered heart and head! Let us to Palestine; This is a paltry field for enterprise.
Marmaduke	Ay, what shall we encounter next? This issue— 'Twas nothing more than darkness deepening darkness, And weakness crowned with the impotence of death!— Your pupil is, you see, an apt proficient. (ironically) Start not!—Here is another face hard by; Come, let us take a peep at both together, And, with a voice at which the dead will quake, Resound the praise of your morality— Of this too much. [Drawing Oswald towards the Cottage—stops short at the door.] Men are there, millions, Oswald, Who with bare hands would have plucked out thy heart And flung it to the dogs: but I am raised Above, or sunk below, all further sense Of provocation. Leave me, with the weight Of that old Man's forgiveness on thy heart, Pressing as heavily as it doth on mine. Coward I have been; know, there lies not now Within the compass of a mortal thought, A deed that I would shrink from;—but to endure, That is my destiny. May it be thine: Thy office, thy ambition, be henceforth To feed remorse, to welcome every sting Of penitential anguish, yea with tears. When seas and continents shall lie between us— The wider space the better—we may find In such a course fit links of sympathy, An incommunicable rivalship Maintained, for peaceful ends beyond our view. [Confused voices—several of the Band enter—rush upon Oswald and seize him.]
One of Them	I would have dogged him to the jaws of hell—
Oswald	Ha! is it so!—That vagrant Hag!—this comes Of having left a thing like her alive! [Aside.]
Several Voices	Despatch him!
Oswald	If I pass beneath a rock And shout, and, with the echo of my voice, Bring down a heap of rubbish, and it crush me, I die without dishonour. Famished, starved, A Fool and Coward blended to my wish! [Smiles scornfully and exultingly at Marmaduke.]
Wallace	'Tis done! (Stabs him.)
One of the Band	The ruthless traitor!
Marmaduke	A rash deed!— With that reproof I do resign a station Of which I have been proud.
Wilfred	(approaching Marmaduke) O my poor Master!
Marmaduke	Discerning Monitor, my faithful Wilfred, Why art thou here? [Turning to Wallace.] Wallace, upon these Borders, Many there be whose eyes will not want cause To weep that I am gone. Brothers in arms! Raise on that dreary Waste a monument That may record my story: nor let words— Few must they be, and delicate in their touch As light itself—be there withheld from Her Who, through most wicked arts, was made an orphan By One who would have died a thousand times, To shield her from a moment's harm. To you, Wallace and Wilfred, I commend the Lady, By lowly nature reared, as if to make her In all things worthier of that noble birth, Whose long-suspended rights are now on the eve Of restoration: with your tenderest care Watch over her, I pray—sustain her—
Several of the Band	(eagerly) Captain!
Marmaduke	No more of that; in silence hear my doom: A hermitage has furnished fit relief To some offenders; other penitents, Less patient in their wretchedness, have fallen, Like the old Roman, on their own sword's point. They had their choice: a wanderer must I go, The Spectre of that innocent Man, my guide. No human ear shall ever hear me speak; No human dwelling ever give me food, Or sleep, or rest: but, over waste and wild, In search of nothing, that this earth can give, But expiation, will I wander on— A Man by pain and thought compelled to live, Yet loathing life—till anger is appeased In Heaven, and Mercy gives me leave to die.