SUPERSTITION
ACT FIRST.
Scene 1. A Village at a little distance. In front, on the left of the Stage, the cottage of Ravensworth; a handsome rustic building. A large mansion, on an eminence nearer the Village, on the right.
(Enter from the Cottage, Mary and Alice.)
Mary. Nay, come away, dear Alice, every moment
Of your brief visit must be wholly mine;
Let's leave our fathers to their grave discourse
Of witch and wizard, ere we laugh outright.
Alice. It is a subject that the country round
Deems a most solemn one.
Mary. True: but to me,
'T is not the less absurd on that account.
Alice. This levity's misplac'd: your father claims
Your love and reverence—
Mary. And I do revere him,
And love him dearly, Alice; do I not?
How often have I striven to melt his sternness;
And, when my heart was sick of its own cares,
Lock'd up my selfish sorrows from his view.
And tried, by every filial endearment.
To win his smiles. E'en when his brow was darkest;
I've brav'd its terrors; hung upon his neck.
And spoken of my mother: how sweet
It were methought, even to weep with him.
Alice. You're an enthusiast, Mary. Ah, beware.
Lest this impetuous current of your feeling
Urge you, one day, against the perilous rock.
Mary. I'm young, and youth is ardent, and should be
Cheerful, and full of bright and sunny thoughts;
I would be if I dared. You, too, are young.
Yet may be happy; for you have a parent
Who, tho' he guide you safely down the stream.
Does not, like angry pilots, chide, e'en louder
Than the loud storm.
Alice. His high and holy office
May, haply give to your good father's manner,
A grave solemnity, perhaps, a harshness—
Mary. And why a harshness? Sure, ah sure. Religion
Descends not like the vulture in its wrath;
But rather like the mild and gentle dove,
Emblem of peace and harbinger of joy,
Love in its eye and healing on its wing;
With pure and snowy plumage, downy soft,
To nestle in the bosom of its votaries.
Alice. I cannot argue; I'm content to follow
Where e'er our fathers lead. For you, I fear
You've learn'd too much from this mysterious stranger.
Mary. Alice, join not you with the slanderous crowd.
Against a noble lady, whom you know not.
For me, be satisfied I never more
Perhaps, shall see her: I've obeyed my father;
And must, tho' it should break my heart:
tho' Charles—
- (Pauses and crosses.)
Alice. And what of Charles?
Mary. Her son—
Alice. I know: her son,
And what of him?
Mary. This very day, 'tis said,
He will be here—
Alice. Expell'd, they say, from college.
Mary. Disgrac'd—'T is false: Charles cannot be disgrac'd;
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