true father ——Hear’st thou?
Glycine. O tell —
Bethlen (rushing out). Yes, tell me, Shape from heaven!
Who is my father?
Sarolta (gazing with surprise). Thine? Thy father? Rise!
Glycine. Alas! He hath alarmed you, my dear lady! 310
Sarolta. His countenance, not his act!
Glycine. Rise, Bethlen! Rise!
Bethlen. No; kneel thou too! and with thy orphan’s tongue
Plead for me! I am rooted to the earth
And have no power to rise! Give me a father!
There is a prayer in those uplifted eyes 315
That seeks high Heaven! But I will overtake it,
And bring it back, and make it plead for me
In thine own heart! Speak! Speak! Restore to me
A name in the world!
Sarolta. By that blest Heaven I gazed at,
I know not who thou art. And if I knew, 320
Dared I — But rise!
Bethlen. Blest spirits of my parents,
Ye hover o’er me now! Ye shine upon me!
And like a flower that coils forth from a ruin,
I feel and seek the light I can not see!
Sarolta. Thou see’st yon dim spot on the mountain’s ridge, 325
But what it is thou know’st not. Even such
Is all I know of thee — haply, brave youth,
Is all Fate makes it safe for thee to know!
Bethlen. Safe? Safe? O let me then inherit danger,
And it shall be my birthright!
Sarolta (aside). That look again! — 330
The wood which first incloses, and then skirts
The highest track that leads across the mountains —
Thou know’st it, Bethlen?
Bethlen. Lady, ‘twas my wont
To roam there in my childhood oft alone
And mutter to myself the name of father. 335
For still Bathory (why, till now I guessed not)
Would never hear it from my lips, but sighing
Gazed upward. Yet of late an idle terror ——
Glycine. Madam, that wood is haunted by the war-wolves,
Vampires, and monstrous ——
Sarolta. Moon-calves, credulous girl! 340
Haply some o’ergrown savage of the forest
Hath his lair there, and fear hath framed the rest.
After that last great battle, (O young man!
Thou wakest anew my life’s sole anguish) that
Which fixed Lord Emerick on his throne, Bathory 345
Led by a cry, far inward from the track,
In the hollow of an oak, as in a nest,
Did find thee, Bethlen, then a helpless babe.
The robe that wrapt thee was a widow’s mantle.
Bethlen. An infant’s weakness doth relax my frame. 350
O say — I fear to ask ——
Sarolta. And I to tell thee.
Bethlen. Strike! O strike quickly! See, I do not shrink.
I am stone, cold stone.
Sarolta. Hid in a brake hard by,
Scarce by both palms supported from the earth,
A wounded lady lay, whose life fast waning 355
Seemed to survive itself in her fixt eyes,
That strained towards the babe. At length one arm
Painfully from her own weight disengaging,
She pointed first to heaven, then from her bosom
Drew forth a golden casket. Thus entreated 360
Thy foster-father took thee in his arms,
And kneeling spake: ‘If aught of this world’s comfort
Can reach thy heart, receive a poor man’s troth,
That at my life’s risk I will save thy child!’
Her countenance worked, as one that seemed preparing 365
A loud voice, but it died upon her lips
In a faint whisper, ‘Fly! Save him! Hide — hide all!’
Bethlen. And did he leave her? What! had I a mother?
And left her bleeding, dying? Bought I vile life
With the desertion of a dying mother? 370
Oh agony!
Glycine. Alas! thou art bewildered,
And dost forget thou wert a helpless infant!
Bethlen. What else can I remember, but a mother
Mangled and left to perish?
Sarolta. Hush, Glycine!
It is the ground-swell of a teeming instinct: 375
Let it but lift itself to air and sunshine,
And it will find a mirror in the waters
It now makes boil above it. Check him not!
Bethlen. O that I were diffused among the waters
That pierce into the secret depths of earth, 380
And find their way in darkness! Would that I
Could spread myself upon the homeless winds!
And I would seek
