Classic Poem

A Chamber in the Palace.

Enter D ARNLEY and R UTHVEN .

Dar. Away — away! why will you conjure up
The horrors of the past? Though much I loved him,
I would forget him now. Alas! alas!
The rose, that withers gently on its stalk,
Smells sweetly after death, but if 'tis pluck'd
Away untimely, its rank breath offends
The shuddering sense — so are the memories
Of friends, who go down calmly to their graves,
Cherish'd within our breasts: but from the tombs
Of those (howe'er beloved), whom violence
Has hasten'd to their ends, we turn appall'd,
And pray for quick oblivion.
Ruth. I would only
Warn you by his sad fate, for oft is Murder
The progeny of Lust. Have I not given you
Proofs palpable as the sun's summer ray?
Did I not cross the minion as he left her,
And draw from his but half reluctant lips,
Dark, yet not dubious, hints of the foul secret,
Which, while his fears would hush, his vaunting pride
Would blazon all abroad.
Dar. 'Tis false as hell!
I'll not believe it, though an angel pledged
The testimony of heaven. Herself alone
Shall, by her own confession, shake my faith:
But if there be truth in the damning tale,
I'll wring it from her lips, though her heart split
To give it utterance. See where she comes, —
Retire, good Ruthven, leave us to ourselves.

Enter the Queen.

Queen . My dearest lord —
Dar. She comes! she comes! Oh! heaven!
Can this sweet flower, which I have worn so fondly
Upon my bosom, prove a venomous weed
To sting the heart that cherish'd it!
Queen. (aside.) He turns
Away, as though his eye had met a thing
That sear'd its vision. Has suspicion built
Her nest within his breast? If so, support me,
Ye heavenly powers! But I appeal to you
In vain: you spurn the offensive prayer that rises
From a corrupted heart — like noxious vapours
From the rank earth, which but increase the clouds
That shut it out from heaven. Then bear me up,
My guilt! — thou, which hast made me what I am,
Help me to still appear like what I was.
My dearest Henry — you stand cold and silent —
You sent for me, and on the wings of love
I fly to learn your wishes.
Dar. Hear me, then —
Oh! I have had a dream, a hideous dream,
With which my soul still shakes; like ocean tossing,
After the storm is past. I know that thou
Art versed in mystic lore — that in the stars
Thou read'st men's destinies — and in portents,
Visions, and signs, canst trace their hidden meaning,
Which slumbers, like the lightning in the cloud,
Till sages draw it down.
Queen. (aside.) I breathe once more
Freely — Alas! how weak a thing is guilt,
Still trembling at the shadow which itself
Casts round its timorous steps. O conscience, conscience!
Thou art a fearful monitor; and sin,
Howe'er awhile it triumphs in thy silence,
Has only wound thee like a larum up,
To strike more sure and frequent. Well, my lord,
I have been waiting for your tale; and will,
As far as my weak wit permits, essay
To read your dream to you.
Dar. Then listen — listen —
Methought I stood upon a spacious plain,
And gazed into the midnight heavens, upon
That band of bright immortals who watch o'er
The slumbers of our world. Methought they shone
With a peculiar splendour, and each one,
Upon their golden axles as they turn'd,
Made glorious music. Still I gazed and gazed,
Awe-struck. Heaven's ample page was glittering
With countless worlds, and yet 'twas but one leaf
Of the vast volume of infinity,
Which He, who fill'd it with those lines of light,
Yields to our bounded vision. Suddenly,
That sign, which men have named the Balance, shed
Unusual light, and from its sphere a spark
Parted, which, as it rapidly approach'd
Our globe, grew larger and more bright, until
It seem'd a radiant orb, on which enthroned
A glorious Being sat. Her face was sunlike,
But spotless as the midnight moon — a veil
Of heavenly texture, such as forms the wings
Of the light gossamer on a summer's eve,
Or the soft halo around Dian's brows,
Temper'd its dazzling brightness. One hand pointed
Stedfastly at the stars; the other held
A mirror of such wondrous brilliancy,
That heaven and earth seem'd kindling in its blaze,
And all the dread dark places of our globe,
Th' abodes of infamy and wickedness,
Let in its searching ray.
Queen . 'Twas strange, and typified
Some awful power.
Dar. This mirror, that I tell thee of,
Was strangely gifted. On its wondrous disk,
I saw the pomps and vanities of this world,
Stripped of their glittering semblance. I saw Falsehood,
Shivering in hideous nakedness to the gaze
Of scornful myriads: I saw mounting Pride,
Blind groveling in the dust: I saw sworn Friends,
Who, like our shadows, walk beside us, vanish
Like those same shadows, when the sun of fortune
Shone on our path no more: I saw th'Oppressor
Change places with th'Oppress'd — then tear his hair
And rave, and then with mad impiety
Rail at his Maker; as the ravening wolf,
Foiled of the prey on which he meant to gorge,
Howls at the lights of heaven: I saw the Harlot,
She who profaned the nuptial bed, and, like
The fair false serpent in man's paradise,
Changed Eden to a howling wilderness:
I saw her, though before as bright as heaven,
Loathsome as leprosy: her gorgeous robes
Dropt from her, while her throne of pomp and pride
Served but to form a loftier pedestal,
On which she stood, for scorn's unsparing finger
To point her out more truly. But you tremble —
Your face is colourless — your eyes roll wildly —
'Twas but a dream — a silly dream.
Queen. No, no;
Oh! 'twas the mirror of eternal truth,
In which — yet whither am I wandering?
Pardon me, my dear lord, but your strange dream,
This dull hot atmosphere, and my wild fancy,
Transported me, I know not whither — Now
My brain is cool again.
Dar. Then hear the sequel. —
The form approaching me — me , Mary — (nay,
Wherefore that shudder?) held the mirror full
Before my face, and in it as I gazed
I read my own heart's painful history.
There the sweet hopes, which I had fondly cherish'd,
Lay torn and bleeding all; there my affections,
Like the vine's tendrils, when the branch, round which
They twine, proves faithless and gives way, were crush'd
And trampled into ruin; there pale sorrow,
And agony, and horror, number'd o'er
The remnant of my years, while clouds and darkness
Blacken'd around their close. I look'd again,
And saw three shadowy forms, which gradually
Grew more distinctly visible. One was fair
As thou — nay more — now that that ashy hue
Rifles the roses on thy cheek. She plighted
Unchanging love to me who gazed on her,
As though her bright eyes were the fires which kindled
All his heart's incense — but she played the wanton,
And on a worthless minion lavishing
The treasures of her love, broke the fond heart
That only beat for her. As I gazed nearer,
Strange horror seized me: for the face of each
Was pictured with such damning verity,
I dared not harbour doubt. I will not breathe
The minion's name — the dirt on which we tread
As well deserves a record — but I traced
My own too well remember'd traits in him
Who was thus foully injured — while the features
Of that pernicious, trait'rous, fair one — Mary
Were thine! — were thine! — Now read my dream to me.
Queen. Just Heaven! forgive my sins.
Dar. Ha! thou false queen!
Is't thus — is't thus — I pray thee ope thy lips —
Say that it is not so, and I'll believe thee,
Though proofs came thronging thick and fast as motes
In the sun's noontide beams. By heaven! she's silent.
Then thus — thus will I seal the secret up,
That other ears may not receive a tale
Too foul to breathe in mine.
Alas! that face
That eye — that form — it is the same which here,
Deep seated in my heart, holds back my arm,
And mars its righteous vengeance.