Philos. Nay, I must serve you! Let me but con- Full of redeeming knowledge, making wise
Here have I lived-here from my boyhood lived;
These naked walls are like familiar faces,
And that poor pallet has so oft given rest
To my o'erwearied limbs, there will I die!
Unto salvation, and the holy spring
Of all divine philosophy — and thou poor dust,
For which the soul of man is often sold;
Yet wast thou not by evil traffic won,
Nor got by fraud, nor wrung from poverty-
God blessed the labourer while he toiled for thee,
And may'st thou bless the widow!-lie thou there-
I shall not need you more. I am departing
To the fruition of the hope of one,
And where the other cannot get admittance!
And now a few words will explain the rest:-
[He writes a few words, which he encloses
with them, and making all into a packet,
seals them up.
God comfort her poor heart, and heal its wounds,
Philos. But you do need physicians-here is gold, Which will bleed fresh when she shall break this seal.
I know the scholar's fee is scant enough!.
I will go hence, and send you an attendant.
Schol. I cannot take your gold, I want it not.
My sickness is beyond the aid of man;
And soon, even now, I did expect my mother.
Philos. [affecting sorrow.] My dear young friend, I
have to ask your pardon;
The letter that I promised to deliver,
I did forget-indeed I gave it not!
Schol. How have I trusted to a broken reed!
Oh mock me not with offers of your friendship,
Say not that thou would serve me!
[Shortly after this is done, he becomes sud
denly palera convulsive spasm passes
over him; when he recovers, he slowly
rises, and kneels upon his pallet-bed.
Schol. Almighty God! look down
Upon thy feeble servant! strengthen him!
Give him the victor's crown,
And let not faith be dim!
Oh, how unworthy of thy grace,
How poor, how needy, stained with sin!
How can I enter in
Oh my mother-Thy kingdom, and behold thy face!
Except thou hadst redeemed me, I had gone
Poor, broken-hearted one, I shall not see thee!
[He covers his face for a moment, then
rises up with sudden energy.
Whoe'er you are, and for what purpose come,
I know not-you have troubled me too long —
But something in my spirit, from the first,
Told me that you were evil; and my thought
Has often inly uttered the rebuke,
"Get thee behind me, Satan!" Leave me now-
Leave me my lonely chamber to myself,
And let me die in peace!
[The Philosopher goes out, abashed.
The scholar falls back into his chair,
exhausted; after some time recover-
ing, he faintly raises himself.
"Tis night-fall now-and through the uncurtained
window
I see the stars; there is no moon to-night.
Here then I light my lamp for the last time;
And ere that feeble flame has spent itself,
A soul will have departed!
Without sustaining knowledge to the grave!
For this I bless thee, oh thou Gracious One,
And thou wilt surely save!
I bless thee for the life which thou hast crowned
With never-ending good;
For pleasures that were found
Like wayside flowers in quiet solitude.
I bless thee for the love that watch'd o'er me
Through the weak years of infancy,
That has been, like thine everlasting truth,
The guide, the guardian-angel of my youth.
Oh, Thou that didst the mother's heart bestow,
Sustain it in its woe,
For mourning give it joy, and praise for heaviness!
[He falls speechless upon the bed.
His mother enters hurriedly.
Mother. Alas, my son! and am I come too late?
Oh, Christ! can he be dead?
Schol. [looking up faintly.] Mother, is't thou?
It is! who summoned thee, dear mother?
Mother. A little boy, the latest of thy class;
He left these walls at sunset, and came back
With me e'en now. He told me of thy words,
his Bible and inscribes it. And of thy pallid cheek and trembling hand ;-
Let me now
Close my account with life; and to affection,
And never-cancelled duty, give their rights:
[He opens
This I return to thee, my dearest mother,
Thy gift at first, and now my last bequest;
And these poor earnings, dust upon the balance
Compared with the great debt I owe to thee,
Are also thine would I had more to give!
There lie you, side by side.
Sorrowing for all, but sorrowing most because
Thou saidst he would behold thy face no more!
Schol. My soul doth greatly magnify the Lord
For his unmeasured mercies! -and for this
Great comfort, thy dear presence! I am spent-
The hand of death is on me! Ere the sun
He lays a small sum of money with the Bible. Lightens the distant mountains, I shall be
Among the blessed angels! Even now
I see as 't were heaven opened, and a troop
Of beautiful spirits waiting my release!
talents, and friends, yet has the moments when the soul, reacting upon itself, prays to be disenthralled.
Mother. My son! my son! and thou so young, so None are retrieveless; none are utterly alien to good,
Time is done,
Joy is won,
Come to glory infinite!
Hark! the angel-songs are pealing!
Heavenly mysteries are unsealing,
Come and see, oh come and see!
Here the living waters pour,
Drink and thou shalt thirst no more,
Dweller in eternity!
No more toiling - no more sadness!
Welcome to immortal gladness,
Beauty and unending youth!
Thou that hast been deeply tried,
And like gold been purified,
Come to the eternal truth!
Pilgrim towards eternity,
Tens of thousands wait for thee!
Come, come!
Achzib was surprised at the ill success of his attempt upon the Poor Scholar. He was humiliated to feel how powerfully he had been rebuked by one comparatively a youth-one who was poor, and who had so little knowledge of men. It was before the authority of virtue he had shrunk, but he had never believed till that moment, that virtue possessed such authority; and almost confounded, he walked forth
from the door of the Poor Scholar into the fields that surrounded the city.
save the victim of avarice; for when did the soul, abandoned to this vice, feel misgivings? when did it feel either pity or love? or when did it do one good thing, or repent of one evil thing? It will strip without remorse, the fatherless, the widow, nay even the very sanctuary of God! Avarice is the Upas of the soul-no green thing flourishes below it, no bird of heaven flies over it; and the dew and the rain, and the virtues of the earth, become pestilential because of it! It shall be the love of gold which shall be my next temptation."
ACHZIB, A STRANGER.
THE SECOND LORD OF TORRES.
ISABEL, A WIDOW,
AND OTHER SUBORDINATE CHARACTERS.
Time occupied, one-and-twenty years.
A green hill overlooking a broad valley, in the centre of which, among a few old trees, stands a noble mansion of grey stone; a fine lake appears in the winding of the valley, and the hill-sides are scattered with a few worthless old trees, the remnants of woods which have been felled. — Thomas of Torres comes forward, and throws himself on the grass.
Thomas. That was my home-the noble hall of Torres !
Mine were those meadows-yon bright lake was mine,
Where when a boy I fished, and swam, and hurled Smooth pebbles o'er its surface; those green hills Were mine, and mine the woods that clothed themAchzib had done unwisely in making too direct an This was my patrimony! a fair spot, attack. The integrity of principle may be under-Than which this green and pleasant face of earth mined, but is seldom taken by storm.
When Achzib had duly pondered upon the cause of his failure, his desire was only redoubled to make a fresh attempt. "I will neither choose a dying man, a scholar, nor one of inflexible virtue," said he, "and yet my triumph shall be signal and complete." He thought over the baits for human souls-loveambition-pleasure; but all these he rejected. "For," said he, "is not avarice more absorbingly, more hopelessly cruel than all these? The lover may be fierce, ungovernable, extravagant; still is the passion in itself amiable. The man of ambition may wade through blood to a kingdom; yet even in his career, give evidence of good and great qualities. The votary of pleasure, though he sacrifice health, wealth,
Can show none fairer! With this did descend
An honourable name—1
-the lord of Torres!
An unimpeachable and noble name,
Without a blot on its escutcheon,
Till it descended to a fool like me—
A spendthrift fool, who is become a proverb!
My father was a good and quiet man —
He wedded late in life; and I was born
The child of his old age; my mother's face
I knew not, saving in its gilded frame,
Where, in the chamber of her loving husband,
It hung before his bed. My father died
When I was in my nonage. Marvellous pains,
Reading of books, study, and exercise,
Made me, they said, a perfect gentleman;
Such was the lord of Torres three years since!
He rode, he ran, he hunted, and he hawked,
And all exclaimed, "a gallant gentleman!"
He had his gay companions- what of that?
They said that youth must have its revelries.
He laughed, he sung, he danced, he drank his wine,
And all declared," a pleasant gentleman!"
They came to him in need-his many friends-
Money he had in plenty, it was theirs!
He paid their debts; he gave them noble gifts;
He feasted them; he said, "they are my friends,
And what I have is their's!" and they exclaimed,
"Oh, what a noble, generous gentleman!"
He had his friends too, of another sort-
Fair women that seduced him with their eyes, -
For these he had his fetes; his pleasant shows;
His banquetings in forest solitudes,
Beneath the green boughs, like the sylvan gods:
And these repaid him with sweet flatteries,
And with bewitching smiles and honeyed words
The lord of Torres did outgo his rents;
His many friends had ta'en his ready cash;
This was a jeweller, and must be paid;
This was a tailor- this had sold perfumes,
This silks, and this confectionery and wine-
They must-1
-they must be paid-they would be paid! "The lord of Torres is a ruined man!" So said the cunning lawyer;-and they sold Horses and hounds and hawks, and then they said The house itself must go! The silent lord Rose up an angry man: "Fetch me my horse!" Said he; for now a thought had crossed his mind Wherein lay hope.-Alas! he had no horseThe lord of Torres walked a-foot that day! "I'll seek my friends!" said he, "my right good friends;
They'll help me in my need, each one of them." He sought their doors this saw him through the blind,
And bade his valet say, he was abroad:
This spoke him pleasantly, and gave him wine,
And pledged him in the cup, his excellent friend!
But when he told the purport of his visit,
He shook his head, and said he had no gold,
Even while he paid a thousand pieces down
“What then!” said they, "thy lands are broad and For a vain bauble! From another's lips
Get money on them!" Ah, poor thoughtless fool,
He listened to their counsels! - Feasts and gifts,
And needy friends, again have made him bare!
Cut down thy woods!" said they. He cut them
down;
And then his wants lay open to the day,
And people said this thriftless lord is poor!"
This touched his pride, and he grew yet more lavish.
"Come to my heart," said he, "my faithful friends;
We'll drink and laugh, to show we yet can spend !"
--The woods are felled; the money is all spent;
What now remains?—The land's as good as gone,
The usurer doth take its yearly rent!"
So spake the lord again unto his friends:
"Sell house and all!" exclaimed the revellers.
The young lord went to his uneasy bed
A melancholy man. The portraits old
Looked from their gilded frames as if they spoke
Silent upbraidings-all seemed stern but one,
That youthful mother, whose kind eye and smile
Appeared to say, Return, my son, return!
The lord of Torres is a thoughtful man:
His days are full of care, his nights of fear;
He heedeth not which way his feather sits;
He wears the velvet jerkin for the silk;
He hath forgot the roses in his shoes;
He drinks the red wine and forgets the pledge;
He hears the jest, and yet he laugheth not:
Then said his friends "Our lord hath lost his wits,
Let's leave him ample space to look for them!"
They rode away, and left his house to silence;
The empty rooms echoed the closing doors;-
The board was silent! silent was the court,
Save for the barking of the uneasy hounds.
Soon spread those friends, the news of his distress!
And then again a crowd was at his doors:
He heard the mocking words of "spendthrift,”
"beggar."
The lord of Torres turned upon his heel,
And muttered curses while his heart was sad.
"There's yet another friend," said he, "beloved
Beyond them all; for while I held them churls,
This was the chosen brother of my heart!"
The lord of Torres stood beside his gate;
There was a show as for a festival.
"I come in a good hour!" said he to one
Who stood hard by—" what means this merry show?"
"How! know you not," said he, "this very morn
The noble Count hath wedded the fair daughter
Of Baron Vorm!" The young lord's cheek is white,
His brain doth reel - he holds against the gate,
And hides his face that none may see his tears!
He back returned unto his fathers' house,
And entering in his chamber, barred the door,
And passed a night of sleepless agony!
The lord of Torres was an altered man:
A woe had shadowed o'er his countenance;
His speech was low, and tremulous, and sad
He bore a wounded heart within his breast.
Then came his aged steward with streaming eyes,
And gave to him a little bag of gold;
"Take it," he said, "I won it in thy service,
And in the service of thy noble father!"
The lord of Torres took the old man's hand,
And wept as weeps a child; his heart was touched.
"Take back thy gold," said he; "I wasted mine,
Yet will I not expend thy honest gains:-
Friend, take it back-I will not touch thy gold!"
The house was sold-the lands, the lakes were sold,
And debts and charges swallowed up the price;
And now he is a landless, homeless man,-
He is no lord, he hath no heritage!
Thomas of Torres, get thee from this place,
What dost thou here?-art like a cursed sprite
Looking into the heaven that thou hast lost?
Ay, look and long for yonder do they lie,
Thy fair lands and thy broad! Poor outcast wretch,
Thou may'st not set thy foot within those fields;
Thou may'st not pull a sapling from the hills;
Thou may'st not enter yon fair mansion-house-
Another man is called the lord of Torres!
Out with thee! thou art but a thriftless hind;
They'll drive thee hence if thou but set thine eyes
Upon their fair possessions! What art now
Better than him who wins his bread by toil?
Better than that poor wretch who lives by alms?
Thou canst not dig; to beg thou art ashamed:
Oh, worse than they-thou, one-time, lord of Torres !
[A STRANGER advances, and pauses before Thomas.
Stranger. Are you the lord of Torres ?
Thos.
Strang. You are the man I seek! Thos. .What is 't you want? I can bestow no favours, give no giftsI have not even a stiver for myself!
Strang. Nothing I ask; I seek but to confer. Now listen to my words, my noble friend!
I knew a man whose case was like your own;
He stood upon the hills that overlooked
The fair lands he had lost; as you on yours-
He saw his treeless woods, his desolate mansion,
Gone to a stranger's name—yet what did he?
Sit still and make a moan about the past,
And call himself ill names and beat his breast?
No, no! he was another kind of man!
He made a vow to win his lost lands back;
To set a tree for every tree he felled;
To dwell in his ancestral home again!
Thos. And was his vow performed?
Strang.
Where he had counted one in his wild youth,
In his old age he counted twenty fold;
And died within the room where he was born.
Thos. To win the faithless lady of his love
Made he a vow?
That vow he did not make; Because I know not if his heart had loved.
But you may make that vow.
Thos. I'll do as thou hast said! give me thy hand! Thou hast performed a friend's part, though a stranger; Witness my vow-witness, thou ancient earth, And thou, more ancient heaven, oh, witness it! All that was mine I will win back to me All I have lost I will again possess -Silver or gold, or love more precious still! All that gave joy and beauty to my life, Shall gladden and adorn it ere its close! Hunger and thirst, and cold, and weariness Shall not oppose me! - through the day I'll toil, And through the night I will lay ceaseless schemes! Here, in the face of my ancestral home,
I make this solemn vow!-So help me God! Strang. You have done well. The oath is good
But I must part from you- my road lies hence.
Thos. My road lies any way. -I'll go with you.
Strang. [going forward.] The ground was good-
Which will produce a harvest for my reaping! [Thomas remains, looking into the valley for a few moments, and then follows him.
The interior of a miserable hut, cold wood-ashes lie upon the hearth, and straw, as for a bed, in one corner. Enter Thomas of Torres, in a miner's dress; he carries a lighted fagot in one hand, and a log in the other.
Thos. I'll have a blaze anon.-The night is cold, And firewood costs me nothing.
[He lays wood upon the hearth, kindles it ;
and then bolting his door, sits down upon
a log by the fire.
"Tis bright and warm!
These dry pine logs burn cheerily enough;
Hissing and crackling, blazing merrily,
They are good company - and better still,
They cost me nothing - do not call for wine,
Sauces and dainty meats, and savoury dishes-
They live without rich doublets - do not need
Gold-hilted swords, nor rings, nor laced cravats.
A fire's a good, companionable friend,
A comfortable friend, who meets your face
With pleasant welcome, makes the poorest shed
As cheerful as a palace! Are you cold?
He warms you-weary? he refreshes you-
Hungry? he doth prepare your viands for you-
Are you in darkness? he gives light to you—
In a strange land, his face is that of one
Familiar from your childhood - are you poor?
What matters it to him? he knows no difference
Between an emperor and the poorest beggar!
Where is the friend that bears the name of man
Will do as much for you? When I was rich,
I could have counted out a hundred men,
And said, "All these would serve me, were ther need!"
And any one, or all, had sworn they would;
But when need came, where was the ready friend Said "Here's my purse, good fellow!"
I had my liveried servants in those days;
Both men and maids I had to wait on me;
I slept on down; the hangings of my bed
Were damask; I did eat from silver;
All sorts of meats, and rare elaborate dishes
Were set before me, with the choicest wines;
Upon my hands I wore most dainty rings,
And of the whiteness of my hands did boast!
Look at them now-hardened and seamed and dark,
I wear no jewels now-I drink no wine.
A crust of bread, and a poor herb or two
Make up my daily meal;- my couch is straw;
I have no liveried servants- and what then?
Am I the less a man than in those days?
My limbs I use - and I use all my senses;
I see, hear, feel, taste, smell as I did then.
Go to! thou hast not lost much by the change!
Ay, but thou hast thou wast a rich man then,
Had'st friends, at least thy riches made them for thee-
Wast loved-poor wretch!-art loved now, thinkest
thou?
Look at thy sordid frame-look at thy garb -
Look at thy blackened face, thy length of beard,
Thy uncombed, tangled locks— could she love thee?
"Tis but a process I am passing through;
To-day the grub, but on the morrow morn
The painted butterfly!
[A rap is heard at his door.
starting, deadens the light with ashes, and
carefully covers something in a hole in the
the rap is heard again.
Trav. [without.] For God's sake, worthy Christian, give me shelter.
Thos. Who are you—and what brings you to this
Trav. A weary traveller who hath lost his way;
And chance has brought me here.-I am sore spent;
The night is chill and stormy, give me shelter.
Thos. My hut is no fit place for guest to lodge in!
I've neither chair nor table, bread nor wine.
Trav. But you have fire —and a good roof above
you!
Thos. A little further on a village lieth;
You'll there get fire and shelter, and good cheer.
Trav. Direct me there.
Thos. [carefully opening his door.] First you must
pass the mines;
Then cross yon woody ridge; the hamlet lies
Below, in the next valley.
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A fine moonlight night.-A lonely field in the ex tremity of the valley of Torres.- Enter Thomas with an ass, he takes off the bridle and turns it to graze.
Thomas. There, thou poor, half-starved, patient
animal,
There's grass, rare, green grass for thee! eat thy fill,
Would thou could'st take a store for forty days!
This once was mine-I tell thee, it was mine!
I know it inch by inch-yon leafy hedge
Is hazel every twig. I little dreamed
When I was wandering here a happy boy
The time would come when I should steal in here
A thief o' nights!
Ah, I remember well-
There is a little hollow hereabout,
Where wild-briar roses, and lithe honeysuckle
Made a thick bower; 'twas here I used to come,
To read sweet books of witching poetry!
Could it be I? No, no, I am so changed,
I will not think this man was once that boy;
The thought would drive me mad! I will but think
I once knew one who called this vale his own;
I will but think I knew a merry boy,
And a kind, gentle father, years agone,
Who had their dwelling here; and that the boy
Did love this lonely nook, and used to find
Here the first nests of summer; here did read
All witching books of glorious poetry;
And then, that as the boy became a youth,
And gentle feeling strengthened into passion,
And love became the poetry of life,
Hither he wandered, with a girlish beauty,
Gathering, like Proserpine, sweet meadow-flowers;
And that they sate beneath the wild-briar rose,
And that he then did kiss that maiden's cheek
The first time as a lover! Oh my God!
That was the heir of Torres-a brave boy,
A noble-hearted boy! he grew a man,
And what became of him? Ha! pass we that—
Would that I knew not what became of him!
[He advances into the hollow. 'Tis even as then! this bower hath little changed, But hearts have changed since then- and thoughts have changed,
And the great purpose of a life hath changed!
Oh that I were a bird among these boughs,
To live a summer life of peace and joy;
To never fret my soul for broken faith;
To have no onward hope, no retrospection!
Ah! there's the tiny glow-worm as of old!
It is a lovely thing. O me! how much
That's beautiful and pure have I forgotten!
Years is it since a glow-worm crossed my thoughts,
[He shuts to the door, and bars it. And it was the bright marvel of my boyhood —
Trav.
Thank you, friend,
And yet the way is long, and the night dark.
Thos. "Tis scarce a league-follow yon trembling
O'er the old tower; you cannot miss the way.
Am I to lodge all weary travellers?
If he got shelter, he'd be asking food.
No, no, i' faith, the world was none so ready
To give me aught—I've feasted guests enow!
[He puts out his fire, and then throws
himself on the straw.
A fire, and yet so cold! let's feel it now,
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