SCENE XVI. A small, dark cell in a prison—Albert heavily ironed, is seated upon straw; he is haggard and wild in appearance, with his eyes cast down as if stupified. The door slowly opens, and Constance, in deep mourning, enters; she seats herself on a bench near him, looks on him in silence and weeps; Albert slowly raises his head, and gazes at her for some time before he appears to recognise her. Glad, innocent spirits; when from the same prayer book We made the same responses, and our eyes Now death, stares in my face-a horrid death! Albert. I dare not speak the name, but is it thou? And heaven-oh, I am damned! I have no hope! Cons. Oh Albert, Albert! Albert. Canst thou speak my name? Do ye not curse me, thou and my poor mother? [He bows his head to his knees, and weeps bitterly. Cons. [kneeling beside him.] Oh God! who art a father to the afflicted, Who art a fount of mercy-look on him! Cons. Thy mother! ask not, Albert, of thy mother. Cons. Albert, thy mother's dead and her last words Were prayers for thee! Albert. Then I have killed my mother! Oh blood! blood, blood! will my poor soul be never Freed from the curse of blood! Cons. [taking his hand.] Albert, be calm, "T was by the will of God, that that dear saint Went to her blessed rest-I mourn her notI do rejoice in her eternal peace! Cons. Say not, dear Albert, that thou hast no And may Almighty God look down and bless thee! Albert. [wildly] Farewell, farewell! we shall meet never more! Albert. [looking on the hand of Constance.] I dare It is a farewell for eternity! not press it to my longing lips There is pollution on them—they have sworn To guide me o'er the waters! long ere this Cons. Albert, I fear thee not—I mourn for thee. I knew that thou hadst sinned, but I forgave thee! May God forgive thee, and support that maiden! Albert. Thou art not woman, Constance, thou art angel! Ah, there were days when we two sate together, [Constance, overcome by her feelings, is supported out by the chaplain. Achzib made his escape from the pirate-ship in some way which eluded all detection. He did not, however, think it expedient to enter again the seaport; and as all places were alike to him, with this exception, he resigned himself to chance, and took up his abode in the first considerable city he came to. He was so extravagantly elated with his success, that he carried himself with so self-satisfied an air as to attract the notice of every one. Some said he was newly come into possession of a great fortune, and that money, and the importance it gained for him, were so novel as to have turned his head; some said he was the little-great man of a small town, where his consequential airs were mistaken for marks life." of real greatness;-others said he was a travelling effectually as the higher motives of more vigorous doctor, who had just taken out a new patent :-while others took him for a marvellously wise philosopher, who, thinking of anything rather than himself, had acquired this ridiculous carriage in sheer absence of mind; and others again, supposed him to be a poet, inflated with the success of a new poem. Achzib, in the meantime, thinking he had done enough for the present, determined to have an interval of rest. He accordingly took a large house, furnished it sumptuously, and began in reality to be looked upon as somebody. He did not, it is true, hold much intercourse with the citizens, though he was a most munificent patron of boxers, wrestlers, and all kind of prize-fighters and gamblers. He occasionally went on 'Change too, and circulated now and then some spurious lie or other; which, deranging all money business, while it made the fortunes of a few, was the ruin of many. He had considerable dealings also with the usurers; and keeping a pack of hounds and a noble stud of horses, found occupation enough both for day and night. To diversify his employments he dabbled in judicial astrology, and the favourite pursuits of the old alchemists. He repeatedly asserted that he had mixed the Elixir Vitæ, and also that he could compound the Philosopher's-stone. They who heard this, had an easy way of accounting for the money that he appeared always to have at command; but he himself well knew that every stiver was drawn from the bags of the usurer, though never destined to find their way back again. The life Achzib led, was much to his mind; he told lies with the most truthful face in the world, and cheated in so gentlemanly a style, that he might perhaps have maintained this life much longer, had he not been accidentally tempted to his fourth trial. He was on the Prada, or place of public resort, and seeing two grave persons in deep discourse together, and who seemed unconscious of all that surrounded them, he took a seat near, hoping to hear some secret worth knowing or telling. Their conversation, however, was entirely of a moral or religious nature; and Achzib would soon have been weary of it, had they not branched off to the subject of temptation, and the habits of mind which render a man peculiarly assailable by it. "For instance," said the one, "old age, if beset by temptation, could but inadequately resist it, for the mind becomes enfeebled with the body. Youth may be inexperienced and volatile; middle age engrossed by the world and its pursuits; but is it not the noble enthusiasm of the one, and the severe uprightness of the other which makes them often superior to their trials; and which of these does the weakness and despondency of old age possess?" "But," rejoined the other, "the passions have ceased to stimulate in old age. Ambition, love, and avarice, are the temptations of earlier life. Men do not become suddenly vicious in old age, for the habits of mind and body in men become part and parcel of themselves; and, if through life these have been regulated by principle, I say not religion, they will preserve age, if it were assailed by temptation, as "True," replied the first speaker, “if the trial came only through the medium of the passions; but though a man may have arrived at old age unpolluted by outward sins, yet the temper of his mind may be the very opposite of virtue. He may doubt the goodness of God, though his life has been one series of mercies; he may be obstinately uncheered by his love, and unawakened by his daily Providence. A murmuring, morbid doubting of God's goodness is the peculiar weakness of such a mind — and the human being who can have passed through life, and at last retains such a spirit, is neither guiltless of sin, nor unassailable by temptation." "But such a case," replied the other, "is extremely rare. Old age finds a natural aliment in religion; and as its ties to the earth are sundered, the very necessities of its nature unite it more closely with heaven." "Such a case," persisted his friend, "may be rare, but alas, is not beyond the range of human experience; and the peculiar prayer of such a spirit should be, lead me not into temptation!" "Oh, but," exclaimed the other, with holy enthu siasm, "God, who is boundless and long-suffering in mercy, and who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, will keep such feeble spirit from trial beyond his strength; or in his loving-kindness will extend the hand of his mercy to save him, even as the sinking apostle was sustained when his faith failed him upon the waters!" Achzib rose up before the conclusion of this last observation; taking great praise to himself that wise men, such as he, gathered up their advantage from even the casual conversation of two strangers. Oh, nature never groweth old, The Eternal arm doth her uphold! When the strong morning-stars poured out But man, for whom the earth was made, His struggling thought through depth and height; Which makes him strive to comprehend The Eternal and the Infinite? Finds nothing that can satisfy? As to an Eden I have lost; [The sound of a wheel is heard within, There is a land where beauty cannot fade, Nor sorrow dim the eye; Where true-love shall not droop nor be dismayed, And none shall ever die! Where is that land, oh where? Must bear in meekness as he meekly bore Yet tarried out for thee the appointed woe: With which his brow was wet, Yet how he prayed, unaided and alone, Friend, do not thou despair, Christ from his heaven of heavens will hear thy prayer! Old Man. My daughter, thou hast brought me back, For I have erred; my soul is weak, But my impatient soul doth long And marvel whence it is man's frame, In age's dark infirmity? Take, take me hence! I am grown-weary! And drink at ever-living rills, But who comes here? I know him not, Or if I did, I have forgot; My senses are so feeble grown, I know not now whom I have known! Enter a STRANGER. Strang. Friend, I would take a seat by you awhile, I'm weary with the travel of to-day. Shall have put on its immortality! Lord, I believe-help thou mine unbelief! Strang. Why, what an inconsistency is man! This moment you were murmuring-now you take Old Man. What, are you weary with the jour- Another kind of language, altogether! neying Of one short day? Are you not hale and strong? Old Man. I told you I was weak! I do abhor But I doubt not that God is strong to save; Strang. I do believe you, friend: I can see traces And if I keep my trust in him unbroken, Of vigour that has been; and I have heard Of your herculean strength, long years ago. He, after death, will crown me as a star, Old Man. Ay sir, I have been young, but now But I am weak, and age doth wake in me am old! Strang. There was no wrestler like you, no Could breast the billows with you; you could run A spirit of impatience which is sin! Is part of the infirmity of age; Old Man. You had not knowledge of me in my With immortality of strength and beauty; youth? Strang. No, but I oft have heard you spoken of, As so excelling in athletic sports, Old Man. Old age has crippled me. All is over! I am sunk down But as the body, so the spirit weakens, Old Man. I know it!-I have known it all too long! Strang. Seven years you've been in this most sad condition Old Man. I have-and I was threescore years and ten When this infirmity first fell upon me. Strang. It is a great age, seventy years and seven; And seven years more you may remain on earth! Old Man. Oh, Heaven forbid, that I for seven years more Strang. Age, my good friend, is dark, dark and Should drag on this poor body!-yet my life unlovely: 'Tis no new truth discovered yesterday! Is crowned with mercies still! How so, my friend? Old Man. I see the young men glorying in their I did suppose you had no mercies left, strength; I see the maidens in their graceful beauty, Strang. It is a gloomy lot that man is born to! Of twenty kingdoms? Life should have been given Into the very current of your thoughts? I thought that they and youth all went together. Strang. I've seen her, she is fair to look upon: Is she not dutiful?-She hath put off she is betrothed Old Man. I know not if such thoughts be wise To the young pastor of a mountain people; and good; My flesh is weak, and doth so warp my spirit, I've heard it spoken of—I've seen him too; Who reads his Bible, and makes gloomy hymns- Old Man. Ah, me! his crossed affection clouds And doth impair his health, not over strong! And thus I know that while my life endures But if you heard him pouring forth his faith, Strang. Well, well, Thou 'rt young-thou 'lt live to feel it many years— Marg. I do not doubt the man is good and kind, too long! nature [He goes. Old Man. A proper cordial spirit! a prime spirit! Are reverenced for their sakes! So was youth taught MARGARET comes out. Marg. Father, the sun is sinking 'neath the boughs "T is late, my father, and the evening air Some comfortable hymn - I ever loved Margaret sings Oh Lord! before thy glorious face Nor pride myself because I know Oh, how can man himself present The Omnipresent Deity, And not abhor the daring pride And not shrink back, appalled to see Yet, Source of love, and life and light, Thou dost regard thy creature man; Oh God! I will not praise thee most Old Man. "T is a sweet hymn, a comfortable hymn! My daughter, God is good, though man is weak, Marg. Will chill thy frame!-Give me thy hand, dear Shrill as a reed-pipe, of the little bat; father, And lean on me, I will support thee in. And the low city-hum, like swarming bees; 1 Old Man. Nay, 't is not chill! these summer eves These mark the closing eve: now come within, are warm; Let me enjoy the sun while yet I can. I have your supper ready, and will read |