CHA. We'll think upon this matter. Meanwhile thou mayst retire. [_They withdraw._
CHA. And now, sweet maid, we must evince Our sense of kindness such--(_takes her hand._)
CHA. (_aside_, Oh! majesty of virtue! I stand abashed Before the simple form thou hast assumed, Still lower than the lowly who reproves me.) Forgive the offence.
JOAN. It is forgotten; Thou hast not injured me.
CHA. Thou sayst aright. The assailer not assailed sustains the injury, When vice would sully purity. Speak thy wishes.
JOAN. I dare not trust the air with such a secret As that which trembles here. (_Approaches and whispers._)
CHA. Who told thee this? Can Death then ope his mouldy jaws, and speak Without a tongue?
JOAN. The sword, which in the keeping of that church Has since remained, must to my hand be given, And thou must claim it.
CHA. Reason and hope are yet at variance; But instantly to Fierbois we will send, And prove the truth of words declared to us. Valancour, the embassy is thine. Haste thee, Thy failure or success decides our movements. Louvel protect the maid.--On his return We will again assemble.
SCENE III.--_Church of St. Catherine de Fierbois._--_Midnight._
ABB. It may not be, A secret presses here, which ere my soul Can quit in peace its tenement of clay, Must be discharged; and on no other spot May I divulge that secret.
AUS. Aid me then. Here divers tombs of knights attract my eyes, But none with such device as thou hast said.
ABB. Look where the eastern window proudly throws A stream of crimson light, when ev'ning's gloom Enshrouds all else--in token of respect To him who sleeps below. Did not the chill Of age, perhaps of death, benumb my limbs, My watchful feet, accustomed to the path, Had led me to the spot.
ABB. Alas! There then at rest lies he, the brave, the young, And oh! for kingly shame, for kingly woe, The murdered, the betrayed.
AUS. Compose thyself. Here on this mutilated effigy, (Stern lesson of rebuke for haughty pride,) By warrior felt, rest thee.
AUS. Nought save the wind, which tired of being pent Within these cloistered aisles, and heavy made By penitential sighs, doth sullen moan For liberty, and free access to heaven.
ABB. 'Tis hushed, whate'er it was. Now listen, Austin:-- When 'gainst the legions of the Saracen The hearts of knights with holy ardour burned, And kings and nobles left their native land, The young Montalbert, fav'rite of his prince, Joined those heroic ranks.