# A Series of Plays in which it is attempted to delineate The Stronger Passions of the Mind, Volume Three/The Beacon Act 2

ACT II.
SCENE I.—A flat Spot of Ground on the top of a Cliff, with broken craggy Rocks on each Side, and a large mass of Rock in the middle, on which a great Fire of Wood is burning; a dark Sea in the back Ground: the Scene to receive no Light but from the Fire. Two Fishermen are discovered watching the Fire, and supplying it with Wood.
SONG.
First Fisherman.
"HIGH is the tower, and the watch-dogs bay,  And the flitting owlets shriek; I see thee wave thy mantle grey,  But I cannot hear thee speak.
"O, are they from the east or west  The tidings he bears to me? Or from the land that I love best,  From the knight of the north countree?"
Swift down the winding stair she rush'd,  Like a gust of the summer wind; Her steps were light, her breath was hush'd,  And she dared not look behind.
She pass'd by stealth the narrow door,  The postern way also, And thought each bush her robe that tore,  The grasp of a warding foe
And she has climb'd the moat so steep,  With chilly dread and fear, While th' evening fly humm'd dull and deep,  Like a wardman whisp'ring near.
"Now, who art thou, thou Palmer tall,  Who beckonest so to me? Art thou from that dear and distant hall?  Art thou from the north countree?"
He rais'd his hood with wary wile,  That cover'd his raven hair, And a manlier face and a sweeter smile  Ne'er greeted lady fair.
"My coal-black steed feeds in the brake,  Of gen'rous blood and true; He'll soon the nearest frontier make,  Let they who list pursue.
"Thy pale cheek shows an alter'd mind,  Thine eye the blinding tear; Come not with me if aught behind  Is to thy heart more dear.
"Thy sire and dame are in that hall,  Thy friend, thy mother's son; Come not with me, if one o'them all  E'er lov'd thee as I have done."
The lady mounted the coal-black steed,  Behind her knight I ween, And they have pass'd thro' brake and mead,  And plain, and woodland green.
But hark, behind! the warders shout,  And the hasty larums ring; And the mingled sound of a gath'ring rout  The passing air doth bring.
"O noble steed! now 'quit thee well,  And prove thy gen'rous kind! That fearful sound doth louder swell,  It is not far behind.
"The frontier's near—a span the plain,  Press on and do not fail! Ah! on our steps fell horsemen gain,  I hear their ringing mail."
2d Fish. Tush, man! give o'er; thy ballads have no end, When thou art in the mood. I hear below A sound of many voices on the shore: Some boat, belike, forced by the drifting current Upon the rocks, may be in jeopardy.
1st Fish. 'Tis all a mock to cut my ditty short. Thou hast no mind to hear how it befel That those two lovers were by kinsmen stern O'erta'en; and how the knight, by armed foes Beset, a bloody combat bravely held, And was the while robb'd of his lady fair. And how in Paynim land they met again. How, as a Page disguised, she sought her knight, Left on the field as lifeless. How she cheer'd him; And how they married were, and home in state———
2d Fish. Ha' done, ha' done! a hundred times I've heard it. My Grandam lull'd me with it on her lap Full many a night; and as my father sat, Mending his nets upon the beach, he sung it. I would I knew my prayers as well.—But hark! I hear a noise again.——
(Goes to the bottom of the stage, as if he were looking down to the sea.)
Along the shore I see lights moving swiftly.
1st Fish. Some fishermen, who, later than the rest, Their crazy boat bring in; while, to the beach, With flaming brands, their wives and children run. Rare sight, indeed, to take thy fancy so!
(Sings again.)
No fish stir in our heaving net, And the sky is dark, and the night is wet; And we must ply the lusty oar, For the tide is ebbing from the shore; And sad are they whose faggots burn, So kindly stored for our return.
Our boat is small and the tempest raves, And nought is heard but the lashing waves, And the sullen roar of the angry sea, And the wild winds piping drearily; Yet sea and tempest rise in vain, We'll bless our blazing hearths again.
Push bravely, Mates! Our guiding star Now from its towerlet streameth far; And now along the nearing strand, See, swiftly moves yon flaming brand: Before the midnight watch is past, We'll quaff our bowl and mock the blast.
Bast. (without.) Holla, good Mate! Thou who so bravely sing'st! Come down, I pray thee.
1st Fish.Who art thou who call'st? 2d Fish. I know the voice; 'tis Sign'or Bastiani.
1st Fish. What! he, at such an hour, upon the cliff! (Calling down.) I cannot come. If, from my station here, This fire untended, I were found; good sooth! I had as lief the luckless friar be, Who spilt the Abbot's wine.
2d Fish. I'll go to him.[Exit.
1st Fish. (muttering to himself.) Aye; leave my watch, indeed! a rare entreaty!
Enter Bastiani.
Bast. Wilt thou not go? A boat near to the shore, In a most perilous state, calls for assistance: Who is like thee, good Stephen, bold and skilful? Haste to its aid, if there be pity in thee, Or any Christian grace. I will, meantime,
Thy beacon watch; and, should the lady come, Excuse thy absence. Haste; make no reply.
1st Fish. I will; God help us all! [Exit.
Bast. Here is, indeed, a splendid noble fire Left me in ward. It makes the darkness round, To its fierce light oppos'd, seem thick and palpable, And clos'd o'er head, like to the pitchy cope Of some vast cavern.——Near at hand, methinks, Soft female voices speak: I'll to my station. (Retires from the front of the stage behind the fire.)
Enter Aurora, Terentia and Viola.
Viol. A rousing light! Good Stephen hath full well Obey'd your earnest bidding.—Fays and witches Might round its blaze their midnight revelry Right fitly keep.
Ter.Aye; thou lov'st wilds and darkness, And fire and storms, and things unsooth and strange: This suits thee well. Methinks, in gazing on it, Thy face a witch-like eagerness assumes.
Viol I'll be a goblin then, and round it dance. Did not Aurora say we thus should hold This nightly vigil. Yea, such were her words.
Aur. They were light bubbles of some mantling thought, That now is flat and spiritless; and yet, If thou art so inclin'd, ask not my leave, Dance if thou wilt.
Viol.Nay, not alone, sweet sooth! Witches, themselves, some fiend-like partners find.
Ter. And so may'st thou. Look yonder; near the flame A crested figure stands. That is not Stephen.
Aur. (eagerly.) A crested figure! Where? O call to it! (Bast. comes forward.)
Ter. 'Tis Bastiani.
Aur.Aye; 'tis Bastiani: 'Tis he, or any one; 'tis ever thus; So is my fancy mock'd.
Bast. If I offend you, Madam, 'tis unwillingly. Stephen has for a while gone to the beach, To help some fishermen, who, as I guess, Against the tide would force their boat to land. He'll soon return; meantime, I did entreat him To let me watch his Beacon. Pardon me; I had not else intruded; tho' full oft I've clamber'd o'er these cliffs, ev'n at this hour, To see the ocean from its sabled breast The flickering gleam of these bright flames return.
Aur. Make no excuse, I pray thee. I am told By good Terentia thou dost wish me well, Tho' Ulrick long has been thy friend. I know A wanderer on the seas in early youth Thou wast, and still can'st feel for all storm-toss'd On that rude element.
Bast. 'Tis true, fair Lady: I have been, ere now, Where such a warning light, sent from the shore, Had saved some precious lives ; which makes the task, I now fulfil, more grateful.
Aur. How many leagues from shore may such a light By the benighted mariner be seen?
Bast. Some six or so, he will descry it faintly, Like a small star, or hermit's taper, peering From some cav'd rock that brows the dreary waste; Or like the lamp of some lone lazar-house, Which through the silent night the traveller spies Upon his doubtful way.
Viol. Fie on such images! Thou should'st have liken'd it to things more seemly. Thou might'st have said the peasant's evening fire That from his upland cot, thro' winter's gloom, What time his wife their evening meal prepares,
Blinks on the traveller's eye, and cheers his heart; Or signal-torch, that from my Lady's bower Tells wand'ring knights the revels are begun; Or blazing brand, that from the vintage-house O' long October nights, thro' the still air Looks rouzingly.———To have our gallant Beacon Ta'en for a lazar-house!
Bast. Well, Maiden, as thou wilt: thy gentle Mistress Of all these things may chuse what likes her best, To paint more clearly how her noble fire The distant seaman cheers, who bless the while The hand that kindled it.
Aur. Shall I be bless'd—— By wand'ring men returning to their homes? By those from shipwreck sav'd, again to cheer Their wives, their friends, their kindred? Bless'd by those! And shall it not a blessing call from heaven? It will; my heart leaps at the very thought: The seamen's blessing rests upon my head To charm my wand'rer home.—— Heap on more wood: Let it more brightly blaze.—Good Bastiani, Hie to thy task, and we'll assist thee gladly.
(As they begin to occupy themselves with the fire, the sound of distant voices, singing in harmony, is heard under the stage as if ascending the cliff.)
Aur. What may it be?
Viol.The songs of Paradise, But that our savage rocks and gloomy night So ill agree with peaceful soothing bliss.
Ter. No blessed spirits in these evil days Hymn, thro' the stilly darkness, strains of grace.
Aur. Nay list; it comes again. (Voices heard nearer.)
Ter. The mingled sound comes nearer, and betrays Voices of mortal men.
Viol.In such sweet harmony! I never heard the like.
Aur. They must be good and holy who can utter Such heavenly sounds.
Bast.I've surely heard before This solemn chorus chaunted by the knights, The holy brothers of Jerusalem. It is a carrol sung by them full oft, When saved from peril dire of flood or field.
Aur. The Knights of blest St. John from Palestine! Alas! why feel I thus? knowing too well They cannot bring the tidings I would hear. (Chorus rises again very near.)
Viol. List, list! they've gain'd the summit of the cliff: They are at hand; their voices are distinct; Yea, ev'n the words they sing.
(A solemn Song or Hymn, sung in harmony, heard without.)
Men preserved from storm and tide And fire and battle raging wide; What shall subdue our steady faith, Or of our heads a hair shall skathe? Men preserv'd in gladness weeping, Praise him, who hath alway our souls in holy keeping.
And wheresoe'er in earth or sea Our spot of rest at last shall be; Our swords in many a glorious field, Surviving heroes still shall wield, While we our faithful toils are reaping With him, who hath alway our souls in holy keeping.
(Enter six Knights of St. John of Jerusalem in procession, with their followers behind them, who don't advance upon the stage, but remain partly concealed behind the rocks.)
Aur. Speak to them, Bastiani; thou'rt a soldier; Thy mind is more composed.—I pray thee do. (Motioning Bast. to accost them.)
Bast. This lady, noble Warriors, greets you all, And offers you such hospitality As this late hour and scanty means afford. Wilt please ye round this blazing fire to rest? After such perilous tossing on the waves, You needs must be forspent.
1st Knight. We thank you, Sir, and this most noble dame,
Whose Beacon hath from shipwreck sav'd us. Driven By adverse winds too near your rocky coast, Warn'd by its friendly light, we stood to sea: But soon discov'ring that our crazy bark Had sprung a dangerous leak, we took our boat And made for shore. The nearest point of land Beneath this cliff, with peril imminent, By help of some good fishermen we gained; And here, in God's good mercy, safe we are With grateful hearts.
Aur. We praise that mercy also Which hath preserv'd you.
1st Knight.Lady, take our thanks. And may the vessel of that friend beloved, For whom you watch, as we have now been told, Soon to your shore its welcome freight convey.
Aur. Thanks for the wish; and may its prayers be heard. Renowned men ye are; holy and brave; In every field of honour and of arms Some of your noble brotherhood are found: Perhaps the valiant knights I now behold, Did on that luckless day against the Souldain With brave De Villeneuve for the cross contend. If this be so, you can, perhaps, inform me Of one who in the battle fought, whose fate Is still unknown.
1st Knight. None of us all, fair Dame, so honour'd were As in that field to be, save this young knight. Sir Bertram, wherefore, in thy mantle lapt,
Stand'st thou so far behind? Speak to him, Lady; For in that battle he right nobly fought, And may, belike, wot of the friend you mention'd.
Aur. (going up eagerly to the young Knight.) Did'st thou there fight?—then surely thou did'st know The noble Ermingard, who from this isle With valiant Conrad went:—— What fate had he upon that dismal day?
Young Kt. Whate'er his fate in that fell fight might be, He now is as the dead.
Aur. Is as the dead! ha! then he is not dead: He's living still. O tell me—tell me this! Say he is still alive; and tho' he breathe In the foul pest-house; tho' a wretched wand'rer, Wounded and maim'd; yea, tho' his noble form With chains and stripes and slav'ry be disgraced, Say he is living still, and I will bless thee. Thou know'st—full well thou know'st, but wilt not speak. What means that heavy groan? For love of God, speak to me!
(Tears the mantle from his face, with which he had concealed it.)
Thy very living self restored again! Why turn from me?
Er.Ah! call'st thou this restored?
Aur. Do I not grasp thy real living hand? Dear, dear!—so dear! most dear!—my lost, my found!
Thou turn'st and weep'st; art thou not so to me?
Er. Ah! would I were! alas, alas! I'm lost: Sever'd from thee for ever.
Aur. How so? What mean such words?
Which binds and weds me to a heavenly love: We are, my sweet Aurora, far divided; Our bliss is wreck'd for ever.
Aur. No; thou art still alive, and that is bliss. Few moments since, what would I not have sacrificed, To know that in the lapse of many years I should again behold thee?—I had been—— How strongly thou art moved!—Thou heed'st me not.
Ter. (to Aur.) Were it not better he should leave this spot? Let me conduct him to my quiet bower. Rest and retirement may compose his mind.
Aur. Aye, thou art right, Terentia.
Ter. (to the other Knights.) Noble Knights, And these your followers! gentle Bastiani Will to a place of better comfort lead you, Where ye shall find some hospitable cheer, And couches for repose.—Have we your leave That your companion be a little time Ta'en from your company?
1st Knight.You have, good Lady; Most readily we grant it.—Heaven be with you,
And this your lovely charge! (To Bast.) Sir, to your guidance We yield ourselves right gladly.
[Exeunt Knights, &c. by a path between the rocks, and Aurora and Ermingard, &c. by another path.
SCENE II.
An Anti-room in the House of Aurora: Enter Garcio, beckoning the Page, who presently enters by the opposite side.
Gar. Come hither, little Friend, who did'st before Serve me so willingly. Wilt thou from me Bear to Sir Ermingard a friendly message; And say his old companion——
Page.Nay, I dare not. The holy legate and the pope besides Might not disturb him now; for dame Terentia Hath so decreed. He is in her apartment, And yonder is the door. (Pointing off the stage.)
Gar.From which ev'n now I saw thee turn?
Page.I listen'd not for harm.
Gar. Do I accuse thee, Boy? Is he alone? Or is thy Lady with him?
Page.That I know not. Do folks groan heaviest when they are alone?
Gar. Full oft' they do; for then without restraint They utter what they feel.
Page. Then, by my beard, I think he be alone! For as I slipp'd on tiptoe to the door, I heard him groan so deeply!
Gar. Thou heard'st him groan?
Page.Aye; deeply. I thought when he return'd, we should be merry: So starting up at the good tidings, quickly, All darkling as I was, I don'd my cloaths: But, by my beard! I'd go to bed again, Did I not long most curiously to know What will betide.
Gar. Speak softly, boy; thou, and thy beard to boot, Will badly fare if Ulrick should o'erhear thee. I know his angry voice: he is at hand.
Page. Where shall I go?—He will not tarry here: He will but pass to the adjoining hall. In this dark nook I'll hide me from his sight Lest he should chide me. (Retires behind the pillar.}
Gar.Is there room for me? He'll greet me too with little courtesy If I remain to front him. (Retires behind the pillar also.)
Enter Ulrick and Bastiani, speaking as they enter.
Ul. And still thou say'st, forbear!
Bast.Pass on, my Lord.
Ul. No, by the holy rood! I'll keep in sight
Of that accursed door which gave him entrance. An hour's sand well hath run, which undisturb'd They have in converse or endearments spent. And yet I must forbear!
Bast. They have not told the truth who told you so; It is not yet so long.
Ul.It is! it is! I have within these walls, who for my service More faithfully have watch'd than Bastiani— Aye, or Terentia either.
Bast.Wrong us not. Since Ermingard returns by holy vows So bound, that as a rival to your love, You may, with honest thoughts of her you love, No more consider him; all jealousy Within your noble breast should be extinct. Then think not to disturb these few short moments Of unavailing sorrow; that were cruel.
Ul. Thou pitiest others well; I am tormented, And no one pities me.—That cursed Beacon! I said in vain this night should be the last: It was a night too much: the sea had now Roll'd o'er his lifeless corse; I been at peace.
Bast. For mercy, good my lord! curb such fell thoughts: They bear no kindred to your better nature.
Ul. My better nature! Mock me not with words; Who loves like me, no nature hath but one,
And that so keen——Would the engulphing waves Had fifty fathom deep entombed him!
Bast. Speak not so loud: pass on; we are within The observation of a prying household, Pass on, and presently I'll bring you notice Of what you would. I pray you, stop not here!
[Exeunt Ul. and Bast, while Gar. and Page come from their concealment.
Page. He would have chid me shrewdly.
Gar. He is, indeed, an angry, ruthless man, And Bastiani no slight task will have To keep his wrath from mischief. To the legate I'll hie me straight, and ask his better counsel: So fare thee well, sweet child.
Page. Nay, take me with you; I'm afraid to stay. I can my prayers and an Ave-Maria say, The legate will not chide me.
Gar. Nay, stay behind; thou art secure, poor elph! I'll soon return again.[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Aurora stands by him in the attitude of one who is entreating or soothing him.
Erm. O cease! Thy words, thy voice, thy hand on mine, That touch so dearly felt, do but enhance An agony too great.——Untoward fate! Thus to have lost thee!
Aur.Say not, thou hast lost me. Heaven will subdue our minds, and we shall still, With what is spared as from our wreck of bliss, Be happy.
Erm.Most unblest, untoward fate! After that hapless battle, where in vain I courted death, I kept my name conceal'd. Ev'n brave De Villeneune, master of our Order, When he received my vows, did pledge his faith Not to declare it. Thus I kept myself From all communication with these shores, Perversely forwarding my rival's will. O blind and credulous fool!
Aur. Nay, do not thus upbraid thyself: Heaven will'd it. Be not so keenly moved: there still is left What to the soul is dear.—We'll still be happy.
Erm. The chasten'd pilgrim o'er his lady's grave Sweet tears may shed, and may without reproach Thoughts of his past love blend with thoughts of heaven. He whom the treach'ry of some faithless maid Hath robb'd of bliss, may, in the sturdy pride Of a wrong'd man, the galling ill endure;
But sever'd thus from thee, so true, so noble, By vows that all the soul's devotion claim, It makes me feel—may God forgive the crime!
A very hatred of all saintly things. Fool—rash and credulous fool! to lose thee thus!
Aur. Nay, say not so: thou still art mine. Short while I would have given my whole of life besides To've seen but once again thy passing form— Thy face—thine eyes turn'd on me for a moment; Or only to have heard thro' the still air Thy voice distinctly call me, or the sound Of thy known steps upon my lonely floor: And shall I then, holding thy living hand In love and honour, say, thou art not mine?
Erm. (shaking his head.) This state—this sacred badge!
Aur. O no! that holy cross upon thy breast Throws such a charm of valorous sanctity O'er thy lov'd form: my thoughts do forward glance To deeds of such high fame by thee achiev'd, That ev'n methinks the bliss of wedded love Less dear, less noble is, than such strong bonds As may, without reproach, unite us still.
Erm. O creature of a gen'rous constancy! Thou but the more distractest me! Fool, fool!
(Starting from his seat, and pacing to and fro distractedly.)
Cred'lous alone of evil—I have lost, And have deserv'd to lose her.
Aur. Oh! be not thus! Have I no power to soothe thee? See, good Terentia weeps, and fain would try To speak thee comfort.
Ter. (coming forward.) Aye; bethink thee well, Most noble Ermingard, heaven grants thee still All that is truly precious of her love,— Her true and dear regard.
Erm. Then heaven forgive my black ingratitude, For I am most unthankful!
Ter.Nay, consider, Her heart is thine: you are in mind united.
Erm. United! In the farthest nook o' th' earth I may in lonely solitude reflect, That in some spot—some happier land she lives And thinks of me. Is this to be united?
Aur. I cannot, in a Page's surtout clad, Thy steps attend as other maids have done To other Knights.
Erm.No, by the holy rood! Thou canst not, and thou should'st not. Rather would I, Dear as thou art, weep o'er thee in thy grave, Than see thee so degraded.
Aur.Hear me out. I cannot so attend thee—noon and eve Thy near companion be; but I have heard That near the sacred houses of your Order,
Convents of maids devout in Holy Land Establish'd are—maids who in deeds of charity To pilgrims and to all in warfare maim'd, In sacred warfare for the holy cross, Are deem'd the humble partners of your zeal.
Erm. Aye, such there are; but what availeth this?
Aur. There will I dwell, a vow'd and humble sister. We shall not far be sever'd. The same winds That do o' nights thro' your still cloisters sigh, Our quiet cells visiting with mournful harmony, Shall lull my pillow too. Our window'd towers Shall sometimes shew me on the neighbouring plains, Amidst thy brave companions, thy mail'd form Crested with glory, on thy pawing steed Returning from the wars. And when at last Thou art in sickness laid—who will forbid The dear sad pleasure—like a holy bride I'll by thy death-bed stand, and look to heaven, Where all bless'd union is. O! at the thought, Methinks this span of life to nothing shrinks, And we are bless'd already. Thou art silent: Dost thou despise my words?
Erm. O no! speak to me thus: say what thou wilt: I am subdued. And yet these bursting tears! My heart is rent in twain: I fear—I fear I am rebellious still.
School me or chide me now: do what thou wilt: I am resign'd and humble.
Ter. (advancing to them with alarm.) Hear ye that noise without?—They force the door, And angry Ulrick comes.
Erm. (starting from his knees furiously.) Thank heaven this hated rival front to front Shall now oppose me! God avenge the right!
Enter Ulrick, bursting into the room, followed by Bastiani.
Ul. (to Erm.) Vow'd, holy Knight; from all vain earthly love Pure and divided; in a lady's chamber Do we surprise thee? Quit it instantly: It is a place for thee unfit: and know, In sacred wardship will I keep that maid.
Erm. In sacred wardship! O unblushing face! What of thy baseness, treachery, and falsehood I could declare, my choaking voice forbids, Which utterance hath not.—Here's a ready tongue—(Drawing his sword.) Defend thee then, and heaven defend the right!
(They both draw, and fight furiously, Bastiani endevouring in vain to interpose; when the Legate and his train, with Garcio and the Knights of St. John, enter, and separate them.)
Leg. Put up your weapons: to the holy church
This cause belongs, and to her high award I charge you both that you in all humility Submit. Lord Ulrick, to the Pope perforce You must account of this your wardship give, Or by yourself in person, or your deputy, To Rome forthwith dispatch'd. (Ul. bows sullenly.) As for the lady, to my guardian care, Till we before the holy Father come, She must commit herself. And thou, Sir Ermingard, Shalt to the sovereign Pontiff and the patron Of thy most valiant order, fully shew Wherein thou'st been aggriev'd. If the bless'd cross Thou hast assum'd, supposing other vows That did before engage thee, were annull'd, By false reports deceived; the holy Urban, Our wise enlighten'd father, will, I trust, A dispensation grant, that shall empower thee To do'ff with honour this thy sacred mantle, And in its stead a bridegroom's robe assume.
(Ermingard and Aurora both embrace the Legate's knees, who raises them up gently.)
I am too richly thank'd. And now we must with sober minds confer: For when the wind is fair, we sail for Rome. Some days, perhaps, it may adversely blow— Perhaps some weeks; for I have known it oft Hold vessels bound.
Aur. (tossing up her arms joyfully as she speaks.) No; it will change to-morrow.
Erm. Dear ardent soul! canst thou command the winds? (Aur. shrinks back ashamed.)
Leg. Blush not, sweet maid; nor check thy ardent thoughts; That gen'rous, buoyant spirit is a power Which in the virtuous mind doth all things conquer. It bears the hero on to arduous deeds: It lifts the saint to heaven. (Curtain drops.)
THE END.
Printed by A. and R. Spottiswoode, Printer-Street, London.