No More Learning

But cheerily, Father,--
That staff of yours, I could almost have heart
To fling't away from you: you make no use
Of me, or of my strength;--come, let me feel
That you do press upon me. There--indeed
You are quite exhausted. Let us rest awhile
On this green bank.


[He sits down. ]


HERBERT (after some time)
Idonea, you are silent,
And I divine the cause.


IDONEA Do not reproach me:
I pondered patiently your wish and will
When I gave way to your request; and now,
When I behold the ruins of that face,
Those eyeballs dark--dark beyond hope of light,
And think that they were blasted for my sake,
The name of Marmaduke is blown away:
Father, I would not change that sacred feeling
For all this world can give.


HERBERT Nay, be composed:
Few minutes gone a faintness overspread
My frame, and I bethought me of two things
I ne'er had heart to separate--my grave,
And thee, my Child!


IDONEA Believe me, honoured Sire!
'Tis weariness that breeds these gloomy fancies,
And you mistake the cause: you hear the woods
Resound with music, could you see the sun,
And look upon the pleasant face of Nature--


HERBERT I comprehend thee--I should be as cheerful
As if we two were twins; two songsters bred
In the same nest, my spring-time one with thine.
My fancies, fancies if they be, are such
As come, dear Child! from a far deeper source
Than bodily weariness. While here we sit
I feel my strength returning. --The bequest
Of thy kind Patroness, which to receive
We have thus far adventured, will suffice
To save thee from the extreme of penury;
But when thy Father must lie down and die,
How wilt thou stand alone?


IDONEA Is he not strong?
Is he not valiant?
HERBERT Am I then so soon
Forgotten? have my warnings passed so quickly
Out of thy mind? My dear, my only, Child;
Thou wouldst be leaning on a broken reed--
This Marmaduke--


IDONEA O could you hear his voice:
Alas! you do not know him. He is one
(I wot not what ill tongue has wronged him with you)
All gentleness and love. His face bespeaks
A deep and simple meekness: and that Soul,
Which with the motion of a virtuous act
Flashes a look of terror upon guilt,
Is, after conflict, quiet as the ocean,
By a miraculous finger, stilled at once.


HERBERT Unhappy Woman!


IDONEA Nay, it was my duty
Thus much to speak; but think not I forget--
Dear Father! how _could_ I forget and live--
You and the story of that doleful night
When, Antioch blazing to her topmost towers,
You rushed into the murderous flames, returned
Blind as the grave, but, as you oft have told me,
Clasping your infant Daughter to your heart.


HERBERT Thy Mother too! --scarce had I gained the door,
I caught her voice; she threw herself upon me,
I felt thy infant brother in her arms;
She saw my blasted face--a tide of soldiers
That instant rushed between us, and I heard
Her last death-shriek, distinct among a thousand.


IDONEA Nay, Father, stop not; let me hear it all.


HERBERT Dear Daughter! precious relic of that time--
For my old age, it doth remain with thee
To make it what thou wilt. Thou hast been told,
That when, on our return from Palestine,
I found how my domains had been usurped,
I took thee in my arms, and we began
Our wanderings together. Providence
At length conducted us to Rossland,--there,
Our melancholy story moved a Stranger
To take thee to her home--and for myself,
Soon after, the good Abbot of St.