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Good morrow, sir!
You honour glorious Nature, coming out
Into the fields upon a morn like this!
Strang. Your greeting I return with cordial thanks,
And you too have done well to leave your books
To steal an hour for morning recreation.
Raym. One hour of a fair morning such as this
Will not suffice me: I shall give the day
To one long pleasure. "Tis a festival
My mother honours with great ceremony,
Even the birth-day of myself, your servant.
Strang. I do esteem myself most fortunate
To meet you on a morning so propitious!
For your frank greeting, and your kind respect
Have kindled in my soul a friend's regard
In your life's interest, and I gladly wish
To your long years, health, wealth, and happiness!
Raym. To you, a stranger, I owe many thanks;
And, as my quest this morning was for pleasure,
And time is of no count, let me walk with you;
I can conduct you to our fairest scenes,
And to some nooks of such sequestered beauty,
As dryads might have haunted in old times-
These are my native scenes, I know them all—
Go you unto the village?
Seek only pleasure on this sunny morning.
I left the city three days since, to spend
An interval of business in the country,
And chance directed me unto yon village,
Where I shall yet abide a day or two.
Raym. "Tis a sweet, quiet hamlet, buried deep
Within its wooded gardens! I am bound
Thither this evening, to its excellent pastor,
The kind and faithful guardian of my youth,
Into the world. I know that youth is weak,
And may be lured so easily aside!
I have a mother, sir, a widowed mother;
I am her only child—I would not leave her;
My life is vowed to make her bless her son.
Strang. Give me thy hand, young man, I honour
thee!
A virtue such as thine may face temptation;
Like gold, it will come purer from the fire!
Raym. Kind sir, you do commend me all too much.
But we are now even at my mother's gate-
You must walk in, she will rejoice to welcome
One that has kindly conversed with her son.
Strang. A fair and stately mansion, with old woods
Girded around — an honourable assurance
That thy good father was a careful man,
And left to thee a patrimony clear!
Raym. "Tis a fair place; and let me make you, sir,
Further acquainted with it, and my mother.
She has the kindest smiles for friendly greeting!
Strang. No, my young friend, I must decline that
pleasure -
A household festival is never mended
By presence of a stranger- for all mothers
Esteem such days solemn and sacred seasons -
So now farewell!
Raym.
Kind sir, farewell to you!
I'll pledge our friendship in a generous cup.
[He parts from him.
Strang. He will not cheat me like the widow's son
In the frieze-gown sitting among his books!
This is a scholar of another sort!
And spite his talk of virtue and high doings,
He's mine, poor self-deluding boy, he's mine!
But had I faced his mother, she had spied
Since my good father's death, but now whose trust The cloven foot beneath my saintliest guise — Expires upon this day.
It is an age of happiness-the boy
Has not assumed the sternness of the man;
Heavy experience does not weigh down pleasure.
You are embarking, even now, young man,
Upon a glorious sea; spread wide your sails;
Catch every breath of heaven, and run down joy;
Make her your own before the tempest comes!
Raym. You are not a grave councillor, who bids
The inexperienced watch, and watch and wait,
Ever distrusting - still expecting evil!
She is a woman who has tried the world,
And found it a deceit; therefore she keeps
Her gentle Raymond like a Corydon,
Watching his silly sheep among the fields.
Fond mother, make a festival! thy son
Hath eaten the forbidden fruit this day!
And drink unto our further friendship, Raymond,
For all that it can give, thou shalt enjoy —
Beauty and gold; whate'er the world calls pleasure;
But thou must pay the stated price thereof!
Now fare thee well! I'll meet thee this same eve
Before the pastor and thy wisest mother
Strang. Wisdom is wisest which is bought from Do arm thee with suspicious wariness!
proof.
Try all things, prove them, make your virtue sure
Upon the rock of wise experience!
The mere perception of a vital power,
Is strong enjoyment; every breath I draw,
Is like the quaffing an inspiring draught
Of some old vintage, which, to every pulse
Doth send a bounding joy! old Jove felt thus,
Draining the nectar from the cup of Hebe!
Adel. Raymond, be sure he was some alchemist
You met this morning, who hath pondered out
The wonderful elixir, and hath given
To you a drop thereof! Did you not taste,
Or smell from a most curious, antique flask,
Less than my little finger, that he showed you?
Depend upon it, Raymond, you 're immortal!
Now say,
have you not drank the Elixir Vitæ ?
Raym. Nay, Adeline, my soul ran o'er with joy
Before I met that stranger.
Oh say that we shall live;
Though we have sinned, yet save!
Alas, the day is done!
God has abandoned us!
Oh sea, roll over us
Cover us mountains, ere the Judge appear! He will not, will not hear
He will not, will not save!
Twelve months afterwards — a chamber in a magnificent house in the city.
Bartolin. [alone.] So far and all is well, for my good Raymond,
Though a self-willed, is still a hopeful scholar:
True, I have had to war with passion-starts,
And strong out-breakings of his natural love
Towards that tender, long-enduring mother;
But now her anger, and her stern upbraidings
Will do the work I had found difficult;
Raym. Sweet Adeline, I shall come more than ever. The severing of the latest bonds of duty —
But you forget, I have your father's leave
To lay those old Greek poets by, and read
Another book, whereto, my own dear love,
You must yourself be my sweet lexicon!
[He kisses her cheek.
Adel. Oh fie! my father should not give you leave
To put your studies by, for well I know
You are a weary of them, and of us!
Nor shall there lack me means to effect disunion;
Black rumours, based on truth, shall reach her ear—
His thriftless charges; his luxurious life;
His friends the dissolutest in the city;
His disregard of stated sacraments;
The lawless prodigal he is become,—
All this shall reach her by a thousand ways.
She will contrast the present with the past,
Raym. Hast thou not been mine angel for these And note the work of twelve months on the boy,
Of going to the city, I like not-
Why would you leave us? you can study here,
My father studies in this quiet place;
He ever is distracted in the city.
Raym. "T was a mere vision! I but thought of it.
Adel. Well, think of it no more!
Raym.
And, when it hath been wrung, and wronged like her's,
Doth take a tone so vehement in sorrow,
That it may pass for acrimonious hate.—
Thus stands the case at present!
With the tide
Of headlong pleasure we go sailing on,
Now, let us in; Filling the echoing air with loud carousal.
She sits within her solitary home,
And ere I say good night, dear Adeline,
Let us have some sweet music-sing that hymn,
So full of awful sorrow, that I love.
Give me sad music when my heart is lightest!
[They go in. [Adeline is heard singing to her instrument.
Eating her heart with miserable thoughts;
Affections blighted; hopes that are o'ercast,
And prayers that have no answer. Wretched mother,
Thy prodigal will ne'er return to thee!
But hark! there is the voice of merriment-
Raymond is loudest at the festive board;
Raymond is swiftest in the race for ruin;
Wildest in riot; greediest of applause ;
Most daring in the insolent outbreaks
Of passion against custom; first in all things;
Goodliest in person; most refined in manners;
Witty and gracious; smiling like an angel,
Yet growing daily blacker, like a fiend!
Oh most accomplished sinner, thou art mine!
But hark again! their merriment grows louder;
Hence will I, and partake their revelry.
Raym. Sir, you have cast a gloom upon our mirth.
Drink, friends, and let us drown the memory
Of this strange song in wine.
3d Gen. [flourishing his glass and singing :-
Where art thou, Nerisse the bright!
With thy jewels wreathed about thee,
Like the starry queen of night-
Love himself would die without thee!
Sweet Nerisse! thou art so fair;
Art so dowered with queenly graces,
That in heaven, if thou wert there,
Goddesses would veil their faces!
Enter SERVANT-to Raymond.
There is a lady, sir, doth crave admittance. Raym. Dost know her? If she be the dancing girl Who was here yesternight, let her come in. Serv. I do not know her, sir. She is close veiled. Gen. Let her come in, Nerisse wore a veil! [Enter Madame Berthier, throwing back her veil.
Mad. B. Peace with your idle jests!-I am not one Come to partake your sinful revelries!
Raym. [endeavouring to put her back.] Shame on you, Madame Berthier, 't is unseemly! Mad. B. I will not be thrust back! What are these
A small apartment-Enter MADAME BERTHIER and
Raym. It was not warrantable e'en in a mother Thus to intrude on her son's privacy!
Mad. B. And this from thee, thou hope of my lone
Ungracious son, is this thy love and duty!
They do not call me now a happy mother-
No, no, they need not- I have now no son!
Would I had followed thee unto the grave
In the kind innocence of thy young boyhood,--
Then I had wept for thee- then had I said
When sorrow came, "Oh if my boy had lived,
He would have been my comfort!"
Raym.
Nay, be calm,
And hear me speak to thee! Have I not borne
Bitter invective with unwearying patience;
Hast thou not heaped reproach upon reproach,
Upbraiding on upbraiding, till I hid
Myself behind stern silence for repose?
Mad. B. Raymond, thou wast my son-my only child,
Thou dost deceive thyself. This is not joy,
This giddy rioting! and call'st thou life,
This daily wasting of thy manhood's strength?
How art thou self-deceived! how art thou changed-
Changed mournfully without, as changed within!
Thy cheek has lost its beautiful hue of youth,
Thine eye its brilliant cheerfulness! Would God
That I could give my life a sacrifice,
And so redeem thee, my poor, erring son
Raym. Alas, my mother, I have done thee wrong; Forgive me! and may Heaven forgive me too!
Mad. B. My son, my dear, dear son, thou wilt return
Thou wilt make glad once more thy father's placeWilt not let shame and ruin cover us!
[She embraces him and weeps. Raym. Now mother rest awhile, thou need'st
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Thou blind, deluded man,
Thou cruel son of a heart-broken mother!
Oh Raymond, Raymond, I came here in sorrow,
And thou wilt send me hence more sorrowful!
What shall 'avail me? I will kneel to thee-
I do implore thee to be merciful
To thine abused soul-my son, my son,
I bathe thy feet with tears, and my white hair
Bow to the dust! return, my child, return —
My prodigal, return to God, and me!
[She sinks insensible to the floor. Ray-
mond, very much moved, raises her and
supports her to the couch.
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Several months afterwards— evening — pleasure gardens, adorned with fountains, temples, and statues— parties in the distance, are seen through the openings of trees, dancing on the smooth green turf-music is heard, and handsomely dressed people are walking about. The interior of a Grecian temple, which commands a partial view of the gardens-Raymond reclines on a couch, Clara sits at his feet, her hair bound with a wreath of rose and myrtle.
Raym. This is a fairy place! none are seen here Save gallant men, and women beautiful; One might believe there was no care on earth, Looking on man through vistas such as these! Yon green turf and those heavy-branched trees, And those light-footed forms, with twining arms, Dancing beside that fountain, call to mind The famous gardens of old Babylon.
Clara. They are delicious gardens! but most fair To me, because I ever meet you in them!
I do not see the people, nor the fountains,
Mad. B. Thy friend! call him thy foe, thy cruel Nor the dark trees, nor any thing but you!
Raym. My mother, let our parting be in peace
Thy over-anxious heart makes thee intemperate ! I go not hence, the city is my home
Raym. Sweet Clara, love makes up the beautiful whole
Of thy delightful being! thou hast never
Known what it is to carry a sad heart
Into a place of shining revelry!
Clara. Can you have known it? you, the rich, the witty
You, that they ever call the fortunate!
An alcove in a sequestered part of the garden. Enter RAYMOND, and the PASTOR.
Raym. I have, my fair one! But come, sing to me; I am like Saul, the spirit of woe is on me, And thou must charm it hence with thy sweet songs. Clara. Oh that I were a Muse, that I could put The very soul of music into words! Raym. Thou art a woman-thou art mine own Bearing back with me a most sad conviction, love,
"Tis but a pastor; I saw him, when we entered, gaze on us— But there is nothing strange in such a thing. Though they look grave, they are most pleasant men. They laugh and sing; they are but stern outsideWe know a many very worthy pastors.
Raym. This is not such a one- thou know'st him not!
Hither he has not come for revelry —
I know him well; for he was my youth's guardian!
Clara. You need not fear him, he is not so now!
Come Raymond, let us leave him to himself,
He's moralizing on these gaities;
I'll warrant you, he 'll make a sermon of them!
Raym. Be silent girl! I did not ask thy jests –
Rest on that couch till I return to thee.
And having seen, I do depart,
That thou art in the way that leads to death! Raym. The privilege of an old friend allows You to speak thus - nothing beside would give it! Past. I should regard it as the sacred duty
Of my high office, to warn any man
Of his soul's danger; and think not that thou,
Who hadst a son's place in my aged heart,
Shalt pass unwarned! No, Raymond, I conjure thee
Flee from destruction, ere it be too late!
I charge thee not with sin,-be thine own conscience
Thy judge, as thine accuser! Ah, my friend,
Is this the splendid promise of thy youth?
Thy blameless life-thy high heroic virtue;
Thy lofty hopes-thy dreams of fair ambition;
The principles thy noble mother gave thee -
And thy affection for that injured mother?
Raym. Who is there, sir, that can look back and
say,
In nought have I offended?
All, all have sinned-all, all have fallen short
Of the full measure of their righteousness!
But this cannot avail thee- couldst thou plead
Thus in the awful day, before thy judge?
Thou must abjure all sin must cleanse thy heart
And make thy life pure, ere thou canst look up
With any hope that there is pardon for thee!
More joy is there in heaven when one poor sinner
Returns to God, than over many just,
Who do not need forgiveness! Oh, come back,
Come back, poor prodigal, to thy father's arms!
Than guilty pleasure ever can afford thee!
Come back, my friend- virtue has truer joys
Raym. My more than father! there is one fair
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