Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Alfred H. Miles, ed. Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.

By Lord and Lady Russell (1876). The Heir of Linne

Isabella Harwood (“Ross Neil”) (1840–1888)

Lion.Break off—let silence be. Your pardon, friends;

But I have that to say which till ’tis said

Burns in my throat.
Lady F.Alas! my lord, what is’t?

Lion.And yet as hard to tell as keep untold—

You being all my friends, to whom my griefs

Are even as your own.
Lady F.O but yet tell.

Hub.We’ll strive our best to bear.
Sir Ruf.We will be strong.

Lion.Know then, a beggar stands before you here—

A landless, houseless beggar.
Lady F.What means this?

O now I see—a jest.
Lord F.Faith, a good jest.

Sir Ruf.Or would be good if ’twere not beggarly.

Hub.When next you try the appetite of belief,

Offer a smaller mouthful.
Lion.Have you ne’er

Heard a voice speak from a sad heart before,

That now you know it not? I say again

I am a beggar, out of land and goods

Tricked by yon villain, who of all you see

Is master and disposer.
John.’Tis quite true,

Dear lords and ladies, though so strange it seems—

True, I mean I am master; which, I take it,

Is the point of chief concern.
Lion.Ay, true, all true.

He hath spent, and let me spend, till from my store

The last round coin hath rolled (surely made round

To roll the easier); and more than this,

Hath tied my hands so to my sides with debt

I cannot reach them forth for timely aid,

And must stand by and see a bond enforced

That gives to him the house and lands of Linne.

John.Yes, if before this hour to-morrow night

Those five-and-twenty thousand crowns you owe

Be not paid back in full—my little all.

Lion.Thus stands it, friends. You see, a desp’rate case.

[Aside]Poor girl, poor love; I dare not lift my eyes

To where she is, as one who stabs himself,

Yet turns away from looking on the wound.

[To AMABEL, who stands near him.]Tell me, how fares the Lady Geraldine?

Amab.I will go and comfort her. O my sweet friend!

Lett.Need I say how I pity?
Geral.You need not——

Nor pity one who pities not herself.

Lion.[aside.]I knew not how she loved me, or how true

She spake, saying that gold to her was dross.

Come, for her sake I will be strong as she.

[Aloud.]Your silence, friends, well shows you think the time

Too short for help to reach me.
Lord F.Why indeed

I see not how, in four-and-twenty hours—

To be quite plain with you, as sure I am

You wish us to be plain, I cannot think

You have been wholly prudent.
Hub.Rankest folly

To put such trust in others! ’Tis so easy

To keep account oneself of what one owes.

Sir Ruf.Had you been earlier open with your friends!

There would have then been time for us to give

Advice that might have saved.
Lion.But now, I see,

’Tis all too late for friendship’s self to help—

And trust me, though time served you to redeem

My lands, as well I know you fain would do,

I ne’er had suffered you to have your will

At any peril of your own grave loss.

The folly hath been mine, and mine must be

The paying of the forfeit.
Lord F.On my word,

A noble spirit.
Sir Ruf.From my lord of Linne

I looked for nothing less, yet must admire.

Lion.And now that of my state you know the worst,

You next shall learn my hopes, the arms wherewith

I look to vanquish Fortune; for be sure

While I have friends—or others peradventure,

Called by a dearer name—who still will deign

To wish me well, I’ll wrestle for their sake

Till I have slain my troubles or they me,

Yea, strive to tame disaster for my slave

To help me to new wealth, which I’ll go forth

Into the world to conquer with the sword

Of love and hope.
Lord F.An excellent resolve!

Sir Ruf.Wherein all our best wishes shall be yours.

Lion.Thanks. If those wishes have borne fruit or not

Before three years are over shall you know;

For three years being ended, with no sight

Or news of me, conclude me either dead

Or of my hopes fall’n short, and look no more

To see me in your midst. And thou, who once

Wert to have been the sunshine of my home,

Think thyself free, when those three years are done,

To make bright with thy smiles another’s hearth;

Longer I would not have thy fair young life

Wasted with bootless waiting.
Lady F.But, my lord,

Since to my daughter still you seem to ascribe

Part in your fortunes, you will pardon me

If I should ask you what the surety is

For their so speedy mending.
Lion.Chiefly, madam,

Strong heart and hands, by love made stronger.
Lady F.Ah!

Lion.The gold I hope one day to dower her with

Is now stored up in that new fairer world

Mariners tell us of beyond the west,

The treasure-house of earth, rich with a glow

Of million sunsets—there will I go seek

My second fortune, or, it may be, chance

To find it on the seas, where Spanish galleons

Crowd sail at sight of the smallest English bark.

Lady F.A little scattered, sir, it seems to lie.

Lion.Not long ago I held discourse with one

Who in those lands and waters of the west

Had made himself from poor in brief space rich,

And who so took my ear his prisoner

With things he told me—of balm-breathing groves

Where birds like jewels sparkle in and out,

And many-coloured skies that blend and change

With the blushing hills their blushes—then again

Of the crash of oak ’gainst oak, and steel ’gainst steel

And the sacred cry of Spaniards to their saints,

And, following soon, the full-voiced English cheer

Telling of victory, and good gold won

From use of foreign foes—with things like these

He so ensnared my fancy that well-nigh

He made me wish my fortune still to seek.

Sir Ruf.[Aside.]A modest wish, soon granted.
Lion.He I speak of—

A wealthy burgher now—a few years since

Had only in the world his own stout heart,

And a poor patrimony of no more

Than some two thousand crowns, but these enough

To equip and man the bark that made him heir

Of far-off Indian kings and Spanish dons.

Now I, you see, am strong, and of a spirit,

I trust, to dare as much as any dare;

So with two thousand crowns I hope to make

My fortunes equal his. These still I lack,

But shall not long, I know, when once I say

That of my friends I will not shame to ask

A petty loan that will not do them hurt.

Which of you all will lend two thousand crowns?

Or give; since it may be that death, belched up

By angry seas, or slung by foeman’s hand,

Will make my bond a mock. Which of you? speak.[A pause.

I see you think it is for me to choose

Whom I will have for helper, and in truth

Where I know all to be so much my friends,

By making choice of one I need not fear

To give the rest offence. Hubert Fitzwater,

To you in this great need I bring my suit,

Both since you are my brother, and because

I did you lately a good turn, which now

I should be churlish if I gave you not

Occasion to requite.
Hub.What! taunt me, sir,

With favours past? I have just now at hand

No more than what for present use I need;

But let me say, if aught could make me fling

Your favors back into your teeth, ’twere this.

Lion.I do confess that when I asked of you

Most gravely I mistook; yet pray believe,

To taunt you I meant not. Sir Rufus Rollestone,

In the shrill-voiced hunting-field, and at the board

Where wine makes warm, you long have been my friend,

Nor now that sport and feast for me are done

Will be aught other. Those two thousand crowns

Whereon I build my hopes I ask of you,

Nor shame to ask.
Sir Ruf.Of me! Upon my life,

More sorry am I than I well can say,

But I have paid away of late such sums—

That new estate I bought—and then some wine

I’ve just laid down—and, to confess the truth,

I scarce can see my way——
Lion.Yet in your place

Methinks I could have found one. Nay, not now——

Although you offered now, I would not take.

Sir Ruf.I offer not; would only that I could

In justice to myself.
Lion.Will none else speak?

Not one among them all? O now I find

What I knew not before—a poor man’s friends

In justice to themselves must all be poor.

Why then, my Lord Fitzwater, unto you,

Whom I thought not to trouble, must I turn,

You who perchance less easily can spare

Than some of those, who will not.
Lord F.And who said

I could not spare? you take upon yourself

To speak strange things. It doth indeed fall out

That at this moment—most unhappily—

At this especial moment——
Lady F.At this moment

He hath to think of the welfare of his child.

So can do nought to help the hopes of one

Whose suit he favours not, and doth forbid.

Is it not so, my lord?
Lord F.’Twas even thus

I was about to say.
Lion.You would deny me

All chance of winning her?
Lady F.Most absolutely,

As a suitor quite unfit.
Lord F.O quite unfit.

Lion.But your denial, sir, and, madam, yours,

I will not take; ’tis she, and only she,

Whose sentence I will stand by. Geraldine,

Betrothed, belovèd, speak; will you not wait

A poor three years, to see if for your sake

I cannot force from Fortune’s hand as much

As will, with my great love, make up a tribute

That, at your feet laid, your love will not scorn?

Answer, and for the battle give me strength.

Geral.My parents have for me made answer, sir,

Whereby, as is my duty, I abide.

Lion.Because it is your duty, not your will?

Nay, then, if still you love me, I have right

To claim you still for mine, my bride, my queen,

Whom in the citadel of my love I’ll hold

’Gainst all the opposing world. That duty’s none

Which bids you break your heart.

Geral.O but I hope

My heart is framed less weakly than you deem,

And since you thus constrain me to speak plain,

I tell you, sir, I can as easily

Put from my heart one that in false disguise

Hath sought to enter there, as from my person

This token of my all too simple trust

And his deceit.

Lion.They have the faces still

Of men and women.