Now thou art absent, my desponding soul Has lost its wonted pow"rs in sad despair; Reason no more mu pa.s.sion can controul; Joy flies with thee, and nought remains but care.
The blessings thou hast giv"n no more have charms And my rack"d mind is torn with wild alarms.
With soothing words thou didst my cares beguile, Taught me the page of learning to explore, Banish"d despondence with a gentle smile,-- Then left me solitary, sad, and poor.
Would"st thou return, and to my pray"r incline, Methinks a dungeon"s gloom would be divine!
If I no more thy beauties must behold, Death soon will free me from this painful smart; If a proud rival win thee by his gold, Soon will despair and anguish break my heart.
But, though all cares, all sorrows should be mine, Heaven shower its brightest gifts on Roseline!
SONNET THE THIRD
No more for liberty I pine, No more for freedom crave; My heart, dear Roseline, is thine,-- Thy fond, thy faithful slave.
First taught by thee I own"d love"s pow"r, And yielded to my chain; Sigh through each sad and cheerless hour, Yet bless the pleasing pain.
Sweet Roseline, my heart is thine, It beats alone for thee; In pity to my vows incline, Or set the captive free.
Like a poor bird, in his lone cage, I pine and flutter round, Sullen and sad, in fruitless rage, Yet still in fetters bound.
CHAP. VIII.
Thus stood matters at the castle, when Sir Philip de Morney returned, accompanied by his friend, Baron Fitzosbourne, who was highly gratified by the cordial and respectful reception he met with.
Every one vying with each other in their endeavours to amuse him, he a.s.sumed the most conciliating manners, appeared pleased and good humoured, paid the most flattering attention to the young ladies, and bestowed the warmest encomiums on their beauty and accomplishments; at the same time admiring, or pretending to admire, the maturer graces of the mother, who had given to the world a race of women fairer than the first daughters of creation, and, to render the gift complete, had stored their minds with a fund of knowledge that could put philosophy to the blush at its own ignorance.
Sir Philip a.s.siduously courted the Baron, seemed to watch his looks, and to make it his whole study to oblige him,--thought as he thought, and, whatever he recommended, was sure to approve. Lady de Morney, seeing her husband so anxious to please, followed his example, not doubting but he had good and sufficient reasons for what he did. She requested her children strictly to observe the same conduct, with which request they all at first readily complied, and exerted themselves to entertain their n.o.ble guest. Edwin was honoured with particular marks of his favour and approbation: he promised his best interest to obtain him promotion in the army, when he found that was the profession for which he was designed.
The Baron was nearly as old as his friend Sir Philip. In fact, they had received the first rudiments of their education at the same school, and under the same makers; and, though their pursuits were alike, they had been thrown into a very different situations, but ever retained a pleased remembrance of their boyish friendship, and took every opportunity of keeping it alive, and serving each other.
The Baron, though large and robust, was neither clumsy not forbidding in his appearance. His eyes were penetrating; he looked the warrior, and seemed formed to command and be obeyed. He was tall, and had an air of grandeur about him that bespoke the man of fashion: his voice was not unpleasing; but he was rigid and austere with his servants and dependants; and, though upon the whole they found him a generous master, as he had nothing conciliating in his manner to them, they took every opportunity of abusing him; for, though they durst not venture to speak before him, they made themselves amends when they joined their companions in the kitchen, by giving such traits of his character, as not only shocked them, but made them feel with redoubled grat.i.tude the happy difference of their own situation.
Roseline, while she was compelled to treat her father"s visitor with attention and respect, felt an invincible disgust whenever he addressed her, and attempted to give specimens of his gallantry, which was often the case; but, if he took hold of her hand, she shrunk from his touch as she would from that of a snake, and trembled, she knew not why, if she saw him looking earnestly at her face.
Edeliza laughed at and detested him. She slily compare him with De Willows, and wondered how nature could have contrived to form two creatures so different from each other. Bertha wished to pull off his ugly great wig, and to have it stuck upon one of the towers, observing, that, if his frightful face were seen from another, no enemy would ever come near them. How were they all struck with sorrow when they found he was to spend the whole summer at the castle.
Roseline, with more earnestness than usual, questioned her mother as to the truth of this report, but received only an evasive answer, that the length of the Baron"s stay depended on a circ.u.mstance not yet determined.
"I sincerely hope, my dear madam, whatever it may be, that it will at least prove unfavourable to his continuance here. My father may, and I dare say has, just reasons for esteeming him, though no one but himself can discover them. Every one else dislikes him, and I shall most truly rejoice when he takes himself away."
"My dear girl, (said Lady de Morney,) consider the Baron"s rank, and the dignity of his character."
"I do consider them (she replied) as the greatest misfortunes that could happen to any one, unless accompanied with good humour and humility; but I think it particularly hard that other must suffer so many mortifications because the Baron is a great man."
Again she was requested by her mother, who could scarcely forbear smiling at the seriousness of her manner, to recollect that men of his consequence could not bring themselves to act as if they were upon a level with their inferiors.
"The more is the pity, (said Roseline;) therefore, my good mother, it would be unnecessary for me to consider any thing about the Baron"s importance, since he thinks so much and so highly of it himself: but I do not see, for my part, why rank and fortune should tempt their possessors to a.s.sume so much on merely accidental advantages; or why people, distinguished as their favourites, should have a greater right to think and act as they please than those less fortunate. We were much happier and more cheerful before he came among us, and my father more indulgent."
"Your father (said Lady de Morney, with the utmost earnestness) is, I have no doubt, perfectly satisfied that he is acting right, and therefore you, Roseline, must be blameable in the presuming to call his conduct in question. I insist, as you value his and my favour, that you never again address me on this subject; and let me advise you, if you with to be happy, to shew no disgust to the Baron, but receive his attentions with politeness and good humour."
On saying this, she withdrew, and left Roseline, struck dumb with surprise, to form what conclusions she pleased. She knew not what to think from this unusually strange and unpleasant conversation, and could not comprehend either her father"s or mother"s reasons for being so much attached to any one, whatever might be his ranks, who was so little formed to excite any feelings but those of disgust in the minds of those unfortunate people who whom he condescended to a.s.sociate.
She saw and lamented that, since the Baron"s arrival, neither De Clavering, De Willows, nor Hugh Camelford, came without a formal invitation from her father, while the reserve which prevailed in their parties banished all that enlivening conversation that once rendered them so pleasant. Her sisters too, the dear Edeliza, and the sweet Bertha, were kept under so much restraint before this great personage, they seemed almost afraid to speak.
Roseline, to shake off for a time these uncomfortable reflections, stole into the prisoner"s room, in which she seldom failed to find her brother: there she lost all remembrance of the Baron; and, in conversing with friends so dear to her heart, progressively recovered that native cheerfulness which was one of the most engaging features of her character.--The sonnets, which her brother had so recently given her, not only served to raise her spirits, but had made an indelible impression on her mind. She smiled with something more than even her usual complacency on this love-taught poet. Of his tenderness and sincerity she could cherish no doubt. His honour and worth it was equally impossible to suspect. No one knew them better,--no one estimated them so highly as herself. To suppose he could be less amiable, less deserving of her attachment, would have appeared to her a crime of the most enormous magnitude. Thus did the fond effusions of love throw a veil over the eyes of their artless votary, in order to give a fair colouring, and to reconcile her to a conduct which, in another, her prudence would have taught her to condemn; but thus it is with too many erring mortals: when once they become the hood-winked slaves of any predominant pa.s.sion, they are not only regardless of the world"s opinion, but insensible to the secret admonitions of that silent monitor, which they carry in their bosom. Roseline as first acted merely from the generous impulse of pity and universal benevolence; but, in so doing, she admitted a guest to dispute with them a place in her breast, which neither time, reason, nor prudence, could banish thence.
Our artless heroine was unfortunately the darling child of sensibility, and her mind so susceptible of the miseries and misfortunes of others, that, from the moment she discovered them, they became her own. What then must be the poignancy of her feelings, when she reflected on the dependent, helpless, and unprovided state of a lover, dearer to her than life!--who dared not disclose even his name,--whose blameless conduct proved to her partial judgement that he suffered unjustly, and whose virtues could alone reconcile her to herself for having risked so much on his account, and entrusted her heart to the keeping of one whose situation precluded hope,--who had declared he belonged to no one,--a prisoner, a stranger, without fortune or friends: yet, think as she would, these cruel circ.u.mstances, after the strictest investigation, acted as a talisman in favour of her lover.
The life, which she fancied, under Providence, she had been the humble means of preserving, she concluded it was now her duty to render happy; therefore, to deprive it of its value, by affecting an indifference she did not feel, was as far from her power as her inclination; yet there were moments when she recollected, with the severest anguish, how much her brother, as well as herself, was acting in opposition to the designs and will of her parent. To deceive such parents was a thought which, in her most impa.s.sioned moments, she could not dwell upon, but love and sensibility had woven their webs so close around her heart, that she struggled in vain to disentangle herself from the bewitching snare.
Sensibility I have long thought, nine times out of ten, proves a source of misery to the generous and benevolent, and as often is merely the boast of the ignorant, who pretend to be overstocked with the milk of human kindness, and whose feelings are equally excited by the death of a husband or a lap-dog. I am satisfied there is no blessing more earnestly to be wished for than a calm and composed resignation to the events of this life, and all its complicated concerns.--It appears rather an Irishism, that to be happy we must become indifferent,--but so it is.
Real sensibility is of all burthens the heaviest to bear. Long experience and careful observation have convinced me too painfully of this truth. A thousand and a thousand times I have shed torrents of tears, and felt the most tormenting anxiety for those who would have seen me with the most stoical apathy begging through the street for bread. The pleasures attending high-raised sensibility are so much over-balanced by the painful effects they produce, that I protest I had rather be an oak, or a cabbage, than alive to such every-varying and corrosive feelings, which act upon the human mind as slow poison would upon the body.
When Roseline was going to bed, the servant who attended her, and who, from having lived some years in the family, was indulged in the habit of conversing familiarly with the young ladies, determined to get rid of a kind of confidential secret, which had been entrusted to her by one of her fellow-servants.
"Laws, Miss Roseline, (said she,) what think you that frightful old Baron comed here for?--As I live I should not have dreamed of any thing so ludicurst!"--
"Came for? (replied Roseline,)--why he came to see my father to be sure;--what else could be his inducement for visiting this stupid place?"
"Ha, ha! I thought I should poze you, miss, (cried Audrey, drawing herself up, and giggling at her own consequence,)--why, as sure as you be borned and christened, he comed here to pick up a wife, if he can meet with one to please his own superannuated meagrims; and his man, Pedro, thinks as how a person I could name would suit him to a tee, but I thinks otherwise.--Such an old frumpish piece of crazy furniture, says I, will not suit any of the ladies that belongs to the n.o.ble genitors of Bungay Castle and its henvirons. "You my be mistaken, dame, said the saucy fellow;--if they suit my master, my master may suit them sure, for he is as rich,--as rich as Crasus."
"For heaven"s sake, (said Roseline,) what nonsense have you picked up? You must not presume, Audrey, to speak of the Baron in so disrespectful a manner. If my father and mother heard you, I am not sure that you would be permitted to stay another night in the castle."
"It would be a good story, indeed, (resumed the talkative Abigail,) to turn away a servant for such an offence! As I have a soul, which, by the goodness of father Anselm, I hope to get saved, my heart bleeds for you, miss, and I could claw out his ugly, staring eyes for to go for to think that you, who be so sweet tempered, and kind, and affabel, to your unfeerors, should have to nurse his crazy old carcase.--"Tis vexing to--"
Roseline had started up in her bed as soon as she found herself so strangely introduced with the Baron, and seeing that Audrey had taken up the candle in order to leave the room, gently called her back, and begged some explanation of what she had heard, which she declared herself unable to comprehend.
"Mayhap you are;--so much the better, (said Audrey.)--Less said is soonest mended, as I have gone to the end of my line;--I may be turned away if I a.s.sume to speak of the beautiful old Baron;--things will all come out in time;--I can be spectful to my betters:--they that link an old husband let them have him;--"tis no bread and b.u.t.ter of mine.--Good night, miss;--the Baron is a fine old Gracian, and will make his lady marvelly happy."
Saying this, she left the room, and Roseline was too much displeased to call her back a second time, but determined to question her still farther the first opportunity. "The Baron came to the castle for a wife!"--It was too ridiculous to be believed; but, if he did, he could not possibly think of uniting himself with her! Servants were ever prying into the secrets of their betters, or forming such stories as only very ignorant people could think of inventing.
She now went to sleep, forgot the Baron, and dreamed of the prisoner, whom her fancy represented as being released from confinement, and eager, with the consent of Sir Philip, to lead her in triumph to the altar of Hymen. To the delusive excursions of the soul we will for the present consign her; but, before we take leave of the inhabitants of the castle for the night, we will just take a peep into the kitchen, where, around a blazing fire, spread on a hearth four yards wide, were seated several of the domestics, earnestly engaged in talking over the affairs of the family, each of them drawing the character of their master or mistress, as the humour of the moment dictated, and giving their opinions of actions, the motives of which they knew so little, that they were just as able without a fair and candid examination.
Sir Philip, it was said, was become quite proud and penurious,--the young ladies troublesome,--and Lady De Morney cross, whimsical, and suspicious. Suddenly the door burst open, and a young man, who had been for some time an a.s.sistant in the stables, tumbled into the kitchen, and, with terror depicted on his countenance, exclaimed, "I saw it,--I saw it!==I saw the light with my own eyes!--The ghost followed me up to the door, and then vanished in a flash of fire!--Shut the door, or it may get in!"
This in a moment alarmed the whole set; they all crowded round the terrified man, and with one voice eagerly inquired what ghost, what lights he meant? and when and where he had seen them? After drinking a copious draught of ale, he became able to satisfy the curiosity he had excited, and told them, as he was coming from the stables, just as he pa.s.sed the gate of the inner ballium, and was within forty yards of the South tower, he saw a light as plain as ever he had seen one in his life, through one of the grated windows, and, after it had disappeared a few seconds, it appeared again at a much lower window, flashed upon the wall, and smelt like sulphur. At the moment it vanished the second time, he saw something all in white, which he thought glided past him, but, on looking behind him, it was there also, and it had actually followed him till he fell into the kitchen.
"Then, as sure as we are alive,(said one of the grooms,) Thomas has seen the ghost of the lady who died for love of the young officer that was put to death in the dungeons. I have heard my grandfather say a thousand times he must have died innocent, for he was a bold as a lion till his last gasp."
"Well, (said one of the women-servants,) I shall be afraid to stir out after dark, if these confounded ghosts are again found taking their nightly rambles, and prying into every thing that is going forwards."
"I always knew (said another) this castle was disturbed ever since the great clock struck twelve twice in one night; for what on earth could touch it at that time, if it had not been a spirit?"
"Ah! (said a third,) no doubt there have been sad doings in the castle."
"Not since we came to it, (replied an old grey-headed footman.) My master has practised no deeds of darkness that would bring the dead from their graves. As to what was done before our time, that can be no business of ours, and I don"t see how any ghost can have a right to frighten and interrupt, either by day or night, those who were never acquainted with it."
"Christ Jesus preserve us! (cried on of the maids,) I verily thinks I saw something glide past that door! Surely father Anselm should be sent for to give them absolution:--There! did you not hear that rustling?"