Yet can I say that I repent it-no!— And were the flames of hell ninefold more hot,

Without Sophia never could I live!

SCENE IV.

Walter, Sophia, Emilius, (Soon after, the Stranger.)

Soph. (coming in hastily.) Walter !-
Wal. (startled.) What is it ?-
Soph. There is here a stranger-
As if to visit us.

Wal. So much the better-
His presence will beguile the time.
-Knocking loudly.) Come in!-
Em. An old man this!—

Stran. God save you, friends.
Wal. Amen.

Your greeting, friend, is good; and of thy worth

Affords a pledge. So art thou truly wel

come.

Stran. (putting off his cloak.) You see a traveller who has lost his way.

Will you permit

Wal. seeing the stranger at a loss with his hat.) Shake off the snow, good friend. (Soph. (coming forward.) Walter, I feel a strange misgiving here.

Wal. Um! So do I-wherefore I cannot tell

Soph. (to the stranger.) You are not

well acquainted with the way? Stran. 'Tis long since I was here before. (He looks about him, and seems to pray in silence.) Soph. So then ?

Wal. (in a soothing tone to Sophia.) He seems a travelling preacher.-In the forest

That in my bosom smothers up the sparks
Of kindling pleasure? Is it but the look
Mistrustful of mine host's, in whom, per-
chance,

My unexpected entrance raised confusion?
Yet, from a stranger's lips awaits them not
The glad announcement of prosperity?
Is it because, at some unlucky hour,

I came, that from the well-known walls, it

seems

That some dark spirit frowns? Or is it rather

A gloom prophetic from the realms of death, That spreads around me this mysterious

terror?

Came I not here to die?

It matters not, When the tree withers, where it first was reared,

And evermore the river hastes away From the first fountain-head. But to the spheres

The path is closed; and man, whose course is thither,

Dies not in peace, but in his native land.
Born for eternity, he pictures forth
Her emblem in the page of time,-(the ser-
pent,

That wreathes into a circle,)—so his exit
Is like his entrance. Happy if he finds
A grave where stood his cradle !

It is decreed and past; and Lewis Horst

Has named you for his heir.

Wal. (mistrustfully.) Indeed?

Soph. (working at her net.) Well then, This would be fortune!

Stran. Named you and your sister, Whom

Wal. Nay, there you are in error-I have

none.

Stran. How! know you not?

Wal. I never had a sister.

Stran. Ah! like the first cold shivering

of a fever,

But in the snares of the deceiver fell

His heart. It must be told-At a grand feast

Given by the falconer, when all were gay,
It was the twenty-ninth of February,
A day that seldom comes, therefore was held
With more festivity;-the charms of Agnes,
The youngest daughter of the falconer,
Won his affections.

Wal. Did'st thou say, indeed,
The twenty-ninth !—that is to-day.
Soph. Aye, truly—

(Terrified, and looking towards the door.) 'Twas then, too, that he died.

Wal. That day that comes

But every fourth year seems to me accurs'd, No gift of Heav'n—but heathenish work of Rome!

Straw. Nay, there is in the year no day so blest,

That man may not be tempted. Agnes fell, And gave life to thy sister-but, ere long, Thine uncle, who held then an office there, Saw her expire, and leave an infant child, Whose birth till then had been concealed.

Wal. (joyfully.) 'Tis true, Sophia! see, he writes here to his brother, That in his married state he felt severely The consequence of that concealed trans

I threaten'd or implor'd. Our doom was fix'd.
Then, in the madness of my desolate rage,
I cursed my parents and my birth.
Stran. Alas!

That was most impious!

Wal. Well-I have atoned By suffering for my crime.

Stran. But Heaven is jealousAnd judgement awful-Wherefore didst thou swear That heavy oath?

Soph. My courage was o'ercome Resistance vain.

Wal. Then from my father's home,
By rage and sorrow I was driven-
Stran. Unblest,

Thou didst forsake thy parents ?—
Soph. For my sake

That error he committed ;-through the world

Wandered twelve months or more without repose:

Wal. Fortune was more propitious than a father

I found Sophia in a foreign land-
But she avoided me-her heart was chang'd;
Soph. Alas! the fatal oath had sealed my

lips;

Our hearts indissolubly were united. 3 E

I sent intelligence that he was there,
But waited long-long, ere an answer came,
I would have fled to save my soul, but letters
Arrived at last-

Wal. Their import-that my mother,
Long sick and feeble, had at length expired,
And that my father, too, himself, alas!
In health declining, wish'd me to return.
Soph. Me too he sent for.-Both were to
arrive

On the same day, that comes in each fourth year

His birth-day.

Wal. And one sentence in my letter My heart with unexpected pleasure filledSoph. Alas it led me on to sin. Wal." While yet,

I linger in this weary world," he said,
"Have I a secret to disclose to thee,
That a dear heart with thine will now
unite."

Now, dearer was to me no heart on earth
Than my Sophia's; and to her alone,
These words could I apply.

Stran. Ha! tell me this,

Your name then is Sophia?
Soph. Yes indeed.

Stran. For this thank Heaven!

Wal. I urg'd my suit with vehemence ; Threw myself at her feet, and prayed that we Might never part again! At last she yielded. Stran. How,-then you waited not, first to obtain,

A father's blessing?

Wal. No-alas, we did not!

Soph. When tears are showered upon an heart that love

Has cultivated, like a fruitful field, Powerfully will the first green shoots arise! So here was foster'd the quick growth of sin! Wal. Within my burning heart, a conflict raged ;

"If thy desire," methought, "has not his blessing,

Then art thou lost, and evermore thy portion Is vain remorse."-But when the knot was tied,

And to new life I woke, the interpretation
Seem'd indisputable; for my Sophia
And happiness at once were mine. Away
Post-haste we drove together; houses, trees,
Went dancing by us on our rapid progress:
Shouts, gratulations, and the bugle-horns
And fairy-dreams beguil'd the way. The
happy

Forget all time, and in a moment's space
Traverse a world.

Soph. Such was the roseate light
Cast on our marriage, that soon died away,
And never more reviv'd-

Wal. With confidence,

We came into this chambe; there he lay; Joy rais'd him up ; " Children!" he cried; we both

Ran to embrace him, and at once to tell The news that we were married.--At that word His eyes looked wildly-he began to speak, But, all at once, with palsy struck, fell back.

wards;

By feudal tenure held, with the free right Of hunting, granted to the line of Horst, Must go from son to son. Here I became A father; yet, our first-born almost brought His mother to the grave; and then my daughter,

Born five years after her grandfather's death, Almost took with her every wish of mine For longer life.-She-(he pauses overpowered.)

Pray forgive me, sir!

Soph. This child to Walter was indeed his ALL!

Fresh and rejoicing on this very day
Four years ago, had both our children gone
To join a merry-making in the town.
Then came, at once full speed, a messenger
On horseback, who brought us intelligence
That my child Clara would be drown'd.
The river,
Was with the melting of the snow high
swollen ;

Clara had stepped upon the shelving ice;
It broke with her; she floated from the
shore--
No one had ventured-

Stran. Gracious Heaven!
Wal. No danger

Withholds a father. In wild haste I rush'd
Down to the stream that here surrounds the

Yet who can stem the tide of consequences? Em. Father! now tell me.

To pain you must be reconciled. In truth, My name is Payne.

Stran. How so?

Soph. My father, Horst,

Called me Sophia; but my name before
Was Agnes Payne.

Stran. Indeed! And where was then
Your dwelling-place?

Soph. Gemind.-The Rector's house.
Stran. Ha!

Soph. There were two of us protected
there,

Myself and Mary Agnes May--who died While yet a child-Were you then there, and know?

Wal. Old man, your eyes are wild. Stran. Oh, come ye waves! Rise up, ye raging floods, upon this house, Cover the guilty like the innocent! Walter, I am thine uncle, and thy wife,She is thy sister!

Soph. Mercy! Heaven!

(She falls down in a faint.)

Em. (In his sleep.) Away,

Black raven! Leave the nests in peace! Thou Satan,

Begone!

Wal. He dreams-the let-loose influences Of Hell disturb his rest; even on the spot Where his grandfather died. Boy! Hear! Awake!

How did that proverb run?

Em. Which was it?

Wal. That

Of darkness and of curses.

Em. "Whoso curseth his father or his mother, his lamp shall be extinguished in utter darkness."

Wal. Uncle, hear'st thou ?

The book of God arraigns me; and the Devil

Already drags me by the hair!

Em. (Seeing his mother.) Oh Heavens ! My mother!-Thou strange man! I charge thee, tell me, How did this come to pass?

Lewis. Have patience, boy,

She will revive.-Go, fetch the wine.
Wal. Oh, strive not

To wake her senses but to the endurance
Of sufferings, whose immeasurable depth
No soul can estimate.

Em. She is reviving

Pray, mother, had you fallen ?

Soph. Aye, fallen indeed;

Fallen deeply!

Lewis. Silence, boy,-now rest a-while! Are you not better?

Em. Surely, for her looks

Are not so pale.

Soph. Oh, I am well, my spirit
From torturing apprehensions is more free;
For those who are on earth to suffering
doom'd,

May from the torments of eternity
Perchance be say'd.

Em. Tell me, what means my mother? Lewis. Oh never may'st thou know by sad experience!-

Art nephew to thy mother, and thy fatherHe is thine uncle!

Emil. (Perplexed, and shaking his head.) I-now tell me, mother, What hast thou-?

Soph. Pain and suffering without end, Unto the grave.

Emil. Have I offended thee!

Lewis. No, no, my son. Heaven is with
them offended,

Because they disobeyed a father's will;
And they are sorrowful, because to-day
They have been told that separation only
Can Heaven appease.

Wal. (Starting up and grasping the dagger.) Ha!

Soph. (painfully.) Separation!
Wal. Never!

If by our marriage we destroyed a father,
Thou art still mine as ever, and more dearly
Hast thou been won!

Soph. (weeping.) How could we know the

truth?

Wal. (with looks of insane determination.) Uncle, if Hell has sent thee that the world May know this horrid tale, that but for thee Had been for evermore concealed, methinks It were no crime, if with this murderous steel,

I seal'd it up in thy cold heart.

Soph. (running to him.) Oh Walter ! Lewis. Nay, let him strike! I am prepared,

(Walter retires, and lets fall the hanger.) From shores

Far distant, to the dwelling of my fathers, A heartfelt longing brought me hither. Childless,

And without pleasure, wealthy, here I sought, Surrounded by dear friends to end my days. But could I thus thine evil star propitiate, From thy hands gladly would I death receive!

Wal. The powers of darkness lie in wait

for me.

(He breaks the hanger, and throws it

away.)

The enemy is strong; and man is weak!
Soph. This cannot come to good-(to
Lewis) Uncle, forgive him,
He is insane!-He cannot bear your looks,
Pray leave us now.

Lewis. First, must I speak to him, Though he should kill me-Horst! 'tis not the laws

Of man that judge thee! 'Tis the voice of God,

That from thy father's tomb speaks fearful warning!

He was a sinner; and it was the fruit of sin that wrought his misery ;-above all, Because he criminally sought to check