Page:The Mysterious Mother - Walpole (1781).djvu/31
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A TRAGEDY.
23
My Edmund's soul's ambitious to revive?
Thus would he bless his vassals!
Thus would he bless his vassals!
EDMUND.
Thy reproof,
My friend, is just. But had I not a cause,
A tender cause, that prompted my return?
This cruel parent, whom I blame, and mourn,
Whose harshness I resent, whose woes I pity,
Has won my love, by winning my respect.
Her letters! Florian; such unstudied strains
Of virtuous eloquence! She bids me, yes,
This praying Magdalen enjoins my courage
To emulate my great forefathers' deeds.
Tells me, that shame and guilt alone are mortal;
That death but bars the possibility
Of frailty, and embalms untainted honour.
Then blots and tears efface some half-told woe
Lab'ring in her full bosom. I decypher'd
In one her blessing granted, and eras'd.
And yet what follow'd, mark'd anxiety
For my soul's welfare. I must know this riddle.
I must, will comfort her. She cannot surely,
After such perils, wounds by her command
Encounter'd, after sixteen exil'd years,
Spurn me, when kneeling—Think'st thou 'tis possible?
Thy reproof,
My friend, is just. But had I not a cause,
A tender cause, that prompted my return?
This cruel parent, whom I blame, and mourn,
Whose harshness I resent, whose woes I pity,
Has won my love, by winning my respect.
Her letters! Florian; such unstudied strains
Of virtuous eloquence! She bids me, yes,
This praying Magdalen enjoins my courage
To emulate my great forefathers' deeds.
Tells me, that shame and guilt alone are mortal;
That death but bars the possibility
Of frailty, and embalms untainted honour.
Then blots and tears efface some half-told woe
Lab'ring in her full bosom. I decypher'd
In one her blessing granted, and eras'd.
And yet what follow'd, mark'd anxiety
For my soul's welfare. I must know this riddle.
I must, will comfort her. She cannot surely,
After such perils, wounds by her command
Encounter'd, after sixteen exil'd years,
Spurn me, when kneeling—Think'st thou 'tis possible?
FLORIAN.
I would not think it; but a host of priests
Surround her. They, good men, are seldom found
To plead the cause of pity. Self-denial,
Whose dissonance from nature's kindest laws
By contradicting wins on our perverseness,
Is rank fanaticism's belov'd machine.
Oh! 'twill be heroism, a sacrifice,
I would not think it; but a host of priests
Surround her. They, good men, are seldom found
To plead the cause of pity. Self-denial,
Whose dissonance from nature's kindest laws
By contradicting wins on our perverseness,
Is rank fanaticism's belov'd machine.
Oh! 'twill be heroism, a sacrifice,
To