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Title: Imogen
Author: William Godwin
Date: 2005
Language: en
Topics: fiction
Source: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9152

William Godwin

Imogen

Preface

[By WILLIAM GODWIN]

The following performance, as the title imports, was originally composed

in the Welch language. Its style is elegant and pure. And if the

translator has not, as many of his brethren have done, suffered the

spirit of the original totally to evaporate, he apprehends it will be

found to contain much novelty of conception, much classical taste, and

great spirit and beauty in the execution. It appears under the name of

Cadwallo, an ancient bard, who probably lived at least one hundred years

before the commencement of our common era. The manners of the primitive

times seem to be perfectly understood by the author, and are described

with the air of a man who was in the utmost degree familiar with them.

It is impossible to discover in any part of it the slightest trace of

Christianity. And we believe it will not be disputed, that in a country

so pious as that of Wales, it would have been next to impossible for the

poet, though ever so much upon his guard, to avoid all allusion to the

system of revelation. On the contrary, every thing is Pagan, and in

perfect conformity with the theology we are taught to believe prevailed

at that time.

These reasons had induced us to admit, for a long time, that it was

perfectly genuine, and justly ascribed to the amiable Druid. With

respect to the difficulty in regard to the preservation of so long a

work for many centuries by the mere force of memory, the translator,

together with the rest of the world, had already got over that objection

in the case of the celebrated Poems of Ossian. And if he be not blinded

by that partiality, which the midwife is apt to conceive for the

productions, that she is the instrument of bringing into the world, the

Pastoral Romance contains as much originality, as much poetical beauty,

and is as happily calculated to make a deep impression upon the memory,

as either Fingal, or Temora.

The first thing that led us to doubt its authenticity, was the striking

resemblance that appears between the plan of the work, and Milton's

celebrated Masque at Ludlow Castle. We do not mean however to hold forth

this circumstance as decisive in its condemnation. The pretensions of

Cadwallo, or whoever was the author of the performance, are very high to

originality. If the date of the Romance be previous to that of Comus, it

may be truly said of the author, that he soared above all imitation, and

derived his merits from the inexhaustible source of his own invention.

But Milton, it is well known, proposed some classical model to himself

in all his productions. The Paradise Lost is almost in every page an

imitation of Virgil, or Homer. The Lycidas treads closely in the steps

of the Daphnis and Gallus of Virgil. The Sampson Agonistes is formed

upon the model of Sophocles. Even the little pieces, L'Allegro and Il

Penseroso have their source in a song of Fletcher, and two beautiful

little ballads that are ascribed to Shakespeare. But the classical model

upon which Comus was formed has not yet been discovered. It is

infinitely unlike the Pastoral Comedies both of Italy and England. And

if we could allow ourselves in that licence of conjecture, which is

become almost inseparable from the character of an editor, we should

say: That Milton having written it upon the borders of Wales, might have

had easy recourse to the manuscript whose contents are now first given

to the public: And that the singularity of preserving the name of the

place where it was first performed in the title of his poem, was

intended for an ingenuous and well-bred acknowledgement of the source

from whence he drew his choicest materials.

But notwithstanding the plausibility of these conjectures, we are now

inclined to give up our original opinion, and to ascribe the performance

to a gentleman of Wales, who lived so late as the reign of king William

the third. The name of this amiable person was Rice ap Thomas. The

romance was certainly at one time in his custody, and was handed down as

a valuable legacy to his descendants, among whom the present translator

has the honour to rank himself. Rice ap Thomas, Esquire, was a man of a

most sweet and inoffensive disposition, beloved and respected by all his

neighbours and tenants, and "passing rich with 'sixty' pounds a year."

In his domestic he was elegant, hospitable, and even sumptuous, for the

time and country in which he lived. He was however naturally of an

abstemious and recluse disposition. He abounded in singularities, which

were pardoned to his harmlessness and his virtues; and his temper was

full of sensibility, seriousness, and melancholy. He devoted the greater

part of his time to study; and he boasted that he had almost a complete

collection of the manuscript remains of our Welch bards. He was often

heard to prefer even to Taliessin, Merlin, and Aneurim, the effusions of

the immortal Cadwallo, and indeed this was the only subject upon which

he was ever known to dispute with eagerness and fervour. In the midst of

the controversy, he would frequently produce passages from the Pastoral

Romance, as decisive of the question. And to confess the truth, I know

not how to excuse this piece of jockeyship and ill faith, even in Rice

ap Thomas, whom I regard as the father of my family, and the chief

ornament of my beloved country.

Some readers will probably however be inclined to apologise for the

conduct of Mr. Thomas, and to lay an equivalent blame to my charge. They

will tell me, that nothing but the weakest partiality could blind me to

the genuine air of antiquity with which the composition is every where

impressed, and to ascribe it to a modern writer. But I am conscious to

my honesty and defy their malice. So far from being sensible of any

improper bias in favour of my ancestor, I am content to strengthen their

hands, by acknowledging that the manuscript, which I am not at all

desirous of refusing to their inspection, is richly emblazoned with all

the discoloration and rust they can possibly desire. I confess that the

wording has the purity of Taliessin, and the expressiveness of Aneurim,

and is such as I know of no modern Welchman who could write. And yet, in

spite as they will probably tell me of evidence and common sense, I

still aver my persuasion, that it is the production of Rice ap Thomas.

But enough, and perhaps too much, for the question of its antiquity. It

would be unfair to send it into the world without saying something of

the nature of its composition. It is unlike the Arcadia of sir Philip

Sidney, and unlike, what I have just taken the trouble of running over,

the Daphnis of Gessner. It neither on the one hand leaves behind it the

laws of criticism, and mixes together the different stages of

civilization; nor on the other will it perhaps be found frigid,

uninteresting, and insipid. The prevailing opinion of Pastoral seems to

have been, that it is a species of composition admirably fitted for the

size of an eclogue, but that either its nature will not be preserved, or

its simplicity will become surfeiting in a longer performance. And

accordingly, the Pastoral Dramas of Tasso, Guarini, and Fletcher,

however they may have been commended by the critics, and admired by that

credulous train who clap and stare whenever they are bid, have when the

recommendation of novelty has subsided been little attended to and

little read. But the great Milton has proved that this objection is not

insuperable. His Comus is a master-piece of poetical composition. It is

at least equal in its kind even to the Paradise Lost. It is interesting,

descriptive and pathetic. Its fame is continually increasing, and it

will be admired wherever the name of Britain is repeated, and the

language of Britain is understood.

If our hypothesis respecting the date of the present performance is

admitted, it must be acknowleged that the ingenious Mr. Thomas has taken

the Masque of Milton for a model; and the reader with whom Comus is a

favourite, will certainly trace some literal imitations. With respect to

any objections that may be made on this score to the Pastoral Romance,

we will beg the reader to bear in mind, that the volumes before him are

not an original, but a translation. Recollecting this, we may, beside

the authority of Milton himself, and others as great poets as ever

existed who have imitated Homer and one another at least as much as our

author has done Comus, suggest two very weighty apologies. In the first

place, imitation in a certain degree, has ever been considered as lawful

when made from a different language: And in the second, these imitations

come to the reader exaggerated, by being presented to him in English,

and by a person who confesses, that he has long been conversant with our

greatest poets. The translator has always admired Comus as much as the

Pastoral Romance; he has read them together, and been used to consider

them as illustrating each other. Any verbal coincidences into which he

may have fallen, are therefore to be ascribed where they are due, to

him, and not to the author. And upon the whole, let the imperfections of

the Pastoral Romance be what they will, he trusts he shall be regarded

as making a valuable present to the connoisseurs and the men of taste,

and an agreeable addition to the innocent amusements of the less

laborious classes of the polite world.

BOOK THE FIRST

CHARACTER OF THE SHEPHERDESS AND HER LOVER.—FEAST OF RUTHYN.—SONGS OF

THE BARDS.

Listen, O man! to the voice of wisdom. The world thou inhabitest was not

intended for a theatre of fruition, nor destined for a scene of repose.

False and treacherous is that happiness, which has been preceded by no

trial, and is connected with no desert. It is like the gilded poison

that undermines the human frame. It is like the hoarse murmur of the

winds that announces the brewing tempest. Virtue, for such is the decree

of the Most High, is evermore obliged to pass through the ordeal of

temptation, and the thorny paths of adversity. If, in this day of her

trial, no foul blot obscure her lustre, no irresolution and instability

tarnish the clearness of her spirit, then may she rejoice in the view of

her approaching reward, and receive with an open heart the crown that

shall be bestowed upon her.

The extensive valley of Clwyd once boasted a considerable number of

inhabitants, distinguished for primeval innocence and pastoral

simplicity. Nature seemed to have prepared it for their reception with

all that luxuriant bounty, which characterises her most favoured spots.

The inclosure by which it was bounded, of ragged rocks and snow-topt

mountains, served but for a foil to the richness and fertility of this

happy plain. It was seated in the bosom of North Wales, the whole face

of which, with this one exception, was rugged and hilly. As far as the

eye could reach, you might see promontory rise above promontory. The

crags of Penmaenmawr were visible to the northwest, and the unequalled

steep of Snowden terminated the prospect to the south. In its farthest

extent the valley reached almost to the sea, and it was intersected,

from one end to the other, by the beautiful and translucent waters of

the river from which it receives its name.

In this valley all was rectitude and guileless truth. The hoarse din of

war had never reached its happy bosom; its river had never been

impurpled with the stain of human blood. Its willows had not wept over

the crimes of its inhabitants, nor had the iron hand of tyranny taught

care and apprehension to seat themselves upon the brow of its shepherds.

They were strangers to riches, and to ambition, for they all lived in a

happy equality. He was the richest man among them, that could boast of

the greatest store of yellow apples and mellow pears. And their only

objects of rivalship were the skill of the pipe and the favour of

beauty. From morn to eve they tended their fleecy possessions. Their

reward was the blazing hearth, the nut-brown beer, and the merry tale.

But as they sought only the enjoyment of a humble station, and the

pleasures of society, their labours were often relaxed. Often did the

setting sun see the young men and the maidens of contiguous villages,

assembled round the venerable oak, or the wide-spreading beech. The

bells rung in the upland hamlets; the rebecs sounded with rude harmony;

they danced with twinkling feet upon the level green or listened to the

voice of the song, which was now gay and exhilarating, and now soothed

them into pleasing melancholy.

Of all the sons of the plain, the bravest, and the most comely, was

Edwin. His forehead was open and ingenuous, his hair was auburn, and

flowed about his shoulders in wavy ringlets. His person was not less

athletic than it was beautiful. With a firm hand he grasped the

boar-spear, and in pursuit he outstripped the flying fawn. His voice was

strong and melodious, and whether upon the pipe or in the song, there

was no shepherd daring enough to enter the lists with Edwin. But though

he excelled all his competitors, in strength of body, and the

accomplishments of skill, yet was not his mind rough and boisterous.

Success had not taught him a despotic and untractable temper, applause

had not made him insolent and vain. He was gentle as the dove. He

listened with eager docility to the voice of hoary wisdom. He had always

a tear ready to drop over the simple narrative of pastoral distress.

Victor as he continually was in wrestling, in the race, and in the song,

the shout of triumph never escaped his lips, the exultation of insult he

was never heard to utter. On the contrary, with mild and unfictitious

friendship, he soothed the breast of disappointment, and cheered the

spirits of his adversary with honest praise.

But Edwin was not more distinguished among his brother shepherds, than

was Imogen among the fair. Her skin was clear and pellucid. The fall of

her shoulders was graceful beyond expression. Her eye-brows were arched,

and from her eyes shot forth the grateful rays of the rising sun. Her

waist was slender; and as she ran, she outstripped the winds, and her

footsteps were printless on the tender herb. Her mind, though soft, was

firm; and though yielding as wax to the precepts of wisdom, and the

persuasion of innocence, it was resolute and inflexible to the

blandishments of folly, and the sternness of despotism. Her ruling

passion was the love of virtue. Chastity was the first feature in her

character. It gave substance to her accents, and dignity to her

gestures. Conscious innocence ennobled all her reflexions, and gave to

her sentiments and manner of thinking, I know not what of celestial and

divine.

Edwin and Imogen had been united in the sports of earliest infancy. They

had been mutual witnesses to the opening blossoms of understanding and

benevolence in each others breasts. While yet a boy, Edwin had often

rescued his mistress from the rude vivacity of his playmates, and had

bestowed upon her many of those little distinctions which were

calculated to excite the flame of envy among the infant daughters of the

plain. For her he gathered the vermeil-tinctured pearmain, and the

walnut with an unsavoury rind; for her he hoarded the brown filberd, and

the much prized earth-nut. When she was near, the quoit flew from his

arm with a stronger whirl, and his steps approached more swiftly to the

destined goal. With her he delighted to retire from the heat of the sun

to the centre of the glade, and to sooth her ear with the gaiety of

innocence, long before he taught her to hearken to the language of love.

For her sake he listened with greater eagerness to the mirthful

relation, to the moral fiction, and to the song of the bards. His store

of little narratives was in a manner inexhaustible. With them he

beguiled the hour of retirement, and with them he hastened the sun to

sink behind the western hill.

But as he grew to manly stature, and the down of years had begun to

clothe his blushing cheek, he felt a new sensation in his breast

hitherto unexperienced. He could not now behold his favourite companion

without emotion; his eye sparkled when he approached her; he watched her

gestures; he hung upon her accents; he was interested in all her

motions. Sometimes he would catch the eye of prudent age or of

sharp-sighted rivalry observing him, and he instantly became embarrassed

and confused, and blushed he knew not why. He repaired to the

neighbouring wake, in order to exchange his young lambs and his hoard of

cheeses. Imogen was not there, and in the midst of traffic, and in the

midst of frolic merriment he was conscious to a vacancy and a

listlessness for which he could not account. When he tended his flocks,

and played upon his slender pipe, he would sink in reverie, and form to

himself a thousand schemes of imaginary happiness. Erewhile they had

been vague and general. His spirit was too gentle for him not to

represent to himself a fancied associate; his heart was not narrow

enough to know so much as the meaning of a solitary happiness. But

Imogen now formed the principal figure in these waking dreams. It was

Imogen with whom he wandered beside the brawling rill. It was Imogen

with whom he sat beneath the straw-built shed, and listened to the

pealing rain, and the hollow roaring of the northern blast. If a moment

of forlornness and despair fell to his lot, he wandered upon the heath

without his Imogen, and he climbed the upright precipice without her

harmonious voice to cheer and to animate him. In a word, passion had

taken up her abode in his guileless heart before he was aware of her

approach. Imogen was fair; and the eye of Edwin was enchanted. Imogen

was gentle; and Edwin loved.

Simple as was the character of the inhabitants of this happy valley, it

is not to be supposed that Edwin found many obstacles to the enjoyment

of the society of his mistress. Though strait as the pine, and beautiful

as the gold-skirted clouds of a summer morning, the parents of Imogen

had not learned to make a traffic of the future happiness of their care.

They sought not to decide who should be the fortunate shepherd that

should carry her from the sons of the plain. They left the choice to her

penetrating wit, and her tried discretion. They erected no rampart to

defend her chastity; they planted no spies to watch over her reputation.

They entrusted her honour to her own keeping. They were convinced, that

the spotless dictates of conscious innocence, and that divinity that

dwells in virtue and awes the shaggy satyr into mute admiration, were

her sufficient defence. They left to her the direction of her conduct.

The shepherdess, unsuspicious by nature, and untaught to view mankind

with a wary and a jealous eye, was a stranger to severity and caprice.

She was all gentleness and humanity. The sweetness of her temper led her

to regard with an eye of candour, and her benevolence to gratify all the

innocent wishes, of those about her. The character of a woman

undistinguishing in her favours, and whose darling employment is to

increase the number of her admirers, is in the highest degree unnatural.

Such was not the character of Imogen. She was artless and sincere. Her

tongue evermore expressed the sentiments of her heart. She drew the

attention of no swain from a rival; she employed no stratagems to

inveigle the affections; she mocked not the respect of the simple

shepherd with delusive encouragement. No man charged her with broken

vows; no man could justly accuse her of being cruel and unkind.

It may therefore readily be supposed, that the subject of love rather

glided into the conversation of Edwin and Imogen, than was regularly and

designedly introduced. They were unknowing in the art of disguising

their feelings. When the tale spoke of peril and bravery, the eyes of

Edwin sparkled with congenial sentiments, and he was evermore ready to

start from the grassy hilloc upon which they sat. When the little

narrative told of the lovers pangs, and the tragic catastrophe of two

gentle hearts whom nature seemed to have formed for mildness and

tranquility, Imogen was melted into the softest distress. The breast of

her Edwin would heave with a sympathetic sigh, and he would even

sometimes venture, from mingled pity and approbation, to kiss away the

tear that impearled her cheek. Intrepid and adventurous with the hero,

he began also to take a new interest in the misfortunes of love. He

could not describe the passionate complaints, the ingenuous tenderness

of another, without insensibly making the case his own. "Had the lover

known my Imogen, he would no longer have sighed for one, who could not

have been so fair, so gentle, and so lovely." Such were the thoughts of

Edwin; and till now Edwin had always expressed his thoughts. But now the

words fell half-formed from his trembling lips, and the sounds died away

before they were uttered. "Were I to speak, Imogen, who has always

beheld me with an aspect of benignity, might be offended. I should say

no more than the truth; but Imogen is modest. She does not suspect that

she possesses half the superiority over such as are called fair, which I

see in her. And who could bear to incur the resentment of Imogen? Who

would irritate a temper so amiable and mild? I should say no more than

the truth; but Imogen would think it flattery. Let Edwin be charged with

all other follies, but let that vice never find a harbour in his bosom;

let the imputation of that detested crime never blot his untarnished

name."

Edwin had received from nature the gift of an honest and artless

eloquence. His words were like the snow that falls beneath the beams of

the sun; they melted as they fell. Had it been his business to have

pleaded the cause of injured innocence or unmerited distress, his

generous sympathy and his manly persuasion must have won all hearts. Had

he solicited the pursuit of rectitude and happiness, his ingenuous

importunity could not have failed of success. But where the mind is too

deeply interested, there it is that the faculties are most treacherous.

Ardent were the sighs of Edwin, but his voice refused its assistance,

and his tongue faultered under the attempts that he made. Fluent and

voluble upon all other subjects, upon this he hesitated. For the first

time he was dissatisfied with the expressions that nature dictated. For

the first time he dreaded to utter the honest wishes of his heart,

apprehensive that he might do violence to the native delicacy of Imogen.

But he needed not have feared. Imogen was not blind to those perfections

which every mouth conspired to praise. Her heart was not cold and

unimpassioned; she could not see these perfections, united with youth

and personal beauty, without being attracted. The accents of Edwin were

music to her ear. The tale that Edwin told, interested her twice as much

as what she heard from vulgar lips. To wander with Edwin along the

flowery mead, to sit with Edwin in the cool alcove, had charms for her

for which she knew not how to account, and which she was at first

unwilling to acknowledge to her own heart. When she heard of the feats

of the generous lover, his gallantry in the rural sports, and his

reverence for the fair, it was under the amiable figure of Edwin that he

came painted to her treacherous imagination. She was a stranger to

artifice and disguise, and the renown of Edwin was to her the feast of

the soul, and with visible satisfaction she dwelt upon his praise. Even

in sleep her dreams were of the deserving shepherd. The delusive

pleasures that follow in the train of dark-browed night, all told of

Edwin. The unreal mockery of that capricious being, who cheats us with

scenes of fictitious wretchedness, was full of the unmerited calamities,

the heartbreaking woe, or the untimely death of Edwin. From Edwin

therefore the language of love would have created no disgust. Imogen was

not heedless and indiscreet; she would not have sacrificed the dignity

of innocence. Imogen was not coy; she would not have treated her admirer

with affected disdain. She had no guard but virgin modesty and that

conscious worth, that would be wooed, and not unsought be won.

Such was the yet immature attachment of our two lovers, when an

anniversary of religious mirth summoned them, together with their

neighbour shepherds of the adjacent hamlet, to the spot which had long

been consecrated to rural sports and guiltless festivity, near the

village of Ruthyn. The sun shone with unusual splendour; the Druidical

temples, composed of immense and shapeless stones, heaped upon each

other by a power stupendous and incomprehensible, reflected back his

radiant beams. The glade, the place of destination to the frolic

shepherds, was shrouded beneath two venerable groves that encircled it

on either side. The eye could not pierce beyond them, and the

imagination was in a manner embosomed in the vale. There were the

quivering alder, the upright fir, and the venerable oak crowned with

sacred mistletoe. They grew upon a natural declivity that descended

every way towards the plain. The deep green of the larger trees was

fringed towards the bottom with the pleasing paleness of the willow.

From one of the groves a little rivulet glided across the plain, and was

intersected on one side by a stream that flowed into it from a point

equally distant from either extremity of its course. Both these streams

were bordered with willows. In a word, upon the face of this beautiful

spot all appeared tranquility and peace. It was without a path, and you

would imagine that no human footsteps had ever invaded the calmness of

its solitude. It was the eternal retreat of the venerable anchorite; it

was the uninhabited paradise in the midst of the trackless ocean.

Such was the spot where the shepherds and shepherdesses of a hundred

cots were now assembled. In the larger compartiments of the vale, the

more muscular and vigorous swains pursued the flying ball, or contended

in the swift-footed race. The bards, venerable for their age and the

snowy whiteness of their hair, sat upon a little eminence as umpires of

the sports. In the smaller compartiments, the swains, mingled with the

fair, danced along the level green, or flew, with a velocity that

beguiled the eager sight, beneath the extended arms of their fellows.

Here a few shepherds, apart from the rest, flung the ponderous quoit

that sung along the air. There two youths, stronger and more athletic

than the throng, grasped each others arms with an eager hand, and

struggled for the victory. Now with manly vigour the one shook the

sinewy frame of the other; now they bended together almost to the earth,

and now with double force they reared again their gigantic stature. At

one time they held each other at the greatest possible distance; and

again, their arms, their legs and their whole bodies entwined, they

seemed as if they had grown together. When the weaker or less skilful

was overthrown, he tumbled like a vast and mountain oak, that for ages

had resisted the tumult of the winds; and the whole plain resounded at

his fall. Such as were unengaged formed a circle round the wrestlers,

and by their shouts and applause animated by turns the flagging courage

of either.

And now the sun had gained his meridian height, and, fatigued with

labour and heat, they seated themselves upon the grass to partake of

their plain and rural feast. The parched wheat was set out in baskets,

and the new cheeses were heaped together. The blushing apple, the golden

pear, the shining plum, and the rough-coated chesnut were scattered in

attractive confusion. Here were the polished cherry and the downy peach;

and here the eager gooseberry, and the rich and plenteous clusters of

the purple grape. The neighbouring fountain afforded them a cool and

sparkling beverage, and the lowing herds supplied the copious bowl with

white and foaming draughts of milk. The meaner bards accompanied the

artless luxury of the feast with the symphony of their harps.

The repast being finished, the company now engaged in those less active

sports, that exercise the subtility of the wit, more than the agility or

strength of the body. Their untutored minds delighted themselves in the

sly enigma, and the quaint conundrum. Much was their laughter at the

wild guesses of the thoughtless and the giddy; and great the triumph of

the swain who penetrated the mystery, and successfully removed the

abstruseness of the problem. Many were the feats of skill exhibited by

the dextrous shepherd, and infinite were the wonder and admiration of

the gazing spectators. The whole scene indeed was calculated to display

the triumph of stratagem and invention. A thousand deceits were

practised upon the simple and unsuspecting, and while he looked round to

discover the object of the general mirth, it was increased into bursts

of merriment, and convulsive gaiety. At length they rose from the

verdant green, and chased each other in mock pursuit. Many flew towards

the adjoining grove; the pursued concealed himself behind the dark and

impervious thicket, or the broad trunk of the oak, while the pursuers

ran this way and that, and cast their wary eyes on every side. Carefully

they explored the bushes, and surveyed each clump of tufted trees. And

now the neighbouring echoes repeated the universal shout, and proclaimed

to the plain below, that the object of their search was found. Fatigue

however, in spite of the gaiety of spirit with which their sports were

pursued, began to assert his empire, and they longed for that

tranquility and repose which were destined to succeed.

At this instant the united sound of the lofty harp, the melodious rebec,

and the chearful pipe, summoned them once again to the plain. From every

side they hastened to the lawn, and surrounded, with ardent eyes, and

panting expectation, the honoured troop of the bards, crowned with

laurel and sacred mistletoe. And now they seated themselves upon the

tender herb; and now all was stilness and solemn silence. Not one

whisper floated on the breeze; not a murmur was heard. The tumultuous

winds were hushed, and all was placid composure, save where the gentle

zephyr fanned the leaves. The tinkling rill babbled at their feet; the

feathered choristers warbled in the grove; and the deep lowings of the

distant herds died away upon the ear. The solemn prelude began from a

full concert of the various instruments. It awakened attention in the

thoughtless, and composed the frolic and the gay into unbroken

heedfulness. The air was oppressed with symphonious sounds, and the ear

filled with a tumult of harmony.

On a sudden the chorus ceased: Those instruments which had united their

force to fill the echoes of every grove, and of every hill, were silent.

And now a bard, of youthful appearance, but who was treated with every

mark of honour and distinction, and seated on the left hand of the hoary

Llewelyn, the prince of song, struck the lyre with a lofty and daring

hand. His eye sparkled with poetic rapture, and his countenance beamed

with the sublime smile of luxuriant fancy and heaven-born inspiration.

He sung of the wanton shepherd, that followed, with ungenerous

perseverance, the chaste and virgin daughter of Cadwallo. The Gods took

pity upon her distress, the Gods sent down their swift and winged

messenger to shield her virtue, and deliver her from the persecution of

Modred. With strong and eager steps the ravisher pursued: timid

apprehension, and unviolated honour, urged her rapid flight. But Modred

was in the pride of youth; muscular and sinewy was the frame of Modred.

Beauteous and snowy was the person of the fair: her form was delicate,

and her limbs were tender. If heaven had not interposed, if the Gods had

not been on her side, she must have fallen a victim to savage fury and

brutal lust. But, in the crisis of her fate, she gradually sunk away

before the astonished eyes of Modred. That beauteous frame was now no

more, and she started from before him, swifter than the winds, a timid

and listening hare. Still, still the hunter pursued; he suspended not

the velocity of his course. The speed of Modred was like the roe upon

the mountains; every moment he gained upon the daughter of Cadwallo. But

now the object of his pursuit vanished from his sight, and eluded his

eager search. In vain he explored every thicket, and surveyed all the

paths of the forest. While he was thus employed, on a sudden there burst

from a cave a hungry and savage wolf; it was the daughter of Cadwallo.

Modred started with horror, and in his turn fled away swifter than the

winds. The fierce and ravenous animal pursued; fire flashed from the

eye, and rage and fury sat upon the crest. Mild and gentle was the

daughter of Cadwallo; her heart relented; her soft and tender spirit

belied the savage form. They approached the far famed stream of Conway.

Modred cast behind him a timid and uncertain eye; the virgin passed

along, no longer terrible, a fair and milk white hind. Modred inflamed

with disappointment, reared his ponderous boar spear, and hurled it from

his hand. Too well, ah, cruel and untutored swain! thou levelest thy

aim. Her tender side is gored; her spotless and snowy coat is deformed

with blood. Agitated with pain, superior to fear, she plunges in the

flood. When lo! a wonder; on the opposite shore she rises, radiant and

unhurt, in her native form. Modred contemplates the prodigy with

astonishment; his lust and his brutality inflame him more than ever.

Eagerly he gazes on her charms; in thought he devours her inexpressive

beauties. And now he can no longer restrain himself; with sudden start

he leaps into the river. The waves are wrought into a sudden tempest;

they hurry him to and fro. He buffets them with lusty arms; he rides

upon the billows. But vain is human strength; the unseen messenger of

the Gods laughs at the impotent efforts of Modred. At length the waters

gape with a frightful void; the bottom, strewed with shells, and

overgrown with sea-weed, is disclosed to the sight. Modred, unhappy

Modred, sinks to rise no more. His beauty is tarnished like the flower

of the field; his blooming cheek, his crimson lip, is pale and

colourless. Learn hence, ye swains, to fear the Gods, and to reverence

the divinity of virtue. Modred never melted for another's woe; the tear

of sympathy had not moistened his cheek. The heart of Modred was

haughty, insolent and untractable; he turned a deaf ear to the

supplication of the helpless, he listened not to the thunder of the

Gods. Let the fate of Modred be remembered for a caution to the

precipitate; let the children of the valley learn wisdom. Heaven never

deserts the cause of virtue; chastity wherever she wanders (be it not

done in pride or in presumption) is sacred and invulnerable.

Such was the song of the youthful bard. Every eye was fixed upon his

visage while he struck the lyre; the multitude of the shepherds appeared

to have no faculty but the ear. And now the murmur of applause began;

and the wondering swains seemed to ask each other, whether the God of

song were not descended among them. "Oh glorious youth," cried they,

"how early is thy excellence! Ere manhood has given nerve and vigour to

thy limbs, ere yet the flowing beard adorns thy gallant breast, nature

has unlocked to thee her hidden treasures, the Gods have enriched thee

with all the charms of poetry. Great art thou among the bards;

illustrious in wisdom, where they all are wise. Should gracious heaven

spare thy life, we will cease to weep the death of Hoel; we will lament

no longer the growing infirmities of Llewelyn."

While they yet spoke, a bard, who sat upon the right hand of the prince,

prepared to sweep the string. He was in the prime of manhood. His

shining locks flowed in rich abundance upon his strong and graceful

shoulders. His eye expressed more of flame than gaiety, more of

enthusiasm than imagination. His brow, though manly, and, as it should

seem, by nature erect, bore an appearance of solemn and contemplative.

He had ever been distinguished by an attachment to solitude, and a love

for those grand and tremendous objects of uncultivated nature with which

his country abounded. His were the hanging precipice, and the foaming

cataract. His ear drank in the voice of the tempest; he was rapt in

attention to the roaring thunder. When the contention of the elements

seemed to threaten the destruction of the universe, when Snowdon bowed

to its deepest base, it was then that his mind was most filled with

sublime meditation. His lofty soul soared above the little war of

terrestrial objects, and rode expanded upon the wings of the winds. Yet

was the bard full of gentleness and sensibility; no breast was more

susceptible to the emotions of pity, no tongue was better skilled in the

soft and passionate touches of the melting and pathetic. He possessed a

key to unlock all the avenues of the heart.

Such was the bard, and this was the subject of his song. He told of a

dreadful famine, that laid waste the shores of the Menai. Heaven, not to

punish the shepherds, for, alas, what had these innocent shepherds done?

but in the mysterious wisdom of its ways, had denied the refreshing

shower, and the soft-descending dew. From the top of Penmaenmawr, as far

as the eye could reach, all was uniform and waste. The trees were

leafless, not one flower adorned the ground, not one tuft of verdure

appeared to relieve the weary eye. The brooks were dried up; their beds

only remained to tell the melancholy tale, Here once was water; the

tender lambs hastened to the accustomed brink, and lifted up their

innocent eyes with anguish and disappointment. The meadows no longer

afforded pasture of the cattle; the trees denied their fruits to man. In

this hour of calamity the Druids came forth from their secret cells, and

assembled upon the heights of Mona. This convention of the servants of

the Gods, though intended to relieve the general distress, for a moment

increased it. The shepherds anticipated the fatal decree; they knew that

at times like this the blood of a human victim was accustomed to be shed

upon the altars of heaven. Every swain trembled for himself or his

friend; every parent feared to be bereaved of the staff of his age. And

now the holy priest had cast the lots in the mysterious urn; and the lot

fell upon the generous Arthur. Arthur was beloved by all the shepherds

that dwelt upon the margin of the main; the praise of Arthur sat upon

the lips of all that knew him. But what served principally to enhance

the distress, was the attachment there existed between him and the

beauteous Evelina. Mild was the breast of Evelina, unused to encounter

the harshness of opposition, or the chilly hand and forbidding

countenance of adversity. From twenty shepherds she had chosen the

gallant Arthur, to reward his pure and constant love. Long had they been

decreed to make each other happy. No parent opposed himself to their

virtuous desires; the blessing of heaven awaited them from the hand of

the sacred Druid. But in the general calamity of their country they had

no heart to rejoice; they could not insult over the misery of all around

them. "Soon, oh soon," cried the impatient shepherd, "may the wrath of

heaven be overpast! Extend, all-merciful divinity, thy benign influence

to the shores of Arvon! Once more may the rustling of the shower refresh

our longing ears! Once more may our eyes be gladdened with the pearly,

orient dew! May the fields be clothed afresh in cheerful green! May the

flowers enamel the verdant mead! May the brooks again brawl along their

pebbly bed! And may man and beast rejoice together!" Ah, short-sighted,

unapprehensive shepherd! thou dost not know the misfortune that is

reserved for thyself; thou dost not know, that thou shalt not live to

behold those smiling scenes which thy imagination forestallest; thou

dost not see the dart of immature and relentless death that is suspended

over thee. Think, O ye swains, what was the universal astonishment and

pity, when the awful voice of the Druid proclaimed the decree of heaven!

Terror sat upon every other countenance, tears started into every other

eye; but the mien of Arthur was placid and serene. He came forward from

the throng; his eyes glistened with the fire of patriotism. "Hear me, my

countrymen," cried he, "for you I am willing to die. What is my

insignificant life, when weighed against the happiness of Arvon? Be

grateful to the Gods, that, for so poor a boon, they are willing to

spread wide the hand of bounty, and to exhaust upon your favoured heads

the horn of plenty." While he spoke he turned his head to the spot from

which he had advanced, and beheld, a melting object, Evelina, pale and

breathless, supported in the arms of the maidens. For a moment he forgot

his elevated sentiments and his heroism, and flew to raise her.

"Evelina, mistress of my heart, awake. Lift up thine eyes and bless thy

Arthur. Be not too much subdued by my catastrophe. Live to comfort the

grey hairs, and to succour the infirmities of your aged parent." While

the breast of Arthur was animated with such sentiments, and dictated a

conduct like this, the priests were employed in the mournful

preparations. The altar was made ready; the lambent fire ascended from

its surface; the air was perfumed with the smoke of the incense; the

fillets were brought forth; and the sacred knife glittered in the hand

of the chief of the Druids. The bards had strung their harps, and began

the song of death. The sounds were lofty and animating, they were fitted

to inspire gallantry and enterprise into the trembling coward; they were

fitted to breathe a soul into the clay-cold corse. The spirit of Arthur

was roused; his eye gleamed with immortal fire. The aged oak, that

strikes its root beneath the soil, so defies the blast, and so rears its

head in the midst of the whirlwind. But oh, who can paint the distress

of Evelina? Now she dropped her head, like the tender lily whose stalk,

by some vulgar and careless hand has been broken; and now she was wild

and ungovernable, like the wild beast that has been robbed of its young.

For an instant the venerable name of religion awed her into mute

submission. But when the fatal moment approached, not the Gods, if the

Gods had descended in all their radiant brightness, could have

restrained her any longer. The air was rent with her piercing cries. She

spoke not. Her eyes, in silence turned towards heaven, distilled a

plenteous shower. At length, swifter than the winged hawk, she flew

towards the spot, and seized the sacred and inviolable arm of the holy

Druid, which was lifted up to strike the final blow. "Barbarous and

inhuman priest," she cried, "cease your vile and impious mummery! No

longer insult us with the name of Gods. If there be Gods, they are

merciful; but thou art a savage and unrelenting monster. Or if some

victim must expire, strike here, and I will thank thee. Strike, and my

bosom shall heave to meet the welcome blow. Do any thing. But oh, spare

me the killing, killing spectacle!" During this action the maidens

approached and hurried her from the plain. "Go," cried Arthur, "and let

not the heart of Evelina be sad. My Death has nothing in it that

deserves to be deplored. It is glorious and enviable. It shall be

remembered when this frame is crumbled into dust. The song of the bards

shall preserve it to never dying fame." The inconsolable fair one had

now been forced away. The intrepid shepherd bared his breast to the

sacred knife. His nerves trembled not. His bosom panted not. And now

behold the lovely youth, worthy to have lived through revolving years,

sunk on the ground, and weltering in his blood. Yes, gallant Arthur,

thou shalt possess that immortality which was the first wish of thy

heart! My song shall embalm thy precious memory, thy generous, spotless

fame! But, ah, it is not in the song of the bards to sooth the rooted

sorrow of Evelina. Every morning serves only to renew it. Every night

she bathes her couch in tears. Those objects, which carry pleasure to

the sense of every other fair, serve only to renew thy unexhausted

grief. The rustling shower, the pearly dew, the brawling brook, the

cheerful green, the flower-enameled mead, all join to tell of the

barbarous and untimely fate of Arthur. Smile no more, O ye meads; mock

not the grief of Evelina. Let the trees again be leafless; let the

rivers flow no longer in their empty beds. A scene like this suits best

the settled temper of Evelina.

He ceased. And his pathetic strain had awakened the sympathy of the

universal throng. Every shepherd hung his mournful head, when the

untimely fate of Arthur was related; every maiden dropped a generous

tear over the sorrows of Evelina. They listened to the song, and forgot

the poet. Their souls were rapt with alternate passions, and they

perceived not the matchless skill by which they were excited. The lofty

bard hurried them along with the rapidity of his conceptions, and left

them no time for hesitation, and left them no time for reflection. He

ceased, and the melodious sounds still hung upon their ear, and they

still sat in the posture of eager attention. At length they recollected

themselves; and it was no longer the low and increasing murmur of

applause: it was the exclamation of rapture; it was the unpremeditated

shout of astonishment.

In the mean time, the reverend Llewelyn, upon whose sacred head ninety

winters had scattered their snow, grasped the lyre, which had so often

confessed the master's hand. Though far advanced in the vale of years,

there was a strength and vigour in his age, of which the degeneracy of

modern times can have little conception. The fire was not extinguished

in his flaming eye; it had only attained that degree of chasteness and

solemnity, which had in it by so much the more, all that is majestic,

and all that is celestial. His looks held commerce with his native

skies. No vulgar passion ever visited his heaven-born mind. No vulgar

emotion ever deformed the godlike tranquility of his soul. He had but

one passion; it was the love of harmony. He was conscious only to one

emotion; it was reverence for the immortal Gods. He sat like the

anchorite upon the summit of Snowdon. The tempests raise the foaming

ocean into one scene of horror, but he beholds it unmoved. The rains

descend, the thunder roars, and the lightnings play beneath his feet.

Llewelyn struck the lyre, and the innumerable croud was noiseless and

silent as the chambers of death. They did not now wait for the pleasing

tale of a luxuriant imagination, or the pathetic and melting strain of

the mourner. They composed their spirits into the serenity of devotion.

They called together their innocent thoughts for the worship of heaven.

By anticipation their bosoms swelled with gratitude, and their hearts

dilated into praise.

The pious Llewelyn began his song from the rude and shapeless chaos. He

magnified the almighty word that spoke it into form. He sung of the

loose and fenny soil which gradually acquired firmness and density. The

immeasurable, eternal caverns of the ocean were scooped. The waters

rushed along, and fell with resounding, foamy violence to the depth

below. The sun shone forth from his chamber in the east, and the earth

wondered at the object, and smiled beneath his beams. Suddenly the whole

face of it was adorned with a verdant, undulating robe. The purple

violet and the yellow crocus bestrewed the ground. The stately oak

reared its branchy head, and the trees and shrubs burst from the surface

of the earth. Impregnated by power divine, the soil was prolific in

other fruits than these. The clods appeared to be informed with a

conscious spirit, and gradually assumed a thousand various forms. The

animated earth seemed to paw the verdant mead, and to despise the mould

from which it came. A disdainful horse, it shook its flowing mane, and

snuffed the enlivening breeze, and stretched along the plain. The

red-eyed wolf and the unwieldy ox burst like the mole the concealing

continent, and threw the earth in hillocs. The stag upreared his

branching head. The thinly scattered animals wandered among the

unfrequented hills, and cropped the untasted herb. Meantime the birds,

with many coloured plumage, skimmed along the unploughed air, and taught

the silent woods and hills to echo with their song.

Creatures, hymn the praises of your creator! Thou sun, prolific parent

of a thousand various productions, by whose genial heat they are

nurtured, and whose radiant beams give chearfulness and beauty to the

face of nature, first of all the existences of this material universe

acknowledge him thy superior, and while thou dispensest a thousand

benefits to the inferior creation, ascribe thine excellencies solely to

the great source of beauty and perfection! And when the sun has ceased

his wondrous course, do thou, O moon, in milder lustre show to people of

a thousand names the honours of thy maker! Thou loud and wintery north

wind, in majestic and tremendous tone declare his lofty praise! Ye

gentle zephyrs, whisper them to the modest, and softly breathe them in

the ears of the lowly! Ye towering pines, and humble shrubs, ye fragrant

flowers, and, more than all, ye broad and stately oaks, bind your heads,

and wave your branches, and adore! Ye warbling fountains, warbling tune

his praise! Praise him, ye beasts, in different strains! And let the

birds, that soar on lofty wings, and scale the path of heaven, bear, in

their various melody, the notes of adoration to the skies! Mortals, ye

favoured sons of the eternal father, be it yours in articulate

expressions of gratitude to interpret for the mute creation, and to

speak a sublimer and more rational homage.

Heard ye not the music of the spheres? Know ye not the melody of

celestial voices? On yonder silver-skirted cloud I see them come. It

turns its brilliant lining on the setting day. And these are the accents

of their worship. "Ye sons of women, such as ye are now, such once were

we. Through many scenes of trial, through heroic constancy, and

ever-during patience, have we attained to this bright eminence. Large

and mysterious are the paths of heaven, just and immaculate his ways. If

ye listen to the siren voice of pleasure, if upon the neck of heedless

youth you throw the reins, that base and earth-born clay which now you

wear, shall assume despotic empire. And when you quit the present narrow

scene, ye shall wear a form congenial to your vices. The fierce and

lawless shall assume the figure of the unrelenting wolf. The

unreflecting tyrant, that raised a mistaken fame from scenes of

devastation and war, shall spurn the ground, a haughty and indignant

horse; and in that form, shall learn, by dear experience, what were the

sufferings and what the scourge that he inflicted on mankind. The

sensual shall wear the shaggy vesture of the goat, or foam and whet his

horrid tusks, a wild and untame'd boar. But virtue prepares its

possessor for the skies. Upon the upright and the good, attendant angels

wait. With heavenly spirits they converse. On them the dark machinations

of witchcraft, and the sullen spirits of darkness have no power. Even

the outward form is impressed with a beam of celestial lustre. By slow,

but never ceasing steps, they tread the path of immortality and honour.

Then, mortals, love, support, and cherish each other. Fear the Gods, and

reverence their holy, white-robed servants. Let the sacred oak be your

care. Worship the holy and everlasting mistletoe. And when all the

objects that you now behold shall be involved in universal

conflagration, and time shall be no more; ye shall mix with Gods, ye

shall partake their thrones, and be crowned like them with never-fading

laurel."

BOOK THE SECOND

THUNDER STORM.—THE RAPE OF IMOGEN.—EDWIN ARRIVES AT THE GROTTO OF

ELWY.—CHARACTER OF THE MAGICIAN.—THE END OF THE FIRST DAY.

The song of Llewelyn was heard by the shepherds with reverence and mute

attention. Their blameless hearts were lifted to the skies with the

sentiment of gratitude; their honest bosoms overflowed with the fervour

of devotion. They proved their sympathy with the feelings of the bard,

not by licentious shouts and wild huzzas, but by the composure of their

spirits, the serenity of their countenances, and the deep and

unutterable silence which universally prevailed. And now the hoary

minstrel rose from the little eminence, beneath the aged oak, from whose

branches depended the ivy and the honeysuckle, on which the veneration

of the multitude had placed him. He came into the midst of the plain,

and the sons and the daughters of the fertile Clwyd pressed around him.

Fervently they kissed the hem of his garment; eagerly with their eyes

they sought to encounter the benign rays of his countenance. With the

dignity of a magistrate, and the tenderness of a father, he lifted his

aged arms, and poured upon them his mild benediction. "Children, I have

met your fathers, and your fathers fathers, beneath the hills of Ruthyn.

Such as they were, such are ye, and such ever may ye remain. The lily is

not more spotless, the rose and the violet do not boast a more fragrant

odour, than the incense of your prayers when it ascends to the footstool

of the Gods. Guileless and undesigning are you as the yearling lamb;

gentle and affectionate as the cooing dove. Qualities like these the

Gods behold with approbation; to qualities like these the Gods assign

their choicest blessings. My sons, there is a splendour that dazzles,

rather than enlightens; there is a heat that burns rather than

fructifies. Let not characters like these excite your ambition. Be yours

the unfrequented sylvan scene. Be yours the shadowy and unnoticed vale

of obscurity. Here are the mild and unruffled affections. Here are

virtue, peace and happiness. Here also are GODS."

Having thus said, he dismissed the assembly, and the shepherds prepared

to return to their respective homes. Edwin and Imogen, as they had come,

so they returned together. The parents of the maiden had confided her to

the care of the gallant shepherds. "She is our only child," said they,

"our only treasure, and our life is wrapt up in her safety. Watch over

her like her guardian genius. Bring her again to our arms adorned with

the cheerfulness of tranquility and innocence." The breast of Edwin was

dilated with the charge; he felt a gentle undulation of pride and

conscious importance about his heart, at the honour conferred upon him.

The setting sun now gilded the western hills. His beams played upon

their summits, and were reflected in an irregular semi-circle of

splendour, spotless and radiant as the robes of the fairies. The heat of

the day was over, the atmosphere was mild, and all the objects round

them quiet and serene. A gentle zephyr fanned the leaves; and the

shadows of the trees, projecting to their utmost length, gave an

additional coolness and a soberer tint to the fields through which they

passed.

The conversation of these innocent and guileless lovers was, as it were,

in unison with the placidness of the evening. The sports, in which they

had been engaged, had inspired them with gaiety, and the songs they had

heard, had raised their thoughts to a sublimer pitch than was usual to

them. They praised the miracles of the tale of Modred; they sympathised

with the affliction of Evelina; and they spoke with the most unfeigned

reverence of the pious and venerable Llewelyn.

But the harmless chearfulness of their conversation did not last long.

The serenity that was around them was soon interrupted, and their

attention was diverted to external objects. Suddenly you might have

perceived a cloud, small and dark, that rose from the bosom of the sea.

By swift advances it became thicker and broader, till the whole heavens

were enveloped in its dismal shade. The gentle zephyr, that anon played

among the trees, was changed into a wind hollow and tumultuous. Its

course was irregular. Now all was still and silent as the caverns of

death; and again it burst forth in momentary blasts, or whirled the

straws and fallen leaves in circling eddies. The light of day was

shrouded and invisible. The slow and sober progress of evening was

forestalled. The woods and the hills were embosomed in darkness. Their

summits were no longer gilded. One by one the beams of the sun were

withdrawn from each; and at length Snowdon itself could not be

perceived.

Our shepherd and his charge had at this moment reached the most

extensive and unprotected part of the plain. No friendly cot was near to

shield them from the coming storm. And now a solemn peal of thunder

seemed to roll along over their heads. They had begun to fly, but the

tender Imogen was terrified at the unexpected crash, and sunk, almost

breathless, into the arms of Edwin. In the mean time, the lightnings

seemed to fill the heavens with their shining flame. The claps of

thunder grew louder and more frequent. They reverberated from rock to

rock, and from hill to hill. If at any time, for a transitory interval,

the tremendous echoes died away upon the ear, it was filled with the

hollow roaring of the winds, and the boisterous dashing of the distant

waves. At length the pealing rain descended. It seemed as if all the

waters of heaven were exhausted upon their naked heads. The anxious and

afflicted Edwin took his beauteous and insensible companion in his arms,

and flew across the plain.

But at this instant, a more extraordinary and terrifying object

engrossed his attention. An oak, the monarch of the plain, towards which

he bent his rapid course, was suddenly struck with the bolt of heaven,

and blasted in his sight. Its large and spreading branches were

withered; its leaves shrunk up and faded. In the very trunk a gaping and

tremendous rift appeared. At the same moment two huge and craggy cliffs

burst from the surrounding rocks, to which they had grown for ages, and

tumbling with a hideous noise, trundled along the plain.

At length a third spectacle, more horrible than the rest, presented

itself to the affrighted eyes of Edwin. He saw a figure, larger than the

human, that walked among the clouds, and piloted the storm. Its

appearance was dreadful, and its shape, loose and undistinguishable,

seemed to be blended with the encircling darkness. From its coutenance

gleamed a barbarous smile, ten times more terrific than the frown of any

other being. Triumph, inhuman triumph, glistened in its eye, and, with

relentless delight, it brewed the tempest, and hurled the destructive

lightning. Edwin gazed upon this astonishing apparition, and knew it for

a goblin of darkness. The heart of Edwin, which no human terror could

appal, sunk within him; his nerves trembled, and the objects that

surrounded him, swam in confusion before his eyes. But it is not for

virtue to tremble; it is not for conscious innocence to fear the power

of elves and goblins. Edwin presently recollected himself, and a gloomy

kind of tranquility assumed the empire of his heart. He was more

watchful than ever for his beloved Imogen; he gazed with threefold

earnestness upon the fearful spectre.

A sound now invaded his ear, from the shapeless rocks behind him. They

repeated it with all their echoes. It was hollow as the raging wind; and

yet it was not the raging wind. It was loud as the roaring thunder; and

yet it was not the voice of thunder. But he did not remain long in

suspense, from whence the voice proceeded. A wolf, whom hunger had made

superior to fear, leaped from the rock, upon the plain below. Edwin

turned his eyes upon the horrid monster; he grasped his boarspear in his

hand. The unconscious Imogen glided from his arms, and he advanced

before her. He met the savage in his fury, and plunged his weapon in his

side. He overturned the monster; he drew forth his lance reeking with

his blood; his enemy lay convulsed in the agonies of death. But ere he

could return, he heard the sound of a car rattling along the plain. The

reins were of silk, and the chariot shone with burnished gold. Upon the

top of it sat a man, tall, lusty, and youthful. His hair flowed about

his shoulders, his eyes sparkled with untamed fierceness, and his brow

was marked with the haughty insolence of pride. It was Roderic, lord of

a hundred hills; but Edwin knew him not. The goblin descended from its

eminence, and directed the course of Roderic. In a moment, he seized the

breathless and insensible Imogen, and lifted her to his car. Edwin

beheld the scene with grief and astonishment; his senses were in a

manner overwhelmed with so many successive prodigies. But he did not

long remain inactive; grief and astonishment soon gave way to revenge.

He took his javelin, still red with the blood of the mountain wolf, and

whirled it from his hand. Edwin was skilled to toss the dart; from his

hand it flew unerring to its aim. Forceful it sung along the air; but

the goblin advanced with hasty steps among the clouds. It touched it

with its hand, and it fell harmless and pointless to the ground. During

this action the car of Roderic disappeared. The goblin immediately

vanished; and Edwin was left in solitude.

The storm however had not yet ceased. The rain descended with all its

former fury. The thunder roared with a strong and deafening sound. The

lightnings flamed from pole to pole. But the lightnings flamed, and the

thunder roared unregarded. The storm beat in vain upon the unsheltered

head of Edwin. "Where," cried he, with the voice of anguish and despair,

"is my Imogen, my mistress, my wife, the charmer of my soul, the solace

of my heart?" Saying this, he sprung away like the roe upon the

mountains. His pace was swifter than that of the zephyr when it sweeps

along over the unbending corn. He soon reached the avenue by which the

chariot had disappeared from his sight. He leaped from rock to rock; he

ascended to the summit of the cliff. His eye glanced the swift-flying

car of Roderic; he knew him by his gilded carriage, and his spangled

vest. But he saw him only for a moment. His aching eye pursued the

triumphant flight in vain. "Stay, stay, base ravisher, inglorious

coward!" he exclaimed. "If thou art a man, return and meet me. I will

encounter thee hand to hand. I will not fear the strength of thy

shoulders, and the haughtiness of thy crest. If in such a cause, with

the pride of virtue on my side, with all the Gods to combat for me, I am

yet vanquished, then be Imogen thine: then let her be submitted to thy

despotic power, to thy brutal outrage, and I will not murmur."

But his words were given to the winds of heaven. Roderic fled far, far

away. The heart of Edwin was wrung with anguish. "Ye kind and merciful

Gods!" exclaimed he, "grant but this one prayer, and the voice of Edwin

shall no more importune you with presumptuous vows. Blot from the book

of fate the tedious interval. Give me to find the potent villain. Though

he be hemmed in with guards behind guards; though his impious mansion

strike its foundations deep to the centre, and rear its head above the

clouds; though all the powers of hell combine on his side, I will search

him out, I will penetrate into his most hidden recess. I can but die.

Oh, if I am to be deprived of Imogen, how sweet, how solacing is the

thought of death! Let me die in her cause. That were some comfort yet.

Let me die in her presence, let her eyes witness the fervour of my

attachment, and I will die without a groan."

Having thus poured forth the anguish of his bosom, he resumed the

pursuit. But how could Edwin, alone, on foot, and wearied with the

journey of the day, hope to overtake the winged steeds of Roderic? And

indeed had his speed been tenfold greater than it was, it had been

exerted to no purpose. As the ravisher arrived at the edge of the

mountain, he struck into a narrow and devious path that led directly to

his mansion. But Edwin, who had for some time lost sight of the chariot,

took no notice of a way, covered with moss and overgrown with bushes;

and pursued the more beaten road. Swift was his course; but the swifter

he flew, the farther still he wandered from the object of his search. A

rapid brook flowed across his path, which the descending rains had

swelled into a river. Without a moment's hesitation, accoutered as he

was, he plunged in. Instantly he gained the opposite bank, and divided

the air before him, like an arrow in its flight.

In the mean time, the storm had ceased, the darkness was dispersed, and

only a few thin and fleecy clouds were scattered over the blue expanse.

The sun had for some time sunk beneath the western hills. The heavens,

clear and serene, had assumed a deeper tint, and were spangled over with

stars. The moon, in calm and silver lustre, lent her friendly light to

the weary traveller. Edwin was fatigued and faint. He tried to give vent

to his complaints; but his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth: his

spirits sunk within him. No sound now reached his ears but the baying of

the shepherds dogs, and the drowsy tinklings of the distant folds. The

owl, the solemn bird of night, sat buried among the branches of the aged

oak, and with her melancholy hootings gave an additional serenity to the

scene. At a small distance, on his right hand, he perceived a contiguous

object that reflected the rays of the moon, through the willows and the

hazels, and chequered the view with a clear and settled lustre. He

approached it. It was the lake of Elwy; and near it he discovered that

huge pile of stones, so well known to him, which had been reared ages

since, by the holy Druids. It was upon this spot that they worshipped

the Gods. But they had no habitation near it. They repaired thither at

stated intervals from the woods of Mona, and the shores of Arvon. One

only Druid lived by the banks of the silver flood, and watched the

temple day and night, that no rude hand might do violence to the

sanctity of the place, and no profaner mortal, with sacrilegious foot

might enter the mysterious edifice. It was surrounded with a wall of

oaks. The humbler shrubs filled up their interstices, and there was no

avenue to the sacred shade, except by two narrow paths on either side

the lake.

The solemn stilness of the scene for a moment hushed the sorrows of

Edwin into oblivion. Ah, short oblivion! scarcely had he gazed around

him, and drank of the quietness and peace of the scene, ere those recent

sorrows impressed his bosom with more anguish than before. Recollecting

himself however, he trod the mead with nimble feet, and approached,

trembling and with hesitation, to the eastern avenue. "Hear me, sage and

generous Madoc," cried the shepherd, with a voice that glided along the

peaceful lake, "hear the sorrows of the most forlorn of all the sons of

Clwyd!" The hermit, who sat at the door of his grotto, perceived the

sound, and approached to the place from which it proceeded. The accent

was gentle; and he feared no boisterous intrusion. The accent was tender

and pathetic; and never was the breast of Madoc steeled against the

voice of anguish. "Approach, my son," he cried. "What disastrous event

has brought thee hither, so far from thy peaceful home, and at this

still and silent hour of night? Has any lamb wandered from thy fold, and

art thou come hither in pursuit of it?" Edwin was silent. His heart

seemed full almost to bursting, and he could not utter a word. "Hast

thou wandered from thy companions and missed the path that led to the

well-known hamlet?" "Alas," said Edwin, "I had a companion once!" and he

lifted up his eyes to heaven in speechless despair. "Has thy mistress

deserted thee, or have her parents bestowed her on some happier swain?"

"Yes," said Edwin, "I have lost her, who was dear to me as the ruddy

drops that visit my sad heart. But she was constant. Her parents

approved of my passion, and consigned her to my arms." "Has sickness

then overtaken her, or has untimely death put a period to thy prospects,

just as they began to bloom?" "Oh, no," said the disconsolate shepherd,

"I have encountered a disaster more comfortless and wasteful than

sickness. I had a thousand times rather have received her last sigh, and

closed her eyes in darkness!"

During this conversation, they advanced along the banks of Elwy, and

drew towards the grotto of the hermit. The hospitable Madoc brought some

dried fruits and a few roots from his cell, and spread them before his

guest. He took a bowl of seasoned wood, and hastening to the fountain,

that fell with a murmuring noise down the neighing [sic] rock, he

presented the limpid beverage. "Such," said he, "is my humble fare;

partake it with a contented heart, and it shall be more grateful to thy

taste, than the high flavoured viands of a monarch." In the mean time,

Madoc, pleased with the benevolent pursuit, gathered some bits of dry

wood, and setting them on fire, besought the swain to refresh himself

from the weariness of his travel, and the inclemency of the storm. But

the heart of Edwin was too full to partake of the provisions that his

attentive host had prepared. The chearfulness however of the blazing

hearth and the generous officiousness of the hermit, seemed by degrees

to recover him from the insensibility and lethargy, that for a time had

swallowed up all his faculties.

Madoc had hitherto contemplated his guest in silence. He permitted him

to refresh his wearied frame and to resume his dissipated spirits

uninterrupted; he suppressed the curiosity by which he was actuated, to

learn the story of the woes of Edwin. In the midst of his dejection, he

perceived the symptoms of a nobility of spirit that interested him; and

the anguish of the shepherd's mind had not totally destroyed the traces

of that mild affability, and that manly frankness for which he was

esteemed.

Edwin had no sooner appeared to shake off a small part of his

melancholy, his eye no sooner sparkled with returning fire, than Madoc

embraced the favourable omen. "My son," said he, "you seem to be full of

dejection and grief. Grief is not an inmate of the plain; the hours of

the shepherd are sped in gaiety and mirth. Suspicion and design are

stranger to his bosom. With him the voice of discord is not heard. The

scourge of war never blasted his smiling fields; the terror of invasion

never banished him from the peaceful cot. You too are young and uninured

even to the misfortunes of the shepherd. No contagion has destroyed your

flock; no wolf has broken its slender barriers: you have felt the

anguish of no wound, and been witness to the death of no friend. Say

then, my son, why art thou thus dejected and forlorn?"

"Alas," replied Edwin, "our equal lot undoubtedly removes us from the

stroke of many misfortunes; but even to us adversity extends its rod. I

have been exposed to the ravages of an invader, more fearful than the

wolf, more detested than the conqueror. From an affliction like mine, no

occupation, no rank, no age can exempt. Sawest thou not the descending

storm? Did not the rain beat upon thy cavern, and the thunder roar among

the hills?" "It did," cried Madoc, "and I was struck with reverence, and

worshipped the God who grasps the thunder in his mighty hand. Wast thou,

my son, exposed to its fury?" "I was upon the bleak and wide extended

heath. With Imogen, the fairest and most constant of the daughters of

Clwyd, I returned from the feast of Ruthyn. But alas," added the

shepherd, "the storm had no terrors, when compared with the scenes that

accompanied it. I beheld, Madoc, nor are the words I utter the words of

shameless imposition, or coward credulity; I beheld a phantom, that

glided along the air, and rode among the clouds. At his command, a wolf

from the forest, with horrid tusks, and eyes of fire, burst upon me. I

advanced towards it, that I might defend the fairest of her sex from its

fury, and plunged my javelin in its heart. But, oh! while I was thus

engaged, a chariot advanced on the opposite side! Its course was

directed by the spectre. The rider descended on the plain, and seized

the spotless, helpless Imogen; and never, never shall these eyes behold

her more! Such, O thou servant of the Gods, has been my adversity. The

powers of darkness have arrayed themselves against me. For me the storm

has been brewed; all the arrows of heaven have been directed against my

weak, defenceless head. For me the elements have mixed in tremendous

confusion; portents and prodigies have been accumulated for my

destruction. Oh, then, generous and hospitable Druid, what path is

there, that is left for my deliverance? What chance remains for me, now

that a host of invisible beings combats against me? Teach me, my friend,

my father, what it is that I must do. Tell me, is there any happiness in

store for Edwin, or must I sink, unresisting, into the arms of

comfortless despair?"

"My son," cried the venerable hermit, "hope is at all times our duty,

and despair our crime. It is not in the power of events to undermine the

felicity of the virtuous. Goblins, and spirits of darkness, are

permitted a certain scope in this terrestrial scene; but their power is

bounded; beyond a certain line they cannot wander. In vain do they

threaten innocence and truth. Innocence is a wall of brass upon which

they can make no impression. Virtue is an adamant that is sacred and

secure from all their efforts. He whose thoughts are full of rectitude

and heaven, who knows no guile, may wander in safety through

uncultivated forests, or sandy plains, that have never known the trace

of human feet. Before him the robber is just, and the satyr tame; for

him the monsters of the desert are disarmed of their terrors, and he

shall lead the wild boar and the wolf in his hand. Such is the sanctity

that heaven has bestowed on unblemished truth."

"Alas, my father," cried Edwin, "this is the lesson that was first

communicated to my childhood; and my infant heart bounded with the

sacred confidence it inspired. But excuse the presumption of a

distracted heart. This lesson, to which at another time I could have

listened with rapture and enthusiasm, seems now too loose and general

for a medicine to my woes. Innocence the Gods have made superior and

invulnerable. And, oh, in what have I transgressed? Yet, my father, I am

wounded in the tenderest part. Shall I ever recover my Imogen? Is she

not torn from me irreversibly? How shall I engage with powers invisible,

and supernatural? How shall I discover my unknown, human enemy? No,

Madoc, I am lost in impenetrable darkness. For me there is no hope, no

shadow of approaching ease."

"Be calm, my son," rejoined the anchorite. "Arrogance and impatience

become not the weak and uninformed children of the earth. Be calm, and I

will administer a remedy more appropriate to your wrongs. But remember

this is your hour of trial. If now you forget the principles of your

youth, and the instructions of the sacred Druids, you shall fall from

happiness, never to regain it more. But if you come forth pure and

unblemished from the fierce assay, your Imogen shall be yours, the Gods

shall take you into their resistless protection, and in all future ages,

when men would cite an example of distinguished felicity, they shall

say, as fortunate as Edwin of the vale." Edwin bended his knee in mute

submission.

"Listen, my son," continued the Druid. "I know your enemy, and can point

out to you his obscure retreat." The shepherd lifted up his eyes, lately

so languid, that now flashed with fire. He eagerly grasped the hand of

Madoc. "Alas," continued the hermit, "to know him would little answer

the purpose of thy bold and enterprising spirit. They adversary, as thou

mayest have conjectured, is in league with the powers of darkness.

Against them what can courage, what can adventure avail? They can

unthread thy joints, and crumble all thy sinews. They can chain up thy

limbs in marble. For how many perils, how many unforseen disasters ought

he to be prepared, who dares to encounter them?"

"The name of him who has ravished from thee the dearest treasure of thy

heart, is Roderic. His mother—attend, oh Edwin, for whatever the

incredulous may pretend, the tales related by the bards in their

immortal songs, of ghosts, and fairies, and dire enchantment, are not

vain and fabulous.—You have heard of the inauspicious fame and the bad

eminence of Rodogune. She withdrew from the fields of Clwyd within the

memory of the elder of shepherds. Various were the conjectures

occasioned by her disappearance. Some imagined, that for the haughtiness

of her humour, and the malignity of her disposition, characters that

were wholly unexampled in the pastoral life, she had been carried away

before the period limited by nature to the place of torment by the

goblins of the abyss. Others believed that she concealed herself in the

top of the highest mountain that was near them, and by a commerce with

invisible, malignant beings, still exercised the same gloomy temper in

more potent, and therefore more inauspicious harm. The blight that

overspread the meadows, the destructive contagion that diffused itself

among the flocks, the raging tempest that rooted up the oak, when the

thunder roared among the hills, and the lightning flashed from pole to

pole, they ascribed to the machinations and the sorcery of Rodogune.

Their conjectures indeed were blind, but their notions were not wholly

mistaken.

"Rodogune was the mother of Roderic. She was deeply skilled in those

dark and flagitious arts, which have cast a gloom upon this mortal

scene. The intellectual powers bestowed upon her by the Gods were great

and eminent, and were given for a far different purpose than to be

employed in these sinister pursuits. But all conspicuous talents are

liable, my son, to base perversion; and such was the fate of those of

Rodogune. She delighted in the actions which her dark and criminal

alliance with invisible powers enabled her to perform. It was her's to

mislead the benighted shepherd. It was Sher's to part the happy lovers.

For this purpose she would swell the waves, and toss the feeble bark.

She dispensed, according to the dictates of her caprice, the mildew

among the tender herb, and the pestilence among the folds of the

shepherds. By the stupendous powers of enchantment, she raised from the

bosom of a hill a wondrous edifice. The apartments were magnificent and

stately; unlike the shepherd's cot, and not to be conceived by the

imagination of the rustic. Here she accumulated a thousand various

gratifications; here she wantoned in all the secret and licentious

desires of her heart. But her castle was not merely a scene of

thoughtless pleasure. Within its circle she held crouds of degenerate

shepherds, groveling through the omnipotence of her incantations in

every brutal form. Even the spectres and the elves that disobeyed her

authority, she held in the severest durance. She compressed their tender

forms in the narrowest prison, or gave them to the stormy winds, to be

whirled, with restless violence, round about the ample globe. In a word,

her mansion was one uninterrupted scene of ingenious cruelty and

miserable despair. To be surrounded with the face of disappointment and

agony was the happiness of Rodogune.

"When first by her art she raised that edifice which is now inhabited by

her son, she had been desirous to conceal it from the prying eyes of the

wanderer. In order to this, though it stood upon an eminence, she chose

an eminence that was surrounded by higher hills, and hills which,

according to the neighbouring shepherds, were impassable. No adventurous

step had ever since the day they were created pierced beyond them. It

was imagined that the space they surrounded was the haunt of elves, and

the resort of those who held commerce with evil spirits. The curling

smoke, which of late has frequently been seen to ascend from their

bosom, has confirmed this tradition. And in order to render her

habitation still more impervious, Rodogune surrounded it with a deep

grove of oaks, whose thick branches entwined together, permitted no

passage so much as to the light of day.

"Roderic was her only child, the darling of her age, and the central

object of all her cares. At his birth the elves and the fairies were

summoned together. They bestowed upon him every beauty of person and

every subtlety of wit. To every weapon they made him invulnerable. And,

without demanding from him that care and persevering study, that had

planted wrinkles on his mother's brow, they gave him to enjoy his wishes

instantly and uncontroled. One only goblin was daring enough to

pronounce a curse upon him. 'WHEN RODERIC,' cried he, 'SHALL BE

OVERREACHED IN ALL HIS SPELLS BY A SIMPLE SWAIN, UNVERSED IN THE VARIOUS

ARTS OF SORCERY AND MAGIC: WHEN RODERIC SHALL SUE TO A SIMPLE MAID, WHO

BY HIS CHARMS SHALL BE MADE TO HATE THE SWAIN THAT ONCE SHE LOVED, AND

WHO YET SHALL RESIST ALL HIS PERSONAL ATTRACTIONS AND ALL HIS POWER;

THEN SHALL HIS POWER BE AT AN END. HIS PALACES SHALL BE DISSOLVED, HIS

RICHES SCATTERED, AND HE HIMSELF SHALL BECOME AN UNFITTED, NECESSITOUS,

MISERABLE VAGABOND.' Such was the mysterious threat; and dearly did the

threatner abide it. In the mean time, an elf more generous, more

attached to Rodogune, and more potent than the rest, bestowed upon the

infant a mysterious ring. By means of this he is empowered to assume

what form he pleases. By means of this it was hoped he would be able to

subdue the most prepossessed, and melt the most obdurate female heart.

By means of this it was hoped, he might evade not only the simple swain,

but all the wiles of the most experienced and subtle adversary.

"Roderic now increased in age, and began to exhibit the promises of that

manly and graceful beauty that was destined for him. He inherited his

mother's haughtiness, and his wishes and his passions were never

subjected to contradiction. A few years since that mother died, and the

youth has been too much engaged in voluptuousness and luxury to embark

in the malicious pursuits of Rodogune, Sensuality has been his aim, and

pleasure has been his God. To gratify his passions has been the sole

object of his attentions; and he has remitted no exertion that could

enhance to him the joys of the feast and the fruition of beauty. One

low-minded gratification has succeeded to another; pleasures of an

elevated and intellectual kind have been strangers to his heart; and

were it not that the subtlety of wit was a gift bestowed upon him by

supernatural existencies, he must long ere this have sunk his mind to

the lowest savageness and the most contemptible imbecility."

Edwin heard the tale of the Druid with the deepest attention. He was

interested in the information it contained; he was astonished at the

unfathomable witcheries of Rodogune; and he could not avoid the being

apprehensive of the unexpanded powers of Roderic. But the daring and

adventurous spirit of youth, and the anxiety that he felt for the

critical situation of Imogen, soon overpowered and obliterated these

impressions. The Druid finished; and he started from his seat. "Point

me, kind and generous Madoc, to the harbour of the usurper. I will

invade his palace. I will enter fearlessly the lime-twigs of his spells.

I will trust in the omnipotency of innocence. Though the magician should

be encircled with all the horrid forms that ingenious fear ever created,

though all the grizly legions of the infernal realm should hem in, I

will find him out, and force him to relinquish his prize, or drag him by

his shining hair to a death, ignominious and accursed, as has been the

conduct of his life."

The Druid assumed a sterner and a severer aspect. "How long, son of the

valley," cried he, "wilt thou be deaf to the voice of instruction? When

wilt thou temper thy heedless and inconsiderate courage with the

coolness of wisdom and the moderation of docility? But go," added he, "I

am to blame to endeavour to govern thy headlong spirit, or stem the

torrent of youthful folly. Go, and endure the punishment of thy

rashness. Encounter the magician in the midst of his spells. Expose thy

naked and unprotected head to glut his vengeance. Over thy life indeed,

he has no power. Deliberate guilt, not unreflecting folly, can deprive

thee of thy right to that. But, oh, shepherd, what avails it to live in

hopeless misery? With ease he shall shut thee up for revolving years in

darkness tangible; he shall plunge thee deep beneath the surface of the

mantled pool, the viscous spume shall draw over thy miserable head its

dank and dismal shroud; or perhaps, more ingenious in mischief, he shall

chain thee up in inactivity, a conscious statue, the silent and passive

witness of the usurped joys that once thou fondly fanciedst thy own."

"Oh, pardon me, sage and venerable Madoc," replied the shepherd. "Edwin

did not come from the hands of nature obstinate and untractable. But

grief agitates my spirits; anxiety and apprehension conjure up a

thousand horrid phantoms before my distracted imagination, and I am no

longer myself. I will however subdue my impatient resentments. I will

listen with coolness to the voice of native sagacity and hoary

experience. Tell me then, my father, and I will hearken with mute

attention, nor think the lesson long,—instruct me how I shall escape

those tremendous dangers thou hast described. Say, is there any remedy,

canst thou communicate any potent and unconquerable amulet, that shall

shield me from the arts of sorcery? Teach me, and my honest heart shall

thank thee. Communicate it, and the benefit shall be consecrated in my

memory to everlasting gratitude."

"My son," replied Madoc, "I am indeed interested for thee. Thy heart is

ingenuous and sincere; thy misfortune is poignant and affecting. Listen

then to my directions. Receive and treasure up this small and sordid

root. In its external appearance, it is worthless and despicable; but,

Edwin, we must not judge by appearances; that which is most valuable

often delights to shroud itself under a coarse and unattractive outside.

In a richer climate, and under a more genial sun, it bears a beauteous

flower, whose broad leaves expand themselves to the day, and are clothed

with a deep and splendid purple, glossy as velvet, and bedropped with

gold. This root is a sovereign antidote against all blasts,

enchantments, witchcrafts, and magic. With this about thee, thou mayest

safely enter the haunts of Roderic; thou mayest hear his incantations

unappalled; thou mayest boldly dash from his hand his magic glass, and

shed the envenomed beverage on the ground. Then, when he stands

astonished at the unexpected phenomenon, wrest from him his potent wand.

Invoke not the unhallowed spirits of the abyss; invoke the spotless

synod of the Gods. Strike with his rod the walls of his palace, and they

shall turn to viewless air; the monster shall be deprived of all his

riches, and all his accumulated pleasures; and thou and thy Imogen,

delivered from the powers of enchantment, shall be, for one long,

uninterrupted day, happy in the enjoyment of each other.

"Attend, my son, yet attend, to one more advice, upon which all thy

advantage and all thy success in this moment of crisis hang. Engage not

in so arduous and important an enterprise immaturely. Thou hast yet no

reason for despair. Thou art yet beheld with favour by propitious

heaven. But thou mayest have reason for despair. One false step may ruin

thee. One moment of heedless inconsideration may plunge thee in years of

calamity. One moment of complying guilt may shut upon thee the door of

enjoyment and happiness for ever."

Such was the sorrow, and such were the consolations of Edwin. But far

different was the situation, and far other scenes were prepared for his

faithful shepherdess. For some time after she had been seized by

Roderic, she had remained unconscious and supine. The terrors that had

preceded the fatal capture, had overpowered her delicate frame, and sunk

her into an alarming and obstinate fit of insensibility. They had now

almost reached the palace of the magician, when she discovered the first

symptoms of returning life. The colour gradually remounted into her

bloodless cheeks; her hands were raised with a feeble and involuntary

motion, and at length she lifted up her head, and opened her languid,

unobserving eyes. "Edwin," she cried, "my friend, my companion, where

art thou? Where have we been? Oh, it is a long and tedious evening!"

Saying this, she looked upon the objects around her. The sky was now

become clear and smiling; the lowring clouds were dissipated, and the

blue expanse was stretched without limits over their head. The sources

of her former terror were indeed removed, but the objects that presented

themselves were equally alarming. All was unexpected and all was

unaccountable. Imogen had remained without consciousness from the very

beginning of the storm, and it was during her insensibility that the

goblin had been visible, and the magician descended to the plains. She

found herself mounted upon a car, and hurried along by rapid steeds. She

saw beside her a man whose face, whose garb, and whose whole appearance

were perfectly unknown to her.

"Ah," exclaimed the maiden, in a voice of amazement apprehension, "where

am I? What is become of my Edwin? And what art thou? What means all

this? These are not the well-known fields; this is not the brook of

Towey, nor these hills of Clwyd. Oh, whither, whither do we fly? This

track leads not to the cottage of my parents, and the groves of

Rhyddlan." "Be not uneasy, my fair one," answered Roderic. "We go,

though not by the usual path, to where your friends reside. I am not

your enemy, but a swain who esteems it his happiness to have come

between you and your distress, and to have rescued you from the pelting

of the storm. Suspend, my love, for a few moments your suspicions and

your anxiety, and we shall arrive where all your doubts will be removed,

and all I hope will be pleasure and felicitation." While he thus spoke

the chariot hastened to the conclusion of their journey, and entered the

area in the front of the mansion of Roderic.

The suspicions of Imogen were indeed removed, but in a manner too cruel

for her tender frame. The terror and fatigue she had previously

undergone had wasted her spirits, and the surprise she now experienced,

was more than she could sustain. As the chariot entered the court, she

cried out with a voice of horror and anguish, and sunk breathless into

the arms of her ravisher. Though the passion he had already conceived

for her, made this a circumstance of affliction, he yet in another view

rejoiced, that he was able, by its intervention, to conduct his prize in

a manner by stealth into his palace, and thus to prevent that struggle

and those painful sensations, which she must otherwise have known. For

could she have borne, without emotion, to see herself conveyed into a

wretched imprisonment? Could she have submitted, without opposition, to

be shut up, as it were, from the hope of revisiting those scenes, where

once her careless childhood played, and those friends whom she valued

more than life?

The leading pursuit of Roderic, as it had been stated by the Druid of

Elwy, was the love of pleasure, an attachment to sensuality, luxury and

lust. He often spent whole days in the bosom of voluptuousness, reposing

upon couches of down, under ceilings of gold. His senses were at

intervals awakened, by the most exquisite music, to a variety of

delight. He often recreated his view with beholding, from a posture of

supineness and indolence, the frolic games, and the mazy dance.

Sometimes, in order to diversify the scene, he would mix in the sports,

and, by the graceful activity of his limbs, and the subtle keenness of

his wit, would communicate relish and novelty to that which before had

palled upon the performers. When he moved, every eye was fixed in

admiration. When he spoke all was tranquility of attention, and every

mouth was open to applaud. Then were set forth the luxuries of the

feast. Every artifice was employed to provoke the appetite. The viands

were savoury, and the fruits were blushing; the decorations were

sumptuous, and the halls shone with a profusion of tapers, whose rays

were reflected in a thousand directions by an innumerable multitude of

mirrors and lustres. And now the intoxicating beverage went swiftly

round the board. The conversation became more open and unrestrained.

Quick were the repartees and loud the mirth. Loose, meaning glances were

interchanged between the master of the feast and the mingled beauties

that adorned his board. With artful inadvertence the gauze seemed to

withdraw from their panting bosoms, and new and still newer charms

discovered themselves to enchant the eyes and inflame the heart. The bed

of enjoyment succeeded to the board of intemperance. Such was the

history of the life of Roderic.

But man was not born for the indolence of pleasure and the uniformity of

fruition. No gratifications, but especially not those that address

themselves only to the senses, and pamper this brittle, worthless

mansion of the immortal mind, are calculated to entertain us for any

long duration. We need something to awaken our attention, to whet our

appetite, and to contrast our joys. Happiness in this sublunary state

can scarcely be felt, but by a comparison with misery. It is he only

that has escaped from sickness, that is conscious of health; it is he

only that has shaken off the chains of misfortune, that truly rejoices.

The wisdom of these maxims was felt by Roderic. Full of pleasures,

surrounded with objects of delight, he was not happy. Their uniformity

cloyed him. He had received, by supernatural endowment, an activity and

a venturousness of spirit, that were little formed for such scenes as

these. He was devoured with spleen. He sighed he knew not why; he was

peevish and ill-humoured in the midst of the most assiduous attention

and the most wakeful service. And the command he possessed over the

elements of nature was no remedy for sensations like these.

Oppressed with these feelings, Roderic was accustomed to withdraw

himself from the pomps and luxuries that surrounded him, to fly from the

gilded palace and the fretted roofs, and to mix in the simple and

undebauched scenes of artless innocence that descended on every side

from the hills he inhabited. The name of Roderic was unknown to all the

shepherds of the vallies, and he was received by them with that

officiousness and hospitality which they were accustomed to exercise to

the stranger. It was his delight to give scope to his imagination by

inventing a thousand artful tales of misfortune, by which he awakened

the compassion, and engaged the attachment of the simple hinds. In order

the more effectually to evade that curiosity which would have been fatal

to his ease, he assumed every different time that he came among them a

different form. By this contrivance, he passed unobserved, he partook

freely of their pastimes, he made his observations unmolested, and was

perfectly at leisure for the reflections, not always of the most

pleasant description, that these scenes, of simple virtue and honest

poverty, were calculated to excite. "Oh, impotence of power," exclaimed

he, wrapt up and secure in the disguise he assumed, "to what purpose art

thou desired? Ambition is surely the most foolish and misjudging of all

terrestrial passions. My condition appears attractive. I am surrounded

with riches and splendour; no man approaches me but with homage and

flattery; every object of gratification solicits my acceptance. I am not

only endowed with a capacity of obtaining all that I can wish, and that

by supernatural means, but I am almost constantly forestalled in my

wishes. Who would not say, that I am blessed? Who that heard but a

description of my state, would not envy me? O ye shepherds, happy,

thrice happy, in the confinedness of your prospects, ye would then envy

me! Instructed as I am, instructed by too fatal experience, with reason

I envy you. Hark to that swain who is now leading his flock from the

durance in which they were held till the morning peeped over the eastern

hills! The little lambs frisk about him, thankful for the liberty they

have regained, and he stretches out his hand for them to lick. Now he

drives them along the extended green, and in a wild and thoughtless note

carols a lively lay. He sings perhaps of the kind, but bashful

shepherdess. His hat is bound about with ribbon; the memorial of her coy

compliance and much-prized favour. How light is his heart, how chearful

his gait, and how gay his countenance! He leads in a string a little

frolic goat with curving horns: I suppose the prize that he bore off in

singing, which is not yet tamed to his hand, and familiarised to his

flock. What though his coat be frieze? What though his labour constantly

return with the returning day? I wear the attire of kings; far from

labouring myself, thousands labour for my convenience. And yet he is

happier than I. Envied simplicity; venerable ignorance; plenteous

poverty! How gladly would I quit my sumptuous palace, and my magic arts,

for the careless, airy, and unreflecting joys of rural simplicity!"

It was in a late excursion of this kind that he had beheld the beauteous

Imogen. His eye was struck with the charms of her person, and the

amiableness of her manners. Never had he seen a complexion so

transparent, or an eye so expressive. Her vermeil-tinctured lips were

new-blown roses that engrossed the sight, and seemed to solicit to be

plucked. His heart was caught in the tangles of her hair. Such an

unaffected bashfulness, and so modest a blush; such an harmonious and

meaning tone of voice, that expressed in the softest accents, the most

delicate sense and the most winning simplicity, could not but engage the

attention of a swain so versed in the science of the fair as Roderic.

From that distinguished moment, though he still felt uneasiness, it was

no longer vacuity, it was no longer an uneasiness irrational and

unaccountable. He had now an object to pursue. He was not now subjected

to the fatigue of forming wishes for the sake of having them instantly

gratified. When he reflected upon the present object of his desires, new

obstacles continually started in his mind. Unused to encounter

difficulty, he for a time imagined them insurmountable. Had his desires

been less pressing, had his passion been less ardent, he would have

given up the pursuit in despair. But urged along by an unintermitted

impulse, he could think of nothing else, he could not abstract his

attention to a foreign subject. He determined at least once again to

behold the peerless maiden. He descended to the feast of Ruthyn; and

though the interval had been but short, from the time in which he had

first observed her, in the eye of love she seemed improved. The charms

that erst had budded, were now full blown. Her beauties were ripened,

and her attractions spread themselves in the face of day. Nor was this

all. He beheld with a watchful glance her slight and silent intercourse

with the gallant Edwin; an intercourse which no eye but that of a lover

could have penetrated. Hence his mind became pregnant with all the

hateful brood of dark suspicions; he was agitated with the fury of

jealousy. Jealousy evermore blows the flame it seems formed to

extinguish. The passion of Roderic was more violent than ever. His

impatient spirit could not now brook the absence of a moment. Luxury

charmed no longer; the couch of down was to him a bed of torture, and

the solicitations of beauty, the taunts and sarcasms of infernal furies.

He invoked the spirit of his mother; he brought together an assembly of

elves and goblins. By their direction he formed his plan; by their

instrumentality the tempest was immediately raised; and under the

guidance of the chief of all the throng he descended upon his prey, like

the eagle from his eminence in the sky.

The success of his exploit has already been related. The scheme had

indeed been too deeply laid, and too artfully digested, to admit almost

the possibility of a miscarriage. Who but would have stood appalled,

when the storm descended upon our lovers in the midst of the plain, and

the thunders seemed to rock the whole circle of the neighbouring hills?

Who could have conducted himself at once with greater prudence and

gallantry than the youthful shepherd? Did he not display the highest

degree of heroism and address, when he laid the gaunt and haughty wolf

prostrate at his feet? But it was not for human skill to cope with the

opposition of infernal spirits. Accordingly Roderic had been victorious.

He had borne the tender maiden unresisted from the field; he had

outstripped the ardent pursuit of Edwin with a speed swifter than the

winds. In fine, he had conducted his lovely prize in safety to his

enchanted castle, and had introduced her within those walls, where every

thing human and supernatural obeyed his nod, in a state of unresisting

passivity.

Roderic, immediately upon his entrance into the castle, had committed

the fair Imogen to the care of the attendant damsels. He charged them by

every means to endeavour to restore her to sense and tranquility, and

not to utter any thing in her hearing, which should have the smallest

tendency to discompose her spirits. In obedience to orders, which they

had never known what it was to dispute, they were so unwearied in their

assiduities to their amiable charge, that it was not long before she

began once again to exhibit the tokens of renewed perception. She raised

by degrees a leaden and inexpressive eye, to the objects that were about

her, without having as yet spirit and recollectedness enough to

distinguish them. "My mother," cried she, "my venerable Edith, I am not

well. My head is quite confused and giddy. Do press it with your

friendly hand." A female attendant, as she uttered these words, drew

near to obey them. "Go, go," exclaimed Imogen, with a feeble tone, and

at the same time putting by the officious hand, "you naughty girl. You

are not my mother. Do not think to make me believe you are."

While she spoke this she began gradually to gain a more entire

sedateness and self-command. She seemed to examine, with an eager and

inquisitive eye, first one object, and then another by turns. The

novelty of the whole scene appeared for an instant to engross her

attention. Every part of the furniture was unlike that of a shepherd's

cot; and completely singular and unprecedented by any thing that her

memory could suggest. But this self-deception, this abstraction from her

feelings and her situation was of a continuance the shortest that can be

conceived. All seemed changed with her in a moment. Her eye, which, from

a state of languor and unexpressiveness, had assumed an air of intent

and restless curiosity, was now full of comfortless sorrow and

unprotected distress. "Powers that defend the innocent, support, guard

me! Where am I? What have I been doing? What is become of me? Oh, Edwin,

Edwin!" and she reclined her head upon the shoulder of the female who

was nearest her.

Recovering however, in a moment, the dignity that was congenial to her,

she raised herself from this remiss and inactive posture, and seemed to

be immersed in reflection and thought. "Yes, yes," exclaimed she, "I

know well enough how it is. You cannot imagine what a furious storm it

was: and so I sunk upon the ground terrified to death: and so Edwin left

me, and ran some where, I cannot tell where, for shelter. But sure it

could not be so neither. He could not be so barbarous. Well but however

somebody came and took me up, and so I am here. But what am I here for,

and what place is this? Tell me, ye kind shepherdesses, (if

shepherdesses you are) for indeed I am sick at heart."

The broken interrogatories of Imogen were heard with a profound silence.

"What," said the lovely and apprehensive maiden, "will you not answer

me? No, not one word. Ah, then it must be bad indeed. But I have done

nothing that should make me be afraid. I am as harmless and as chearly

as the little red-breast that pecks out of my hand? So you will not hurt

me, will you? No, I dare swear. You do not frown upon me. Your looks are

quite sweet and good-natured. But then it was not kind not to answer me,

and tell me what I asked you." "Fair stranger," replied one of the

throng, "we would willingly do any thing to oblige you. But you are weak

and ill; and it is necessary that you should not exert yourself, but try

to sleep."

"Sleep," replied the shepherdess, "what here in this strange place? No,

that I shall not, I can tell you. I never slept from under the thatch of

my father's cottage in my life, but once, and that was at the wedding of

my dear, obliging Rovena. But perhaps," added she, "my father and mother

will come to me here. So I will even try and be compilable, for I never

was obstinate. But indeed my head is strangely confused; you must excuse

me."

Such was the language, and such the affecting simplicity of the innocent

and uncultivated Imogen. She, who had been used to one narrow round of

chearful, rustic scenes, was too much perplexed to be able to judge of

her situation. Her repeated faintings had weakened her spirits, and for

a time disordered her understanding. She had always lived among the

simple; she had scarcely ever been witness to any thing but sincerity

and innocence. Suspicion therefore was the farthest in the world from

being an inmate of her breast. Suspicion is the latest and most

difficult lesson of the honest and uncrooked mind. Imogen therefore

willingly retired to rest, in compliance with the soliciation of her

attendants. She beheld no longer her ravisher, whose eye beamed with

ungovernable desires, and whose crest swelled with pride. Every

countenance was marked with apparent carefulness and sympathy. She was

even pleased with their officious and friendly-seeming demeanour.

Tell me, ye vain cavillers, ye haughty adversaries of the omnipotence of

virtue, where could artful vice, where could invisible and hell-born

seduction, have found a fitter object for their triumph? Imogen was not

armed with the lessons of experience: Imogen was not accoutered with the

cautiousness of cultivation and refinement. She was all open to every

one that approached her. She carried her heart in her hand. Ye, I doubt

not, have already reckoned upon the triumph, and counted the advantages.

But, if I do not much mistake the divine lessons I am commissioned to

deliver, the muse shall tell a very different story.

BOOK THE THIRD

PURPOSES OF RODERIC.—THE CARRIAGE OF IMOGEN.—HER CONTEMPT OF RICHES.

The fatigue which Imogen had undergone in the preceding day, prepared

her to rest during the night with more tranquility than could otherwise

have been expected. The scenes to which she had successively been

witness, and the objects that now surrounded her, were too novel and

extraordinary in their character, to allow much room for the severity of

reflection, and the coolness of meditation. Her frame was tired with the

various exercises in which she had engaged; her mind was hurried and

perplexed without knowing upon what to fix, or in what manner to account

for the events that had befallen her: she therefore sunk presently into

a sweet and profound sleep; and while every thing seemed preparing for

her destruction, while a thousand enchantments were essayed, and a

thousand schemes revolved in the busy mind of Roderic, she remained

composed and unapprehensive. Innocence was the sevenfold shield that

protected her from harm; her eyes were closed in darkness, and a smile

of placid benignity played upon the lovely features of her countenance.

Roderic in the mean time had retired to his chamber. His mind was turbid

and unquiet. So restless are the waves of the ocean before the coming

tempest. They assume a darker hue, and reflect a more cloudy heaven.

They roll this way and that in a continual motion, and yet without any

direction, till the loud and hoarse-echoing wind determines their course

and carries them in mountains to the sounding shore. The mind of the

victim was all quiet and unruffled; such is the kindly influence of

conscious truth. The mind of the ravisher exhibited nothing but

uneasiness and confusion; such are the boons which vice bestows upon her

misjudging votaries.

The conqueror, doubly misled by fierce and unruly passions and by his

inauspicious commerce with the goblins of the abyss, retired not

immediately to his couch, but walked up and down his apartments, with a

hasty and irregular step. "Thanks to my favourable stars," exclaimed he,

"I am triumphant! What power can resist me? Where is the being that

shall dare to say, that one wish of my heart shall go unfulfilled? Well

then, I have got the fair the charming she into my power. She is shut up

in a palace, unseen by every human eye, to which no human foot ever

found its way but at my bidding. She is closed round with spells and

enchantment. I can by a word deprive her every limb of motion. If I but

wave this wand, the leaden God of sleep shall sink her in a moment in

the arms of forgetfulness, whatever were before her anxieties and her

wakeful terrors. In what manner then shall I, thus absolute and

uncontroled in all I bid exist, proceed? Shall I press the unwilling

beauty to my bosom, and riot in her hoard of charms, without waiting

like meaner mortals to sue for the consent of her will? There is

something noble, royal, and independent, in the thought. Beauty never

appears so attractive as from behind a veil of tears. Oh, how I enjoy

infancy [sic] the anger that shall flush her lovely cheek! Perhaps she

will even kneel to me to deprecate that which an education of prejudices

has taught her to consider as the worst of evils. Yes, my lovely maid, I

will raise thee. Do not turn from me those scornful indignant eyes. I

will be thy best friend. I will not hurt a hair of thy head. Oh, when

her spotless bosom pants with disdain, how sweet to beat the little

chiders, and by a friendly violence, which true and comprehensive wisdom

cannot stigmatize, to teach her what is the true value of beauty, and

for what purpose such enchanting forms as her's were sent to dwell

below!"

Thus spoke the ravisher, and as he spoke he assumed, although alone, a

firmer stride and a more haughty crest. Upon the instant however his

ears were saluted with a low and continual sound, that became, by just

degrees, stronger and more strong. The walls of his palace shook; a

sudden and supernatural light gleamed along his apartment, and a spectre

stood before him. Roderic lifted up his eyes, and immediately recognised

the features of that goblin, who from the hour of his birth, had

declared himself his adversary. He had been repeatedly used to the

visits of this malicious spirit, who delighted to subvert all his

schemes, and to baffle his deepest projects. This was the only

misfortune, the sovereign of the hills had ever known; this was the only

instance in which he had at any time been taught what it was to have his

power controled and his nod unobeyed. He had often sought, by means of

the confederacy he held with other spirits of the infernal regions, to

restrain his enemy, or by punishment and suffering to make him rue his

opposition. But the goblin he had to encounter, though not the most

potent, was of all the rest the most crafty in his wiles, and the most

abundant in expedients. As many times as his fellows had by the

instigation of Roderic undertaken to encounter him, so often had they in

the end been eluded and defeated. The contest was now given up, and the

goblin was at liberty to haunt and threaten his impotant adversary as

much as he pleased.

"Roderic," cried he, with a harsh and unpleasant accent, "I am come to

humble the haughtiness of thy triumph, and to pull down thy aspiring

thoughts. Impotent and rancorous mortal! Know, that innocence is

defended with too strong a shield for thee to pierce! Boast not thyself

of the immensity of thy walls, and put no confidence in the subtlety of

thy enchantments. Before the mightiness that waits on innocence, they

are not less impotent than the liquid wax, or the crumbling ruin. Learn,

oh presumptuous mortal, that sacred and unyielding chastity is

invulnerable to all the violence of men, and all the stratagems of

goblins. I would not name to thee so salutary an advice as to dismiss

thy innocent and unsuspicious prize, did not I know thee too obstinate

and headstrong to listen to the voice of wisdom. Essay then thy base and

low-minded temptations, thy corrupt and sophistical reasonings, to

tarnish the unsullied purity of her mind, and it is well. If by such a

wretch as thee she can be seduced from the obedience of virtue and the

Gods, then let her fall. She were then a victim worthy of thee. But if

thou essayest the means of tyranny and force, the attempt will be fatal

to thee. I will in that case enjoy my vengeance; I will triumph in thy

desolation. In the hour then of action and enterprise, remember me!"

With these words the spectre vanished from his sight. Roderic was

inflamed with anger and disgust; but he had none, upon whom to wreak his

revenge. His heart boiled with the impotence of malice. "What," cried

he, "am I to be bounded and hedged in, in all my exploits? Am I to be

curbed and thwarted in every wish of my heart? This, this was nearest to

me. This was the first pursuit of my life in which my whole heart was

engaged; the first time I ever felt a passion that deserved the name of

love. But be it so: I was born with wild and impetuous passions only to

have them frustrated; I was endowed with supernatural powers, and

inherited all my mother's skill, only to be the more signally

disappointed. Still however I will not shrink, I will not yield an inch

to my adversary. I am bid, it seems, to tempt her, and endeavour to

stain the purity of her mind. Yes, I will tempt her. It is not for an

artless and uninstructed shepherdess to defeat my wiles and baffle all

my incitements. I will dazzle her senses with all the attractions that

the globe of earth has to boast. I will wind me into her secret heart.

Thou damned, unpropitious goblin, who seekest to oppose thyself to my

happiness, I will but, by thy warning, gain a completer triumph! I will

subdue her will. She shall crown my wishes with ripe, consenting beauty.

Long shall she remain the empress of my heart, and partner of my bed. In

her I will hope to find those simple, artless, and engaging charms,

which in vain I have often sought in the band of females, that reside

beneath my roof, and wait upon my nod."

Imogen, though considerably indisposed by the fatigue and terrors of the

preceding day, shook off however that placid and refreshing sleep which

had weighed down her eyelids, long before Roderic deserted the couch of

luxury. Two of the female attendants belonging to the castle had slept

in the same apartment with her, and soon, perceiving her in motion,

followed her example, and officiously pressed around her. One of them

took up a part of the garb of the fair shepherdess, and offered to

assist her in adjusting it. "I thank you," cried Imogen, with the utmost

simplicity, "for your good-nature; but I am pretty well now; and every

body dresses herself that is not sick." The inartificial decorations of

her person were quickly adjusted. The delicate proportion of her limbs

was hid beneath a russet mantle; her fair and flowing tresses were

disposed in a braid round her head, and she took her straw hat in her

hand. "Well," said she, "I am obliged to you for your favours. I dare

say it was best for me, though at the time I thought otherwise. For my

head ached very much, and I was so weak—It was wrong for me to think of

going any farther.—Ah, but then, what have my poor father and mother

done all the while? Have not they missed their Imogen, and wondered what

was become of her, and been quite sad and forlorn for fear she should

have come to any harm? Well, I do not know whether I was not right too.

For their ease was of more consequence than mine. I cannot tell. However

I will not now keep them in pain. So good morning to you, my dear kind

friends!" And saying this she was tripping away.

But as she drew towards the door, one of the attendants, with a gentle

force, took hold of her hand. "Do not go yet, sweet Imogen," cried she.

"We want a little more of your company. We have done you all the service

in our power, and you have not paid us for it. We will not ask any thing

hard and unreasonable of you. Only comply with us in this one thing, to

stay with us a few hours, and let us know a little better the worth of

that amiable female we have endeavoured to oblige." "Indeed, indeed,"

replied Imogen, "I cannot. I am not used to be obstinate; and you are so

kind and fair spoken, that it goes to my heart to refuse you. But I

would not for the world keep my dear, good Edith in a moment's suspense.

But since you are so desirous of being acquainted with me, repair as

soon and as often as you please to my father's cot, that lies on the

right hand side of the valley, about a mile from the sea, and just

beside the pretty brawling brook of Towey. There I will treat you with

the nicest apples and the richest cream. And I would treat you with

better, if I knew of any thing better, that I might thank you for your

goodness. Farewel!" added she, and affectionately pressed the hand that

was still untwined with her's.

"No, Imogen, no, you must not leave us thus. Though we would have done a

thousand times more than we have for your own sake, who are so simple

and so good, it is yet fit that you should know, that we are not

mistresses here, and that all we have done has been by the orders of the

lord of this rich mansion. He will not therefore forgive us, if we

suffer you to depart before he has seen you, and expressed for you that

kindness which induced him to take you under his protection." "Heavens!"

replied the shepherdess "this is all ceremony and folly, and therefore

cannot be of so much consequence as the peace of my father, and the

consolation of my mother. Tell him, that I thank him, and that my father

shall thank him too, if he will come to our hut. Tell him that I am

sorry for my foolish weakness, that gave him so much trouble, and made

me be so needlessly frightened, when we came to a place where I have met

with nothing but kindness; but I could not help it. And so that is

enough; for if my Edwin had been in his place, and had seen a stranger

shepherdess in the distress that I was, he would surely have done as

much.

"Say so to your lord, as you call him, for I would not seem ungrateful.

But yet I will thank you a great deal more than I do him. For what did

he do for me? He took me, and hurried me away, and paid no attention to

my tears and expostulations. Well, but I need not have been alarmed. So

it seems. But I did not like his looks; they were not kind and

good-natured, but fierce and frightful. And so as soon as he had brought

me here, much against my will, he went away and left me. So much the

better. And then you came and took care of me, and he desired you to do

so. That was well enough. But I am more obliged to you for your kindness

and assiduity, than I am to him only for thinking of it. And then to

tell you the truth, but I ought not to say so to you who are his

friends, there is something about him, I cannot tell what, that does not

please me at all. He looks discontented, and fierce, as if there was no

such thing as soothing and managing him. But why do I say all this? Pray

now let me go, let me go to my dear, dear mother."

"Sweet Imogen," replied the attendant, who seemed to take the lead in

the circle, "how lovely and amiable are you even in your resentments!

They are not with you a morose and gloomy sullenness brooding over

imaginary wrongs, and collecting venom and malice from every corner to

the heart. In your breast anger itself takes a milder form, and is

gentle, generous and gay. Yet why, my Imogen, should you harbour any

anger against your protector?"

Such was the honest and artless dialogue of Imogen. The attendants

rather endeavoured to beguile the time, by dexterously starting new

topics of conversation, upon which Imogen delivered her plain and

natural sentiments with the utmost sincerity, than to detain her by open

force. At length one of them slipped out, and hastened to acquaint

Roderic with the impatience of his prize, and to communicate to him the

substance of those artless hints, which, in the hands of so skilful and

potent an impostor, might be of the greatest service. Roderic

immediately rose. But as he was desirous to decorate his person with the

nicest skill, in order to make the most favourable impression upon his

mistress, he ordered the attendant, with some of her companions, to wait

upon Imogen. He commissioned them, if it were necessary, to inform her

of the absolute impossibility of her quitting the castle, and to

persuade her to walk in the meadows adjoining, that she might observe

the riches of their possessor; how fertile were the soil, and how fair

and numerous the flocks.

The patience of Imogen, in the mean time, was nearly exhausted. Her

simplicity could no longer be duped. Though unused to art, it was

impossible for her not at length to perceive the art by which the

conversation was lengthened, and her ardent desire to set out for the

cottage of her father, eluded. She was just beginning to expostulate

upon this ungenerous stratagem, when three or four of those females,

whom Roderic had dispatched entered the apartment. "Well," cried Imogen,

"you have borne my message to my deliverer, now then let me go." "Our

lord," replied the attendant, "is just risen. He will but adjust his

apparel, and will immediately pay you those respects in person which he

can by no means think of omitting." "Alas, alas," cried the shepherdess,

half distressed, "what is the meaning of all this? What is intended by a

language so foreign to the homeliness of the shepherd's cot, and the

admirable simplicity of pastoral life? I know not what title I have, a

poor, unpretending virgin, to the respects of this lord; but surely if

they meaned me well, they would be less hollow and absurd. Would there

not be much more respect, much more civility, in permitting me to follow

my own inclinations, without this arbitrary and ungrateful restraint?"

"Shepherdess," replied the attendant, "we are not used to dispute the

orders of our master. We would oblige you if it were in our power.

Impute not therefore to us any thing unfriendly; and as for Roderic, he

is too good, and too amiable, not to be able to satisfy you about his

conduct the moment he appears." "Your master! and your lord!" replied

Imogen, with a tone of displeasure, "I understand not these words. The

Gods have made all their rational creatures equal. If they have made one

strong and another weak, it is for the purpose of mutual benevolence and

assistance, and not for that of despotism and oppression. Of all the

shepherds of the valley, there is not one that claims dominion and

command over another. There is indeed an obedience due from children to

their parents, and from a wife to her husband. But ye cannot be his

children; for he is young and blooming. And but one of you can be his

wife; so that that cannot be the source of his authority. What a

numerous family has this Roderic? Does that I wonder, make him happier

than his fellows?"

"Imogen," said one of the train, "will you walk with us along the

meadow, by the side of that hazel copse? The morning is delightful, the

sun shines with a mild and cheering heat, the lambs frisk along the

level green, and the birds, with their little throats, warble each a

different strain." The mind of Imogen was highly susceptible to the

impression of rural beauties. She had that placid innocence, that sweet

serenity of heart, which best prepares us to relish them. Seeing

therefore, that she was a prisoner, and that it was in vain to struggle

and beat her wings against the wiry inclosure, she submitted. "Ah!

unjust, unkind associates!" exclaimed Imogen, "ye can obey the dictates

of a man, who has no right to your obedience, and ye can turn a deaf ear

to the voice of benevolence and justice! Set me at liberty. This man has

no right to see me, and I will not see him. I, that have been used to

wander as free as the inmates of the wood, or the winged inhabitants of

air, shall I be cooped up in a petty cage, have all my motions dictated,

and all my walks circumscribed? Indeed, indeed, I will not. Imogen can

never submit to so ignominious a restraint. She will sooner die."

"Why, my lovely maiden," replied the other, "will you think so harshly

of our lord? He does not deserve these uncandid constructions; he is all

gentleness and goodness. Suspend therefore your impatience for a moment.

By and by you may represent to him your uneasiness, and he will grant

you all the wishes of your heart. Till then, amiable girl, compose your

spirits, and give us cause to believe, that you place that confidence in

us, which for the world we would not deserve to forfeit."

During this conversation, they passed along a gallery, and, descending

by a flight of stairs, proceeded through one corner of a spacious garden

into the meadow. The mansion, as we have already said, stood upon a

rising ground, which was inclosed on every side by a circle of hills,

whose summits seemed to touch the clouds, and were covered with eternal

snow. Within this wider circumference was a second formed by an

impervious grove of oaks, which, though of no long standing, yet, having

been produced by magical art, had appeared from the first in full

maturity. Their vast trunks, which three men hand in hand could scarcely

span, were marked with many a scar, and their broad branches, waving to

the winds, inspired into the pious and the virtuous that religious awe,

which is one of the principal lessons of the Druidical religion.

At no great distance, and close on one side to the majestic grove, was a

terrace, raised by the hand of art, so elevated, as to overlook the tops

of the trees as well as the turrets of the castle, and to afford a

complete prospect of all the grounds on this side the precipices. To

this terrace the attendants of Imogen led their charge, and from it she

surveyed the farms and granges of their lord. The view was diversified

by a number of little rills, that flowed down from the mountains, and

gave fertility and cheerfulness to the fields through which they passed.

The inclosures were some of them covered with a fine and rich herbage,

whose appearance was bright and verdant, and its surface besprinkled

with cowslips, king-cups, and daisies. Others of them were interspersed

with sheep that exhibited the face of sleekness and ease, their fleeces

large and ponderous, and their wool of the finest and most admirable

texture. Elsewhere you might see the cattle grazing. The ox dappled with

a thousand spots, which nature seemed to have applied with a wanton and

playful hand; the cow, whose udders were distended with milk, that

appeared to call for the interposition of the maidens to lighten them of

their store; and the lordly and majestic bull. With them was

intermingled the horse, whose limbs seemed to be formed for speed and

beauty. At a small distance were the stag with branching horns, the

timid deer, and the sportive, frisking fawn. Even from the rugged

precipices, that seemed intended by nature to lie waste and useless,

depended the shaggy goat and the tender kid. Beside all this, Roderic

had had communicated to him, by a supernatural afflatus, that wondrous

art, as yet unknown in the plains of Albion, of turning up the soil with

a share of iron, and scattering it with a small quantity of those grains

which are most useful to man, to expect to gather, after a short

interval, a forty-fold increase.

Every thing conspired to communicate to the prospect lustre and

attraction. The birds, with their various song, gave an air of

populousness and animation to the grove. By the side of the rivulets

were scattered here and there the huts of the shepherd and husbandman.

And though these swains were not, like the happy dwellers in the valley,

enlivened with freedom, and made careless and gay by conscious

innocence; yet were they skilful to give clearness and melody to the

slender reed; and the ploughman whistled as he drove afield. But that in

the landscape which most engrossed the attention and awakened the

curiosity of the tender Imogen, was the appearance of the fields of

corn. It was in her eye novel, agreeable, and interesting. The harvest

was near, and the effect of the object was at its greatest height. The

tall and unbending stalk overtopped by far the native herbage of the

meadow, and seemed to emulate the hawthorn and the hazel, which, planted

in even rows, secured the precious crop from the invasion of the cattle.

The ears were embrowned with the continual beams of the sun, and,

oppressed with the weight of their grain, bended from the stalk. In a

word, the whole presented to the astonished view a rich scene of

vegetable gold. Upon this delightful object the shepherdess gazed with

an unwearied regard. Respecting it she asked innumerable questions, and

made a thousand enquiries; and it almost seemed as if her curiosity

would never be satisfied. Such is the power of novelty over the young

and inexperienced, and such the influence of the beautiful and

transcendent beauties of nature upon the ingenuous and uncorrupted mind.

But it was not possible for the shepherdess, interested as she was in

the uneasiness, to which she knew that her parents must be a prey, long

to banish from her mind the affecting consideration, or to divert her

attention to another object, however agreeable, or however fascinating.

She had just begun to renew her representations upon this head, when

Roderic approached. While he was yet at a distance, he appeared graceful

and gay, as the messenger of the God that grasps the lightning in his

hand. His stature was above the common size. His limbs were formed with

perfect symmetry; the fall of his shoulders was graceful, and the whole

contour of his body was regular and pleasing. Such was the general

effect of his shape, that though his advance was hesitating and

respectful, it was impossible to contemplate his person without the

ideas being suggested of velocity and swiftness. His presence and air

had the appearance of frankness, ingenuousness, and manly confidence.

The natural fire and haughtiness of his eye were carefully subdued, and

he seemed, at least to a superficial view, the very model of good-nature

and disinterested complaisance. His bright and flowing hair parted on

his brow, and formed into a thousand ringlets, waved to the zephyrs as

he passed along. There was something so delicate and enchanting in his

whole figure, as to tempt you to compare it to the unspotted beauty of

the hyacinth; at the same time that you rejoiced, that it was not a

beauty, frail and transient, as the tender flower, but which promised a

manly ripeness and a protracted duration.

Observing that the attention of those around her was suddenly diverted

from the intreaties she employed, Imogen turned her eye, in order to

discover the object that now engaged them. It was immediately met by the

graceful and amiable figure we have described. But to Imogen that figure

presented no such comeliness and beauty. For a moment indeed, nature

prevailed, and she could not avoid gazing, with a degree of complacence,

upon an object, to which the Goddess seemed to have lavished all her

treasures. But this sensation vanished, almost before it was formed. The

mind of the shepherdess was too deeply read in the lessons of virtue, to

acknowledge any beauty in that form, which was not animated with truth,

and in those features, which were not illuminated with integrity and

innocence. Notwithstanding her native simplicity, and the unsuspecting

confidence she was inclined to repose in every individual of the human

race, yet had the conduct of Roderic, as she had already confessed,

displeased her too deeply for her immediately to assume towards him an

unembarrassed and soothing carriage. He had seized upon her by violence

in a moment of insensibility. He had carried her away without her

consent. When she recovered strength enough to expostulate upon this, he

endeavoured, by ambiguous expressions, to deceive her into an opinion,

that he was conducting her to the cottage of her father. Supposing that,

for reasons good and wise, he had introduced her into a strange place,

she could not be persuaded that those reasons subsisted for detaining

her contrary to her inclination. And independently of any individual

circumstances, there is a native and inexplicable antipathy between

virtue and vice. It is not in the nature of things, it is not within the

range of possibility, that they should coalesce and unite where both of

them exist in a decided manner, or an eminent degree. It was not the

babble of ignorance, it was by an unalterable law of her nature, that

Imogen had been displeased with the looks of him, who meaned her

destruction. The animation that dwells in the features of virtue, is

mild and friendly and lambent; but the sparkles that flash from the eye

of enterprising guilt, are momentary, and unrelenting, and impetuous.

The gentle and the inoffensive instantly feel how uncongenial they are

to their dispositions, and start back from them with aversion and

horror. Such were in some measure the sensations of Imogen, upon the

re-appearance of her betrayer. She turned from him with unfeigned

dislike, and was reluctantly kept in the same situation till he ascended

the terrace. As he drew nearer, Roderic seized the hand of the lovely

captive. In a tone of blandishment he expostulated with her upon her

unkind behaviour and unreasonable aversion. With all that sophistry,

that ingenious vice knows so well how to employ, he endeavoured to

evince that his conduct had been regulated by kindness, rectitude and

humanity. In the mean time the retinue withdrew to a small distance.

Imogen insisted upon not being left wholly alone with her ravisher.

Able to perplex but not to subvert the understanding of his prize,

Roderic addressed her with the language of love. Naturally eloquent, all

that he now said was accompanied with that ineffable sweetness, and that

soft insinuation, that must have shaken the integrity of Imogen, had her

heart been less constant, and her bosom less glowed with the enthusiasm

of virtue. Her betrayer was conscious to a real, though a degenerate

flame, and was not reduced to feign an ardour he did not feel.

Recollecting however the pure manners, and the delicate and ingenuous

language to which Imogen had been inured among the inhabitants of Clwyd,

the subtle sorcerer did not permit an expression to escape him, that

could offend the chastest ear, or alarm the most suspicious virtue. His

love, ardent as it appeared, seemed to be entirely under the government

of the strictest propriety, and the most unfeigned rectitude. He knew

that the inspirations of integrity and the lessons of education were not

to be eradicated at once; and he attempted not to gain the acquiescence

of his captive by gross and unsuitable allurements, unconcealed with the

gilding of dexterity and speciousness.

But his eloquence and his address were equally vain. In spite of the

beauty of his person and the urbanity of his manners, the shepherdess

received his declarations with coldness and aversion. She assured him of

the impossibility of his success, that she felt for him emotions very

different from those of partiality, and that her heart was prepossessed

for a more amiable swain. With that sweet simplicity, that accompanied

all she did, she endeavoured to dissuade him from the pursuit of a

hopeless and unreasonable passion; she enumerated to him all the sources

of enjoyment with which he was surrounded; she intreated him not in the

wantonness of opulence to disturb her humble and narrow felicity; and

she besought him in the most pathetic and earnest language to dismiss

her to freedom, contentment and her parents.

The more she exerted herself to bend his resolution, and the more scope

she gave to the unstudied expression of her artless sentiments, the more

inextricably was the magician caught, and the more firm and inexorable

was his purpose. Perceiving however that he had little to hope from the

most skilful detail of the pleas of passion, he turned the attention of

the shepherdess to a different topic. "Behold Imogen," cried he, "the

richness of the landscape on our right hand! The spot in my eye is

farthest from the castle, and divided from the rest of the prospect with

a tall hedge of poplars and alders. It is full of the finest grass, and

its soil is rich and luxuriant. It is scattered with fleckered cows and

dappled fawns. In the hither part of it is a field of the choicest

wheat, whose stalks are so rank and pregnant, that the timid hare and

the untamed fox can scarcely force themselves a path among them. Beside

it is an inclosure of barley with strong and pointed spikes; and another

of oats, whose grain, uneared, spreads broader to the eye. How beautiful

the scene! I will not ask you, fairest of your sex, to give your

confidence to unauthorised words. I will afford the most unquestionable

demonstration of the veracity of my declarations. All these, lovely

Imogen, shall be yours: yours exclusively, to be disposed of at your

pleasure, without the interference or control of any. All my other

possessions shall not belong to myself more than to you. You shall be

the mistress of my heart, and the associate of my counsels. All my

business shall be your gratification, all my pleasure your happiness.

Forget then, dearest maiden, the poverty of your former condition, and

the connections you formed in an hour of ignorance and obscurity. From

this moment let a new era and better prospects commence. Enjoy that

wealth, which can no where so well be bestowed; and those

gratifications, which so obviously belong to that delicate and

enchanting form."

The proposal of Roderic called forth more than ever the spirit and the

resentment of Imogen. She did not feel herself in the slightest degree

attracted by the magnificence of his offers. She knew of no use for

superfluous riches. She felt no wants unsupplied, and no wishes

ungratified. What motive is there in the whole region of human

perceptions, that can excite the contented mind to the pursuit of

affluence? "And dost thou think," said the fair one, with a gesture of

disdain that made her look ten times more amiable, "to seduce me with

baits like these? Know, mistaken man, that I am happy. I spin the finest

wool of our flocks, and drain the distended udders of our cows. I

superintend the dairies; the butter and the cheese are the produce of my

industry. In these employments my time is spent in chearfulness and

pleasure. Surrounded with our little possessions, I am conscious to no

deficiency; in the midst of my parents and friends, I desire not to look

beyond the narrow circle of the neighbouring hills. If you feel those

wants, which I do not so much as understand, enjoy your fond mistake.

Possess those riches which I will not envy you. Wander from luxury to

luxury unquestioned; I shall be sufficiently happy in the narrow

gratifications that nature has placed within my reach. The gifts you

offer me have no splendour in my eye, and I could not thank you for them

though offered with ever so much disinterestedness. The only gift it is

in your power to make is liberty. Allow me to partake of that bounty,

which nature has bestowed upon the choristers of the grove, to wander

where I will. Under a thousand of those privations that would render the

child of luxury inconsolable, I would support myself; freedom and

independence are the only boons which the whole course of my life has

taught me to cherish."

"Your ignorance," rejoined Roderic, "is amiable, though unfortunate. But

your merit is too great not to deserve to be informed. Knowledge, my

lovely maiden, is always regarded as a desirable acquisition by the

prudent and the judicious. To what purpose was a mind so capacious,

competent to the greatest improvements, and formed to comprehend

subjects of the most extensive compass, or the sublimest reach, bestowed

upon us, if it be not employed in the pursuits of science and

experience? Your abilities, my Imogen, appear to be of the very first

description. How much then will you be to be blamed, if you do not

embrace this opportunity of improvement and instruction? Beauty, though

unseen, is not less excellent; and prudence, though unpossessed, is of

value inestimable. The poor man may be contented, because he knows not

the use of riches; but, in spite of this contentment, it were wise to

enlarge our sphere of sensation, and to extend the sources of happiness.

"If however you still maintain that lovely perverseness, decide if you

please upon your own fate, but let filial piety hinder you from

determining too hastily respecting that of your parents and your

friends. Consider what a new and unbounded scope will be afforded you,

by the participation of my riches, for the exercise of benevolent and

generous propensities. Your parents are now declining fast under the

weight of years and infirmity. It is in your power to make their bed of

down, and to enliven the ground they have yet to traverse with flowers.

It is yours to wrest the sheers from the hand of the weary and

over-laboured ancient, and to remove the distaff from the knees of your

venerable mother. Think, gentle shepherdess, before it be too late, of

the heart-felt pleasures that await the power to do good, when attended

with a virtuous inclination. When you wipe away the tear from the cheek

of distress, when you light up a smile in the eye of misery, think you,

that none of the comfort you administer will flow back in generous and

refreshing streams to your own heart? Are these exertions that Imogen

ought to contemplate with indifference? Is this a power that Imogen can

reject without deliberation?"

Imogen stood for a moment in a sweet and ingenuous state of suspense.

She had a native and indefeasible reverence for every thing that had the

remotest analogy to virtue, and she could not answer a proposal that

came recommended to her by that name with unhesitating promptitude. She

was too good and modest to assume an air of decision where she did not

feel it; she was too simple and unaffected, to disguise that hesitation

to which she was really conscious. "How false and treacherous,"

exclaimed she, "are your reasonings! Among the virtuous inhabitants of

the plain, every one seeks to influence another by motives which are of

weight with himself, and utters the sentiments of his own heart. Where

have you learned the disingenuous and faithless arts you employ? To what

purpose have you cultivated them, and whose good opinion do you flatter

yourself they will obtain for you? False, perfidious Roderic! the more I

see of you, the more I fear and despise you.

"You would recommend to me your temptations under the colour of

knowlege. Has knowlege any charms for the debauched and luxurious? You

tell me we ought to enlarge our sphere of sensation, and to extend the

sources of happiness. Wisdom indeed, and mental improvements are

desirable. But the sage Druids have always taught me, that the mind is

the nobler part, that the body is to be kept in subjection, and that it

is not our business to seek its gratification beyond the bounds of

necessity and temperance. If I allowed myself to think that I wanted

more than I have, might not the possession of that more extend my

desires, till, from humble and bounded, they became insatiable? Were I

to dismiss those industrious pursuits by means of which my time now

glides so pleasantly, how am I sure that indolence and vacancy would

make me happier?

"To succour indeed the necessitous, and particularly my parents and

relations, is a consideration of more value. But ah, Roderic! though you

talk it so well, I am afraid it is a consideration foreign to your

character. For my parents, they are as yet healthful and active; and

while they continue so, they wish, no more than myself for repose and

indolence. If ever they become incapable of industry, their little flock

will still contribute to their support. They are too much respected, for

the neighbouring shepherds not to watch over it in turn out of pure

love. And, I hope, as I will then exert myself with double vigour, that

the Gods will bless us, and we shall do very well. As to general

distress, heaven is too propitious to us, to permit the inhabitants of

the valley to be overwhelmed by it. And I shall always have milk from my

flocks, and a cheese from my store, to set before the hungry and

necessitous.

"But were these advantages more valuable than they are, it would not be

my duty to purchase them so dear. What, shall I desert all the

connections it has been the business of my life to form, and that happy

state of simplicity I love so much? Shall I shake off the mutual vows I

have exchanged with the most amiable and generous of the swains, and

join myself to one, whose person I cannot love, and whose character I

cannot approve? No, Roderic, enjoy that happiness, if it deserve the

name of happiness, that is congenial to your inclination. Forget the

worthless and unreasonable passion, you pretend to have conceived, in

the multitude of gratifications that are within your reach. Envy not me

my straw-defended roof, my little flock, and my faithful shepherd. I

will never exchange them for all the temptations that the world can

furnish."

BOOK THE FOURTH

SONG IN HONOUR OF THE FAIR SEX.—HYPOCRISY OF THE MAGICIAN.—THE TRIUMPH

OF IMOGEN.—DESPAIR AND CONSOLATION OF RODERIC.

So much was Roderic discouraged by the apparent spirit and firmness of

these declarations, that at the conclusion of them he abruptly quitted

his captive, and released her for a moment from his unjust persecutions.

His pride however was too strongly piqued, and his passions too much

alarmed to permit her a real respite. "Where ever," cried he, as he trod

with hasty and irregular steps the level green,—"where ever were found

such simplicity, and so much strength of judgment, and gaiety of wit in

union? Is it possible for the extreme of simplicity and the perfection

of intellect to meet together? These surely are paradoxes, that not all

the goblins of the abyss can solve, and which, had they been related

instead of seen, must have appeared to constitute an absurd and

impossible fiction.

"Well then it is in vain to attack the inexorable fair one with

allurements that address themselves only to the understanding. She is

too well fortified with the prejudices of education, and the principles

of an imaginary virtue, to be reduced by an assault like this. The pride

of her virtue is alarmed, the little train of her sophistries are

awakened, and with that artless rhetoric, of the value of which she is

doubtless sensible, she set[s] all her enemies at defiance. My future

enticements shall therefore address themselves to her senses. Thus

approaching her, it is impossible that success should not follow my

undertaking. Even the most wary, circumspect, and suspicious, might thus

be overcome. But she is innocence itself. She apprehends no danger, she

suspects no ambuscade. Young and unexperienced, and the little

experience she has attained, derived only from scenes of pastoral

simplicity, she knows not the meaning of insincerity and treachery; she

dreads not the serpent that lurks beneath the flower."

Having determined the plan of his machinations, and given the necessary

orders, he privately signified to the attendants, that they should

propose to their lovely charge to direct her course once again to the

mansion; and as she perceived that Roderic still continued upon a

distant part of the lawn; and as she saw no means of present escape from

her confinement, she consented to do as they desired.

They now entered the mansion, and passing through several splendid

apartments, at length reached a large and magnificent saloon. It was

hung with tapestry, upon which were represented the figures of Sappho

sweeping the lyre; of the Spartan mother bending over the body, and

counting the wounds of her son; of Penelope in the midst of her maidens,

carefully unravelling the funeral web of her husband; of Lucretia

inflicting upon herself a glorious and voluntary death; and of Arria

teaching her husband in what manner a Roman should expire. These stories

had been miraculously communicated to Roderic, and were now explained by

the attendants to the wondering Imogen. At the same time a band of

music, that was placed at the lower end of the hall, struck at once

their various instruments, and, without any previous preparation, began

the lofty chorus. At the upper end of the saloon stood a throne of

ivory, hung round with trappings of gold, and placed upon a floor of

marble, of which a numerous flight of steps, also of marble, composed

the ascent. The hangings were of crimson velvet, and the canopy of the

richest purple. With the musicians were intermingled a number of

supernatural beings under the command of Roderic. Their voices were

melodious beyond all example of human power; they were by turns lofty

and majestic, and by turns tender and melting; and the strain was

divine.

"Such are the honours of the tender sex; and who can speak their praise?

The lily is not so fair, the rose is not so attractive, the violet and

the jessamine have not so elegant a simplicity. By their charms, by

their eloquence, and by their merit, they have assumed an empire over

the bolder sex. How auspicious is the empire! They hold them in silken

chains. They govern, not by harsh decrees, and rigorous penalties; but

by smiles and soft compliances, and winning, irresistible persuasion.

The rewards they bestow are sweet, and ravishing, and indescribable.

"What were man without the fair? A wild beast of the forest; a rough and

untamed savage; a hungry lion bursting from his den. Without them, they

are gloomy, morose, unfeeling, and unsociable. To them they owe every

civilization, and every improvement. Did Amphion, from the rude and

shapeless stones, raise by his power a regular edifice, houses, palaces,

and cities? Did Orpheus by his lay humanize the rugged beasts and teach

the forests to listen? No, these are wild, unmeaning fables. It was

woman, charming woman, that led unpolished man forth from the forests

and the dens, and taught him to bend before thy shrine, humanity! See

how the face of nature changes! Where late the slough mantled, or the

serpent hissed among the briars and the reeds, all is pasture and

fertility. The cottages arise. The shepherds assume the guise of

gentleness and simplicity. They attire themselves with care, they braid

the garland, and they tune the pipe. Wherefore do they braid the

garland? Why are their manners soft and blandishing? And why do the

hills re-echo the notes of the slender reed? It is to win thy graces,

woman, charming woman!

"When nature formed a man, she formed a creature rational, and erect;

ten times more noble than the birds of the air, and the beasts of the

field. But when she formed a woman—it was then first, that she outdid

herself, and improved her own design. What are the broad and nervous

shoulders, what the compacted figure, and the vigorous step, when

contrasted with the well-turned limbs, the slender waist, the graceful

shoulders, and the soft and panting bosom? What are the manly front, the

stern, commanding eye, and the down-clad cheek, if we compare them with

the smooth, transparent complexion, the soft, faint blushes, and the

pretty, dimpled mouth? What are the strong, slow reason, the deep,

unfathomed science, and the grave and solemn wisdom, if they are brought

into competition with the sprightly sense, the penetrating wit, and the

inexhaustible invention? Does the stronger sex boast of its learning,

its deep researches, its sagacious discoveries? and have they a

coolness, a self-command, a never baffled prudence like that which woman

has exhibited? Do they pique themselves upon their courage, their

gallantry, and their adventure? Where shall we find among them a

patience, a mildness, a fortitude, a heroism, equal to that of the fair?

"Virtue has dwelt beneath the sun. Themis has left her throne on the

right hand of Jove, and descended to the globe of earth. We have seen

examples of disinterested rectitude, of inviolable truth, of sublime and

heaven-born benevolence. They are written in the roll of fame; they are

handed down from age to age. They are the song of the poet, and the

favourite theme of the servants of the Gods. By whom were they

exhibited, or with whom did they originate? With woman, charming woman?

Well have justice and rectitude been represented under a female form,

for without the softer sex, all had been anarchy and confusion; every

man had preyed upon his neighbour; men, like beasts, had devoured each

other, and virtue fled affrighted to her native skies. This is the

source of all that is good and all that is excellent; of all that is

beautiful and all that is sublime: woman, charming woman!"

At this place the chorus ceased for a moment, and the attendants

observing, that Imogen was standing, intreated her to seat herself. She

was rendered weak and languid by the unexperienced anxieties and terrors

she had undergone, and she did not refuse their request. There was no

seat in the centre of the hall, or nearer than the sumptuous throne that

was placed at the upper end. Thither therefore they led her. Imogen had

been unused to the distinctions of rank and precedence. Among the

shepherds of the valley, every one, except the bards and the priests,

seated himself promiscuously; none sought to take the upper hand of his

neighbour; age was not distinguished by priority of place; and youth

thought not of ceding the pas. The shepherdess, as she advanced towards

the chair, paused for an instant, impressed with that blaze of

magnificence which is equally formed to strike every human eye. She

looked round her with an air of timidity and suspense, and then going

forward, ascended the steps and placed herself in the throne. At this

action, as at a signal, the song recommenced.

"Simplicity, child of nature, daughter of the plains, with thee alone

the queen of beauty dwells! What is it that adorns and enhances all the

wild and uncultivated scenes of nature? It is plainness and artless

simplicity. What is it that renders lovely and amiable her most

favourite productions in the animal creation: the tender lamb, the

cooing dove, and the vocal nightingale? It is simplicity; it is, that

all their gestures wear the guise, and their voice speaks the artless,

and unaffected language of nature. What is is that renders venerable the

characters of mankind; that ennobles the song of the bards; that gives

lustre and attraction to immortal, never-fading virtue? It is

simplicity, unaffected simplicity. Of the last and crowning work of

nature, woman, the form is grace; the visage is beauty; the eye sparkles

with intelligence, and smiles with soft and winning graces; the tongue

is clothed with persuasion and eloquence. But what are these? A body

without a soul, a combination of soft and harmonious names without a

meaning; a multitude of rich inestimable gifts, heaped together in rude

and inartificial confusion without the powers of enchantment and

attraction. What is it that can animate the mass, that can give force

and value to the whole, and reduce the shapeless chaos into form? It is

simplicity, unaffected simplicity. Without thee, child of nature,

daughter of the plains, beauty were no more. With thee she dwells, and

in thy mansion can she only dwell. Then be the palm reserved for thee,

and given to thee alone, simplicity, unaffected simplicity!"

At these words, two supernatural figures appeared below the canopy of

the throne. They had the form of children; their figures appeared so

soft and waxen, that you would imagine they might be indented by the

smallest touch; upon their countenances sat the lively and unexpressive

smile, the sports, and the graces; and their shoulders were furnished

with wings of the softest plumage, variegated with all the colours of

the bow of heaven. In their hands they bore a coronet, at once rich with

jewels, and light and inconsiderable in its weight. The circle was of

gold, and studded with diamonds. With the diamonds were intermingled

every precious gem, the topaz, the jasper, the emerald, the chrysolite,

and the sapphire. The head was of Persian silk, and dyed with Tyrian

purple. This coronet they placed upon the head of Imogen, and then

descending to the footstool of the throne, bowed upon her feet. The song

immediately recommenced.

"Imogen is under the guardianship of simplicity, her favourite pupil.

Pollute not the ear of Imogen with the praises of beauty. What though

her eye be full of amiableness and eloquence; what though her cheeks

rival the peach, and her lips the coral; what though her bosom be soft

as wax and fairer than the face of honour; what though her tresses are

brighter than the shooting star? These are the bounties of nature; these

are the gifts of heaven, in which she claims no merit; these are not the

praises of Imogen. But this is her praise, that the graces dwell upon

her lips; that her words are attired with the garb of sense and fancy;

and that all her conduct is governed by the largest prudence and the

nicest discretion. Heard you the sound of merriment and applause? They

were the gay and unlaboured sallies of the wit of Imogen that called

them forth. Saw you the look of wonder and astonishment, and the gaze of

involuntary approbation and reverence? They were excited by the modesty,

the circumspection, and the virtue of Imogen. And yet Imogen is artless,

unaffected and innocent; her wit is unconscious of itself, and her

virtue the unstudied dictate of nature. Imogen is under the guardianship

of simplicity, her favourite pupil. Be hers then the crown that

simplicity alone can deserve. Simplicity descends not in person to the

surface of the earth; her abode is among the Gods. But Imogen is her

representative, her perfect resemblance. Should simplicity descend upon

the earth, she would not know herself; she would be astonished to behold

another divinity, equally beautiful, equally excellent. The divinity is

Imogen. Be hers then the crown, that simplicity alone can deserve."

This was a trying moment to the lovely and generous Imogen. Praise is

congenial to every human sense; the voice of praise is ever grateful to

the ear of virtue. The glory of the shepherd indeed lies within a narrow

compass. But let immortality be named, and the heart of man is naturally

attracted: it is impossible that the good and generous bosom should not

long for such a prize. Nor was this all. Imogen, though loved and

honoured by the borderers of Towey, had been little used to studied

commendation and laboured applause. Pastoral simplicity does not deal in

these; and though it seek to oblige, its endeavours are unostentatious

and silent. Beside, her reverence for song was radical and deep. It had

been instilled into her from her earliest infancy; from earliest infancy

she had considered poetry as the vehicle of divine and eternal truth.

How strange and tremendous an advantage must he gain over the ear of

simplicity, who can present his fascinations under the garb of all that

is sacred and all that is honourable?

The song had begun with celebrating a theme, that must for ever be

congenial to every female breast. The heart of the shepherdess had

instinctively vibrated to the praises of simplicity. Even the

commendations bestowed upon herself were not improper, or

indiscriminate; they had distinguished between the inanity of personal

charms, and the value of prudence, the beauty of innocence and the merit

of virtue. Even the honours she had received were attributed to these,

and not to the other. Were they not therefore such as virtue would

aspire to, and discretion accept?

Alas, Imogen, be not deceived with airy shadows! The reasoning may be

plausible, but it is no better than sophistry. Thou must be taught, fair

and unsuspecting virgin, under a beautiful outside to apprehend deceit;

and to guard against the thorn which closely environs the flower. Thou

must learn, loveliest of thy sex, to dread the poison of flattery. It is

more venemous than the adder, it is more destructive than hebenon or

madragora. It annihilates every respectable quality in the very act of

extolling it; it undermines all that adorns and elevates the human

character. Even now that thou listenest to it, and drinkest in, without

apprehension, its opiate sounds, thou art too near to the sacrifice of

those very excellencies it pretends to admire. For the head of Imogen

was made giddy by the applauses she heard; drunk with admiration, she

was no longer conscious of the things around her, or of herself; she

sunk vanquished and supine, and was supported by one of the attendants.

At this moment Roderic came forth from an adjoining apartment, and

caught in his arms the vanquished beauty. In the mean time the

attendants, the musicians, and the supernatural beings disappeared, and

she was left alone with her betrayer.

Roderic surveyed his victim with an eye of avidity and triumph. His

eager curiosity wandered over her hoard of charms; and his brutal

passion was soothed with the contemplation of her disorder. Already in

imagination, he had possessed himself of a decisive advantage over so

apparent a weakness; and his breast was steeled against the emotions of

pity.

Imogen cast around her a languid and passive regard, and was in a moment

roused from her supineness by the sight of Roderic. Her subtle adversary

did not however allow her time for complete recollection, before he

discovered an apparent revolution in his sentiments and language. He had

heard, he said, the supernatural and celestial chorus, and been caught

in the extremest degree by the praises of innocence and the triumph of

virtue. He now felt the vanity and folly of those pursuits in which he

had been so deeply immersed, and was determined to abjure the littleness

of pride, and the emptiness of sensual gratification. He did not now

address his destined prize with the commendations of beauty. He bestowed

upon her with profusion the epithets of discretion, integrity, and

heroism; and poured into her ear the insidious flattery, that was most

soothing to her temper. Full, as he pretended, of the infant purposes of

virtue, he besought his captive in the most importunate manner, to

remain with him for a time, to confirm his wavering rectitude, to

instruct him in duty, and thus to gain one human being to the standard

of integrity, and to render so extensive possessions subservient to the

happiness of mankind. All this he expressed with that ardour, which is

congenial to the simplicity of truth; and with that enthusiasm, which in

all instances accompanies recent conviction.

Imogen was totally uninured to the contemplation of hypocrisy, and

immediately yielded the most unreserved credit to these professions. Her

joy was extreme at the change in the dispositions of Roderic, and her

admiration of the irresistible charms of rectitude pious and profound.

The praises bestowed upon her seemed distinguishing and sincere, and she

drank them in with the most visible complacency. She expressed however

an ingenuous diffidence of her capacity for the task of an instructor,

and she intreated at any rate to be permitted to withdraw for a short

time to dry up the tears of her disconsolate parents.

These difficulties were too obvious to create any embarrassment to so

consummate a deceiver. He described the danger of that vicious mistrust

of our powers, that is the enemy of all generous and heroic action. He

reminded his captive how recent were his purposes, and how many

unforeseen incidents might be crowded into so eventful a moment. There

were goblins, he said, ever ready to seduce the wanderer from his wished

return; and he had been too much their prey not to have every thing to

dread from the subtlety of their machinations. On the other hand, no

character was suspended on the longer or shorter duration of the

uneasiness of the parents of Imogen; and the joyful surprise they would

ere long experience, might abundantly compensate for any temporary

anxiety and solicitude. He told her of the worship and reverence that

were due to the immortal Gods. Could she imagine that the scene that had

just passed was produced for the mere honour and gratification of a

virtuous character, than for the instruction of the ignorant, and the

restoration of the wandering? Shall she be thus honoured, and shall this

be her gratitude?

Though the web of the sophistry woven by her betrayer might seem

inextricable, though Imogen had no sentiments more predominant than the

love of virtue, and the fear of the Gods, yet her heart involuntarily

resisted his persuasions, and she felt the yearnings of affection still

active in her bosom towards those, to whom she owed her existence.

"And cannot you," cried the lovely maiden, "attend me in the short

absense I demand? That would prevent every danger, and supersede every

objection." "Ah, shepherdess," replied the magician, "this reluctance,

these studied expedients imply diffidence and disobedience. But

diffidence is much unworthy of the heart of Imogen. Your life has been

marked with one tenour of piety. Do not then begin to disobey. Do not

sully the unspotted whiteness of your character."

"This," rejoined Imogen, "is too much. This is mere savageness of

virtue. Why in the act of persuading me do you bestow upon me those

laboured commendations, which the very persuasions you employ are

intended to prove that I little deserve? Is it necessary, Roderic, that

your manners should be so strange and unaccountable, as to supply food

for eternal jealousy and suspicion? And what must be that conduct, that

inspires jealousy into a heart unguarded as mine? I talk of suspicion,

but I scarcely know the meaning of the term. And yet there is in your

carriage something precise, plausible and composed, that I have seldom

observed in any other man. Oh, shepherd! you know not what you do, when

you awake all these ideas in a maiden's breast, when you thus confound

things that heaven and earth put asunder."

"Ungenerous Imogen," replied the magician, "wherefore this? Do I claim

any thing more of you than rectitude demands, and your own bosom will

another day approve? Am I not your better genius to guard you against

the errors that might be prompted by too tender a heart? Beside, does

the conduct of beings of a higher order depend upon my nod? Can I

control the spheres, and call down celestial essences from their bright

abodes? And will they be rendered subservient to the purposes of

treachery and guilt?"

"Roderic here break we off our conference. Sure I am that your conduct

is not dictated by a regard for my ease or my welfare. How unworthy

then, as well as how unjust is the pretence? With respect to the

supernatural scenes I have beheld, the question is more difficult. Of

such I have heard from the mouth of the consecrated priests, but never

till this day did I see them. At present however my mind is too much

distracted, to be able to decide. I have already gone far enough; as far

as my heart will permit me. I must now retire.'

"One thing however I will add. From the resolutions you at first

professed, and the impressions you appeared to feel, I had conceived the

most sanguine hopes, and the sincerest pleasure. These are all now

vanished. I cannot account for this. But your conduct is now as

mysterious to my comprehension, as it was before disgusting to my

judgment. I am bewildered in a maze of uncertainty. I am lost in

unwelcome obscurity. May your resolutions and designs be better than my

hopes! But ah, Roderic, for how much have you to answer, how deep must

be your guilt, if all this be mummery, dissimulation, and hypocrisy!"

The magician perceived that it was in vain to urge the stratagem any

further, and he retired from the presence of the shepherdess in silence.

If he had been able to distract her ingenuous mind between contending

duties, he had not however succeeded in his principal object, that of

undermining her virtue, and lessening her attachment to her parents and

her lover. If Imogen were perplexed and confounded, Roderic was scarcely

more happy. He looked back upon the scene with mortification and

astonishment. It was difficult for him to determine where it had

digressed from the auspicious appearances it had at first exhibited, and

yet he found himself in the conclusion of it wide, very wide indeed, of

the success of which he had aimed.

"To what purpose," exclaimed he, with a voice of anguish and rage, "have

I inherited the most inexhaustible riches? To what purpose is the

command which I boast over the goblins of the abyss, if one weak,

simple, and uninstructed woman shall thus defy my arts? I call the hills

my own. I mount upon the turrets of my castle, and as far as my eye can

survey, the bending corn and the grazing herds belong to me. My palace

is adorned with all that can sooth the wearied frame, or gratify the

luxurious desire. Couches of purple, and services of gold, the most

exquisite viands, and the blandishments of enticing beauty, charms of

which the ruggedness of pastoral life has not so much as the idea, all

these are circled within my walls. Beyond all this, I command myriads of

spirits, invisible, and reputedly omnipotent. If I but stamp my foot, if

I but wave this wand, they fly swifter than the wings of thought to my

presence. One look of favour inspires them with tranquility and

exultation; one frown of displeasure terrifies them into despair. I

dispatch them far as the corners of the moon. At my bidding they engage

in the most toilsome enterprises, and undertake the labour of revolving

years. Oh impotence of power! oh mockery of state! what end can ye now

serve but to teach me to be miserable? Power, the hands of which are

chained and fettered in links of iron; state, which is bestowed only

like a paper crown to adorn the brows of a baby, are the most cruel

aggravations of disappointment, the most fearful insults upon the weak.

But shall I always obey the imperious mandate?"

"Yes, Roderic, thou shalt obey," exclaimed the inimical goblin, who at

this moment burst through a condensed cloud, that had arisen unperceived

in one corner of the apartment, and appeared before him. "In vain dost

thou struggle with the links of destiny. In vain dost thou exert thyself

to escape from the fillets that on every side surround thee. The greater

and the more obstinate are thy efforts, the more closely art thou bound,

and the more inextricably engaged. This is the situation in which I

wished to see thee. Every pang it wrings from thy heart, every

exclamation it forces from thy tongue, is solace to my thoughts, and

music to my ears. And wert thou vain and weak enough to imagine, that

riches would purchase thee every pleasure, that riches would furnish an

inexhaustible source of enjoyment? Of all mortal possessions they are

the most useless, mischievous, and baleful. The Gods, when the Gods are

willing to perfect a character of depravity, in order to make vice

consummately detestable, or to administer an exemplary punishment to

distinguished wickedness, bestow upon that man, as the last of curses,

and the most refined of tortures, extensive possessions and unbounded

riches. Indulge to the mistaken pride which these inspire, and wrap

thyself up in the littleness of thy heart.—But no, rise above them.

Suffer thy desires to wander into a larger and more dangerous field. Run

with open eyes into the mouth of that destruction that gapes to devour

thee! Why shouldst thou attend to the voice of destiny, to the immutable

laws of the Gods, and the curse that is suspended over thee? Be a man.

Bravely defy all that is most venerable, and all that is most

unchangeable. Oh how I long for thy ruin! How my heart pants for the

illustrious hour in which thy palaces shall be crumbled down to the dust

of the balance, thy riches scattered, and thyself become an unpitied,

necessitous, miserable vagabond! In the mean time, remember, that riches

like thine are not bestowed with u[n]reserving hand, that commerce is

not permitted with the shadows of darkness, without some trifling fall

to ill amid this immensity of uniform happiness. For this end I am

commissioned from time to time to appear before thee in the midst of thy

triumph, and to mingle with thy exultations the boding voice of

prophetic woe."

Roderic did not listen to these bitter sarcasms without exhibiting every

mark of fury and impatience. At length he commanded the spectre to

depart, with a voice so fierce and stern as to terrify him into

submission. For though the authority of the magician was not formidable

enough to make him desist from persecuting him, yet the penalties he had

frequently been able to inflict, inspired the goblin in spite of

himself, with the fear of so potent an adversary. Still choaked however

with agony and resentment, Roderic waved his wand, and summoned his

favourite instrument and the prime minister of his pleasures, the goblin

Medoro, to his presence. The moment he appeared the magician was

relieved from that violent gust of passion, which had held him

motionless, a statue of horror, and throwing himself upon his couch, he

burst into a flood of tears.

Medoro was the goblin that had appeared to Edwin in his return from the

feast of the bards, and had brewed the fatal storm that had preceded the

rape of Imogen. The figure of the spectre was uncouth, and his

countenance was full of savage and shapeless deformity. Nor did his

appearance bely his character. To all other beings, whether of the

terrestrial or the invisible world, his temper was hard, impracticable

and remorseless. To Rodogune alone, a similitude of minds, and a

congenial ferocity of heart had attached him; and the attachment had

descended to her son; though not equally destitute of every agreeable

and every plausible quality. He therefore beheld the affliction of

Roderic with sympathy and compassion.

"Wherefore," cried Medoro, modulating a voice, that nature had made up

of dissonance and horror, into the most gentle and soothing accent of

which it was capable, and hanging over his couch, "wherefore this

sorrow? What is it that has seemed to mar a happiness so enviable? Art

thou not possessed"—"Talk not to me of possessions," exclaimed Roderic,

with a tone of frenzy, and starting from his posture, "I give them to

the winds. I banish them from my thoughts for ever. Oh that the earth

would open and swallow them up! Oh that unburdened from them all, I were

free as the children of the vallies, and careless as the shepherd that

carols to the rising day. I had not then been thus entangled in

misfortune, thus every way closed in to remediless despair. I had not

then been a monument of impotence and misery for the world to gaze at.

Ye are all combined against me! Under a specious, smiling countenance

you all conceal a heart of gall. But your hypocrisy and your mummery

shall serve you to little purpose. Point me, this instant point me, to a

path for the gratification of my wishes, or dearly shall you rue the

shallowness of your invention and the treachery of your professions."

Medoro was astonished at the vehemence of the passion of Roderic,

unusual even in a youth who had never been refused demands the most

unreasonable, and who had been inured to see all the powers of nature

bend to his will. "Is this," cried he, "a return for services so

unwearied and sincere as mine? Foolish and ungrateful youth! Rut I will

point you to a remedy. Had you not been blinded with fury and

impatience, you would have seen that your situation was not yet

irremediable, by means the most obviously in your power. Did I not at

your birth bestow upon you a ring, that communicates to the wearer the

power of assuming what form he please? I gave it, in order to elude the

curse of the malignant goblin, to subdue the most obdurate female, and

to evade the most subtle adversary. The uses in which thou hast hitherto

employed it have been idle and capricious, governed by whim, and

dictated by the sallies of a sportive fancy. It is now first that an

opportunity is offered to turn it to those purposes for which it was

more immediately destined. Dost thou not now address an obdurate maid?

Is she not full of constancy and attachment for another? What avails it

then to a heart, simple and unvitiated as hers, to offer the bribe of

riches, and to lavish the incense of flattery and adulation. Attack her

in her love. Appear to her in the form of him to whom she is most

ardently attached. If Imogen is vulnerable, this is the quarter from

which she must be approached. Thus far Roderic thou mayest try thy

power; but if by this avenue thou canst not surprise her heart and

overpower her virtue, be then wise. Recollect thy courage, strengthen

thy resolution, and shake off for ever a capricious inclination, which

interrupts the tenour of a life that might otherwise wear the uniform

colour of happiness."

The information of a new measure for the furthering his darling pursuit,

was a communication of the most reviving kind to the heart of Roderic.

The gloom and petulance that had collected upon his countenance were

dissipated in a moment. His cheek caught anew the flush of expectation;

his eye sparkled anew with the insolence of victory. His gratitude to

the propitious Medoro was now as immoderate as his displeasure had

lately been unreasonable. He walked along the apartments with the stride

of exultation and triumph. He forgot the pathetic exclamations he had

lately uttered upon the impotence of power, and he was full of

congratulation in the possession of that which he had treated with

contempt. The moral lessons which it was his destiny to have from time

to time poured into an unwilling ear were erased for ever. He exclaimed

upon his own stupidity and want of invention, and he remembered not that

vehemence of passion, which had distracted his understanding, and drawn

a cloud over all his ideas. It was not instantly that he could assume a

sufficient degree of collectedness and composure to put into execution

the scheme with which he was so highly delighted. Presently however the

ebriety of unexpected hope dissipated, and he prepared for that scene

which was to be regarded as the summit of his power, and the irrevocable

crisis of his fate.

BOOK THE FIFTH

THE GARDEN OF RODOGUNE DESCRIBED.—THE HOPES AND DANGER OF IMOGEN.—HER

INCONSOLABLE DISTRESS.

Imogen, immediately after the interview that had so deeply perplexed

her, returning to her apartment, had shut herself up in solitude. Her

reflections were gloomy and unpleasing; the new obscurity that hung

about them had not contributed to lighten their pressure. But though she

was melancholy, her melancholy was of a different hue from that of her

ravisher. If virtue can ever be deprived of those glorious distinctions

that exclusively belong to her, it must be when she is precluded from

the illuminations of duty, and is no longer able to discern the path in

which she ought to tread. But even here, where distinction seems most

annihilated, it yet remains. The cruel sensations of Imogen were not

aggravated by despair, but heightened by hope. Through them all she was

sustained by the consciousness of her rectitude. The chearfulness of

innocence supported her under every calamity.

She had not long remained alone before she was summoned to partake of

that plainer repast, which in the economy of Roderic usually occupied

the middle of the day, and preceded the sumptuous and splendid

entertainment of the evening, by which the soul was instigated to

prolong the indulgence of the table, and to throw the reins upon the

neck of enjoyment. But Imogen, whose thoughts were dark, and whose mind

brooded over a thousand sad ideas, was desirous of that solitude, which

in the simplicity of pastoral life is ever at hand. She could not away

with the freedom of society, and the levity of mirth. It was painful to

her to have any witnesses of her new sensations, and she wished to

remove herself for ever from the inspection of the officious and the

inquisitive. In compliance with her humour a few viands were served to

her in her own apartment. She was induced by the entreaties of her

attendant, to call up a momentary smile upon her countenance, and to

endeavour to partake of the refreshment that was offered her. But the

effort was vain. It was the sunshine of an April day; her repast in

spite of her was bedewed with tears, and she ate the bread of sorrow.

As soon as it was concluded, she was invited to a short excursion in the

garden of the mansion. Unused to refusal, the natural mildness of her

temper inclined to comply. She saw the necessity of not yielding herself

up to passive and unresisting melancholy. The natural serenity of

innocence did not yet permit her to be insensible to the attractions of

enjoyment; and the transient view she had had of the garden, as she

passed to the terrace, led her to expect from it, something that might

sooth her pensive thoughts, and something that might divert her

affliction.

The garden of Rodogune was an inclosure in a bottom glade, at the

entrance of which, though nigh to the castle, and upon a lower ground,

you wholly lost sight of the mansion, and every external object. But

though these were excluded, the sorceress by her art had also excluded

the appearance of limits and boundaries. The scene was not terminated by

walls and espaliers, but by the entrance on either side of a wild,

meandring wood. The side by which you were introduced was protected by

trees of the thickest foliage; and the gate was masqued with a clump of

hazels and alders, which permitted only two narrow passages on either

side. The eye was shut in, but the imagination was permitted to range in

perfect freedom. Nor was this seeming confinement calculated to disgust;

on the contrary you willingly believed that every charm and every grace

was shut up in the circle, and you trembled lest the smallest outlet

should take off from the richness of the scene. In entering you were

struck with a sensation of coolness, that impervious shades, a bright

and animated verdure, flowers scattered here and there in agreeable

disorder, the prattling of the stream, and the song of a thousand birds,

impressed as strongly upon the imagination, as the senses. But this did

not appear the result of art. Every thing had the face of uncultivated

luxuriance, and impenetrable solitude. You could not believe that you

were not the first mortal that had ever found his way into the

enchanting desert.

The scene however had been solely produced by the skill of Rodogune.

Erewhile the grass had appeared dry and parched; a few solitary and

leafless trees had been scattered up and down; there was no gaiety of

colours to relieve the eye; and not one drop of water to give freshness

to the prospect. But with the operations of magic Rodogune had delighted

to supersede the parsimony of nature. She caused the tree and the shrub

to spring forth in the richest abundance; the sturdiness of whose

trunks, or the deepness of their verdure, cheated the eye with the

semblance of the ripening hand of time. She sprinkled the turf, short,

fine, and vivid, with flowers both native and exotic. She called forth a

thousand fountains to enrich the scene. Sometimes they crept beneath the

turf in almost imperceptible threads; sometimes they ran beside the

alleys, or crossed them in sportive wantonness; and sometimes you might

see them in broader and more limpid currents rolling over a smooth and

spotted bed. Now they rose from the soil in foamy violence, and fell

upon the chalk and pebbly ground beneath; and anon they formed

themselves into the deeper bason [sic], whose calm and even surface

reflected back the reeds and shrubs that were planted round. There was

nothing strait and nothing level; the rule and the line had never

entered the delicious spot; the irregularities of the soil, and the

fantastic, gradual windings of the alleys, were calculated to give

length to the passage, and immensity to the scene.

From time to time you encountered tufts of trees closely planted, and

that cast as brown a shade as the thickest forest. These were partly

composed of wood of the most pliant texture, the extremities of whose

branches, bending to the earth, took root a second time in her bosom.

Elsewhere the rasberry [sic], the rose, the lilac, and a thousand

flowering shrubs, appeared in thickets without either regularity or

symmetry, and contributed at once to adorn, and to give an air of

rudeness and wildness to the prospect. Round the body of the trees,

planted some at their root, and some upon the different parts of the

trunk, crept the withy, the snakeweed, the ivy, and the hop, and

intermingled with them the jessamine and the honeysuckle, in the most

unbounded profusion. Their tendrils hung from the branches, and waved to

the wind; and suggested to you the appearance of garlands scattered from

tree to tree by the nymphs of the grove. All was inexpressible

luxuriance, and a thousand different shades of verdure were placed, one

upon another, in regular confusion, and attractive disorder. An

exuberance of this sort was calculated in a vulgar scene to have checked

the fertility of the plants, and to have given a sickly and withered

appearance to their productions; but it was not so in the garden of

Rodogune. There the cherry and the grape, the downy peach and the purple

plum were half discovered amid the foliage of the hop, and the clusters

of the woodbine. Beneath the delicious shade you wandered over beds of

moss, undeformed with barren sands and intrusive weeds, and smooth as

the level face of ocean when all the winds of heaven sleep.

Nor was this all. Inanimate and vegetable nature (and the observation

had not escaped the penetration of Rodogune) adorn and arrange it as you

will, infallibly suggests an idea of solitude, that communicates sadness

to the mind. Accordingly your path was here beguiled with the warbling

of a thousand birds, the full-toned blackbird, the mellow thrush, and

the pensive nightingale. The sorceress had invited them to her retreat,

by innumerable assiduities and innumerable conveniences of food and

residence, and had suffered no rude intrusion to disturb the sacredness

of their haunts. Unused to molestation in all their pursuits, they now

showed no terror of human approach, but flew, and hopped, and sung, and

played among the branches and along the ground, in thoughtless security

and wanton defiance.

For a few moments Imogen was immersed in the contemplation of the

beauties of the place, and its delightful coolness and mingled fragrance

were balm and softness to her wounded soul. The domestic who accompanied

her, perceived her propensity to reflection and fell back to a small

distance. The shepherdess, as soon as she found herself disengaged and

alone, revolved with the utmost displeasure her present situation. "How

happy," cried she, "are the virgins of the vale! To them every hour is

winged with tranquility and pleasure. They laugh at sorrow; they trill

the wild, unfettered lay, or wander, chearful and happy, with the

faithful swain beneath the woodland shade. They fear no coming mischief;

they know not the very meaning of an enemy. Innocent themselves, they

apprehend not guilt and treachery in those around them. Nor have they

reason. Simplicity and frankness are the unvaried character of the

natives of the plain. Liberty, immortal, unvalued liberty, is the

daughter of the mountains. We suspected not that deceit, insidiousness,

and slavery were to be found beneath the sun. Ah, why was I selected

from the rest to learn the fatal lesson! Unwished, unfortunate

distinction! Was I, who am simple and undisguised as the light of day,

who know not how to conceal one sentiment of my heart, or arm myself

with the shield of vigilance and incredulity, was I fitted by nature for

a scene like this? In the mean time have not the Gods encouraged me by

the most splendid appearance, and the most animating praises? I would

not impeach their venerable counsels. But was this a time for applauses

so seducing? How greatly have they perplexed, and how deeply distressed

me! In what manner, alas! are they to be obeyed, and what am I to think

of the professions of my ravisher? But, no; I dare not permit my purpose

to be thus suspended. My danger here is too imminent. The deliverance of

my own honour and the felicity of my parents are motives too sacred, not

to annihilate every ambiguity and every doubt. Oh, that I could escape

at once! Oh, that like the tender bird, that hops before me in my path,

I could flit away along the trackless air! Why should the little birds

that carol among the trees be the only beings in the domains of Roderic,

that know the sweets of liberty? But it will not be. Still, still I am

under the eye and guardianship of heaven. Wise are the ways of heaven,

and I submit myself with reverence. Only do ye, propitious Gods,

support, sustain, deliver me! Never was frail and trembling mortal less

prepared to encounter with machination, and to brave unheard of dangers.

How fearful are those I have already encountered; and how much have I to

apprehend from what may yet remain! But if I am weak, the omnipotent

support to which I look is strong. I will not give way to impious

despondence. It has delivered, and it may yet deliver me."

By such virtuous and ingenuous reflections the shepherdess endeavoured

to solace her distress, and to fortify her courage. Now by revolving her

dangers she sought to prepare for their encounter; and now she dismissed

the recollection as too depressing and too melancholy. The confinedness

of the prospect, though rich infinitely beyond any thing she had yet

seen, and though not naturally calculated to fatigue and disgust, was

destructive of all its beauty in the eyes of Imogen. It presented to her

too just an image of the thraldom, which was the subject of all her

complaints. She desired to fling her eye through a wider prospect; and

though unable even from the loftiest ground to discover the happy

valley, she coveted the slender gratification of beholding the utmost

boundaries of the magic circle, and extending her view as near as

possible to her beloved home. She therefore advanced farther in the

garden, and presently arrived at a clear and open brow, where a

beautiful alcove was erected to catch the point of view, from which the

surrounding objects appeared in the greatest variety, and with the

happiest effect. She entered; and the domestic that attended her

remained in a distant part of the garden.

Scarcely had Imogen seated herself, before she discovered, by a casual

glance over the prospect, and at some distance, a youth, who seemed to

advance with hasty steps towards the castle. At first she was tempted to

turn away her eye with carelessness and inattention. There was however

something in his figure, that led her, by a kind of fascination for

which she could not account, to cast upon him a second glance and a

third. He drew nearer. He leaped with an active bound over the fence

that separated him from the garden. It was the form of Edwin. His hair

hung carelessly about his shoulders. His shepherd's pipe was slung in

his belt. His clear and manly cheeks glowed with the warmth of the day,

and the anxiety of love. He entered the alcove.

Had a ghost risen before Imogen, surrounded with all the horrors of the

abyss, she could not have been struck with greater astonishment. As he

advanced, she gazed in silence. She could not utter a word. Her very

breath seemed suppressed. At length he entered, and for a moment she had

voice enough to utter her surprise. "Gracious powers!" exclaimed she—"is

it possible?—what is it that I see?—Edwin, beloved Edwin!"—and she sunk

breathless upon her seat. The fictitious shepherd approached her, folded

her in his arms, and with repeated, burning kisses, which he had never

before ventured to ravish from his disdainful captive, restored her to

life and perception. The confusion of Imogen did not allow her to

animadvert upon his freedoms. She had the utmost confidence in the

person whose form he wore, and the guileless simplicity of pastoral life

is accustomed to permit many undesigning liberties, and is slow to take

the alarm, or to suspect a sinister purpose.

Roderic, anxious and timid respecting the success of his adventure, was

backward to enter into conversation. Imogen, on the other hand, charmed

with so unexpected an appearance, and presaging from it the most

auspicious consequences, full of her situation and sufferings, and

having a thousand things that pressed at once to be told, was eager and

impatient to communicate them to her faithful shepherd. She was also

desirous of learning by what undiscoverable means, by what happy

fortune, he had been conducted to this impervious retreat, and at so

critical a juncture. "Edwin,—my gallant Edwin,—how came you hither?—Sure

it was some propitious power,—some unseen angel,—that conducted you.—Oh,

my friend,—I have been miserable,—perplexed—tortured—but it is now no

more—I will not think of it—Thanks to the immortal Gods, I have no

occasion—no room—but for gratitude.—Edwin—what have you done—and how did

you escape the tempest?—Was it not a fearful storm?—But I ask you a

thousand questions—and you do not answer me.—You seem

abashed—uncertain—what is the meaning of this?—Did you not come to

succour my distress?—Was it not pity for your poor—forlorn—desolate

Imogen—that directed your steps?"

"Yes, loveliest of thy sex," replied her betrayer. "I flew upon the

wings of love. I was brought along by a celestial, impulsive guidance,

which I followed I knew not why. Oh how gracious the condescension, how

happy the obedience, how grateful the interview! Yes, Imogen, I was in

despair. I was terrified at the concurring prodigies by which we were

separated, and I feared never, never to behold that beauteous form

again. Come then and let me clasp thee to my bosom. Oh, thou art sweeter

than the incense-breathing rose, and brighter than the lily of the

vale!"

For a moment, the affectionate and unsuspicious shepherdess received his

caresses with complacence and pleasure. Suddenly however she recollected

herself; instinctively and without reflection she repulsed the undue

warmth of his attentions. "This," cried she, "is no time for fond

indulgence, and careless dalliance—Fate is on the wing.—Our situation is

arduous—and we are in the midst of enemies.—Every thing that surrounds

us is full of danger—all is deceit and treachery—appearances are

insidious—all is frightful suspense and headlong precipice.—The plotter

of my ruin is as potent as he is—Ah! every hour is big with calamity and

destruction—every moment that we stay here is in the last degree

hazardous and decisive.—My keepers may be alarmed—Those eyes that never

close may be summoned to attention—we may be hemmed in—prevented—Oh,

Edwin, how fearful is this place—and how unhoped—how joyful to me—must

be an escape.—I thought this hated seat had been impervious and

impassable—Hark!—Did you not hear the sound of feet?—No—every thing is

still—Let us go this way—Say, by what path did you come—Let us hasten

our flight—let us make no delay—not look behind."

"Yes, Imogen," replied Roderic, detaining her, "we will escape—But this,

my lovely maiden, is not the time—I am not yet prepared—We may remain

here in security—already the shades of evening begin to draw. Every

thing is now busy and active. We cannot pass from hence without

observation. In the silence of the night the attempt will be more

practicable. And you, Imogen, are a heroine. The Gods will watch over

us. Silence and darkness have nothing in them at which innocence should

be terrified. Till then let us reconcile ourselves to our situation. Let

us endeavour, by secrecy and stilness, not to attract to us the

attention of the enemies with which we are surrounded. Let us banish

from them curiosity and suspicion. And let us trust in the Gods,

propitious to rectitude, that they will look down with favour upon a

design prompted by virtue and urged by oppression."

"Alas, Edwin," replied the shepherdess "it is with regret that I consent

to remain one moment longer in this fatal spot. But I will submit to

your direction, I will confide in your prudence; I will trust in your

fidelity, and your zeal, for the deliverance I so ardently desire. Here

however we cannot long remain undiscovered.—My absence will be

suspicious.—I will return once again to the hated mansion.—You, my

swain, must conceal yourself in the mazes of this friendly wilderness.

It shall not be long ere I come to you again.—With motives like mine to

inspire ingenuity, I shall easily find a way to elude the strictest

guard, and escape from the closest thraldom.—Say, my Edwin!—this

stratagem shall suffice,—and you shall lead me in safety under the

friendly cover of the night to liberty and innocence!"

"Yes," exclaimed Roderic, suddenly recollecting himself, "you may be

assured that by me nothing shall be omitted, that can further your

escape from this detested prison. The perils I have already incurred may

well convince you of this. It has been through the most fearful dangers,

ready every moment to be overwhelmed with omnipotent mischief, that I

have reached you. I have approached by the most devious and undiscovered

paths. Though the greatest hazards are to be encountered in the cause of

innocence and honour, the conduct we should pursue is therefore

ambiguous, and our success involved in uncertainty and darkness. Oh

Imogen, I may now behold thee for the last time. The moment we sally

from this retreat, I may be discovered by that enemy from whom we have

so much to fear. I may be confined to all the wantonness of inventive

torture, and that beauteous form, and the smiles of that bewitching

countenance may be torn from these longing eyes for ever. But here, my

shepherdess, we are safe. We may here secure ourselves from sudden

intrusion, and a thousand means of concealment are here in our power.

This Imogen is the moment of our ascendancy, this little period is all

our own. In a short time the precious hours will be elapsed, the

invaluable instants will be run out. Oh, my love, fairest, most angelic

of thy sex, while they are yet ours, let us improve them."—He ceased;

and his countenance glistened with the anticipations of enjoyment, and

his eyes emitted the sparkles of lust.

But the imagination of Imogen was not sullied with the impressions of

indecency, and the baseness of looser desires. She understood not the

innuendos of Roderic, and she remarked not with an eager and inquisitive

eye the distraction of his visage. She replied therefore only to the

more obvious tendency of what he said. "And is this, Edwin, all the

consolation you bring me? Ah how poor, how heartless, and how cold! If

we accomplish not that flight upon which my hopes and wishes are

suspended, what utility and what pleasure can we derive from this

interview? It will then only be a bitter aggravation of all my trials,

and all my miseries. If a prospect so unexpected and desirable terminate

in no advantage, for what purpose was it opened before me? It will but

render my sensations more poignant, and give a new refinement to the

exquisiteness of despair.

"But no, my Edwin, let us not give way to despondence. The Gods, my

generous swain, the same Gods that give luxuriance and felicity to the

plain, and that have guided you through every hazard to this impervious

spot, will assuredly deliver us. Remember the lessons of the

heaven-taught Druids. There is an innate dignity and omnipotence in

virtue. She may be surrounded with variety of woes, but none of them

shall approach her. The darts of calamity may assail her on every side,

but she is invulnerable to them all. Before her majesty, the fierceness

of all the tenants of the wood is disarmed, and the more untamed

brutality of savage man is awed into mute obedience. She may not indeed

put on the insolence of pride, and the fool-hardiness of presumption.

But wherever her duty calls, she may proceed fearless and unhurt. She

may be attacked, but she cannot be wounded: she may be surprised, but

she cannot be enslaved: she may be obscured for a moment, but it shall

only be to burst forth again more illustrious than ever.

"But you, Edwin, are much better acquainted with these things, and more

able to instruct than I. They were ever the favourite subject of your

attention. I have seen you with rooted eye fixed for hours in listening

admiration of the sublime dictates of the hoary Llewelyn.—It is little

to learn, to understand, and to admire. A barren and ineffectual

enthusiasm for the speculations of truth, was never respectable and was

never venerable. Now, my swain, is the moment in which these sacred

lessons are to be called into action, and in which, beyond all others,

reputation is to be asserted and character fixed. Leave not then to me

the business of inciting and animating you. Be you my leader and

protector."

"Alas, my charming mistress," replied her admirer, "I would to God it

were in my power to inspire you with hope and fill you with courage. I

confess that while peril was at a distance, and I sat secure in the

tranquil vale, I received without distinction the doctrines of the

Druids, and bowed assent to their sacred lessons. But practice, my

Imogen, and the scenes of danger differ beyond conception from the ideas

we form of them in the calmness of repose. Something must be allowed to

the unruffled solitude of these sacred men, and something to the sublime

of poetry. Surely it is no part of comprehensive prudence to banish the

idea of those hazards that must be encountered, and to refuse to survey

the snares and the difficulties with which our path is surrounded.

Remember, my fair one, the malignant suspiciousness of your jailer, and

the comfortless darkness of the night."—

"Oh Edwin, and is this the strain in which you were wont to talk? Why

are you thus altered, and what means this inauspicious quick-sightedness

and alarm? We should indeed survey and prepare for danger, but we should

never suffer it to overwhelm us. The cause of integrity should never be

despaired of. What avails the suspicions of my keeper? The ever wakeful

eye of heaven can make them slumber. Why should we reck the gloom and

loneliness of the night? Virtue is the ever-burning lamp of the sacred

groves. No darkness can cast a shadow on her beams. Though the sun and

moon were hurled below the bosom of the circling ocean, virtue could see

to perform her purposes, and execute her great designs. Alas, my swain,

my voice is weak, and broken, and powerless. But willingly would I

breathe a soul to animate your timidity. Oh Edwin," and she folded him

in her alabaster arms to her heaving, anxious bosom, "let me not exhort

you in vain! It is but for a little while, it is but for one short

effort, and if the powers above smile propitious on our purpose, we are

happy for ever! Think how great and beautiful is our adventure.

Comfortless and desponding as I am now, ready to sink without life and

animation at your feet, I may be in a few hours happier than ever.—Oh

Edwin, lead on!—Can you hesitate?—Would it were in my power to reward

the virtue I would excite as it deserves to be rewarded. But the Gods

will reward you, Edwin."—

As she uttered these words, her action was unspeakably graceful, her

countenance was full of persuasion, and her voice was soft, and

eloquent, and fascinating. Roderic gazed upon her with insatiate

curiosity, and drank her accents with a greedy ear. For a moment,

charmed with the loftiness of her discourse and the heroism of her soul,

he was half persuaded to relent, and abjure his diabolical purpose. It

was only by summoning up all the fierceness of his temper, all the

impatience of his passions, and all the mistaken haughtiness and

inflexibility of his purpose, that he could resist the artless

enchantment. During the internal struggle, his countenance by no means

answered to the simplicity of pastoral sentiments. It was now fierce,

and now unprotected and despairing. Anon it was pale with envy, and anon

it was flushed with the triumph of brutal passion. Transitions like

these could not pass unobserved. Imogen beheld them with anxiety and

astonishment, but suspicion was too foreign in her breast, to be thus

excited.

"Imogen," cried the traitor, "it is in your power to reward the noblest

acts of heroism that human courage can perform. Who in the midst of all

the exultation and applause that triumphant rectitude can inspire, could

look to a nobler prize than the condescension of your smiles and the

heaven of your embraces? No, too amiable shepherdess, it is not for

myself I fear; witness every action of my life; witness all those

dangers that I have this moment unhesitatingly encountered, that I might

fly to your arms. But, oh, when your safety is brought to hazard, I feel

that I am indeed a coward. Think, my fair one, of the dangers that

surround us. Let us calmly revolve, before we immediately meet them. No

sooner shall we set our foot beyond this threshold, than they will

commence. Tyranny is ever full of apprehensions and environed with

guards. Along the gallery, and through the protracted hall, centinels

are placed with every setting sun. Could you escape their observations,

an hundred bolts, and an hundred massive chains secure the hinges of the

impious mansion. Beyond it all will be dark, and the solitude inviolate.

But suppose we meet again,—by what path to cross the wide extended

glade, and to reach the only avenue that can lead us safely through this

horrid cincture, will then be undiscoverable. Amid the untamed forest

and untrod precipices that lie beyond, all the beasts most inimical to

man reside. There the hills re-echo the tremendous roarings of the boar;

the serpents hiss among the thickets; and the gaunt and hungry wolf

roams for prey. Oh, Imogen, how fearful is the picture! And can your

tender frame, and your timid spirits support the reality?"

Imogen had now preserved the character of heroism and fortitude for a

considerable time. All the energies of her soul had been exerted to

encounter the trials and surmount the difficulties which she felt to be

unavoidable. When the beloved form of Edwin had appeared before her, she

relaxed in some degree from the caution and vigilance she had hitherto

preserved. It is the very nature of joyful surprize to unbend as it were

the strings of the mind, and to throw wide the doors of unguarded

confidence. Before, she had felt herself alone; she saw no resource but

in her own virtue, and could lean upon no pillar but her own resolution.

Now she had trusted to meet with an external support; she had poured out

her heart into the bosom of him in whom she confided, and she looked to

him for prudence, for suggestion and courage. But, instead of support,

she had found debility, and instead of assistance the resources of her

own mind were dried up, and her native fortitude was overwhelmed and

depressed. She turned pale at the recital of Roderic, her knees

trembled, her eyes forgot their wonted lustre, and she was immersed in

the supineness and imbecility of despair.

"Edwin!"—she cried, with a tone of perturbation; but her utterance

failed her. Her voice was low, hoarse, and inaudible. The fictitious

shepherd supported her in his arms. Her distress was a new gratification

and stimulus to her betrayer. "Edwin, ah, wherefore this fearful

recital? Did you come here for no other purpose than to sink me ten

times deeper in despair? Alas, I had conceived far other expectations,

and far other hopes fluttered in my anxious bosom, when I first beheld

your well known form. I said I have been hitherto constant and

determined, though unsupported and melancholy. I shall now be

triumphant. I shall experience that heaven-descended favour, which ever

attends the upright. Edwin, my firm, heroic Edwin, will perform what I

wished, and finish what I began. And, oh, generous and amiable shepherd,

is it thus that my presages are fulfilled? No, I cannot, will not bear

it. If the courage of Edwin fail, I will show him what he ought to be.

If you dare not lead, think whether you dare follow whither I guide. You

shall see what an injured and oppressed woman can do. Feeble and tender

as we are formed by nature, you shall see that we are capable of some

fortitude and some exertion." As she said this she had risen, and was

advancing towards the door. But recollecting herself with a sudden pang,

"Alas," cried she, "whither do I go?—What am I doing?—What shall I

do?—Oh, Edwin!" and, falling at his feet, she embraced his knees, "do

not, do no [sic] not desert me in this sad, tremendous moment!"

"I will not, my Imogen, I will never desert you. One fate shall attend

us both. And if you are called to calamity, to torture, and to death,

Edwin will not be supine and inactive." "Oh, now," cried she, her eyes

moistened with rapture, "I recognize my noble and gallant swain. Come

then, and let us fly. If we must encounter peril and disaster, what

avails it to suspend the trial for a few niggard hours? This, my friend,

my guardian,—this is the time—Now the master dragon sleeps—Roderic is

now unconscious and distant—and I fear him too much to apprehend any

thing from a meaner adversary—Let us fly—let us escape—let our speed

outstrip the rapid winds!"

During their conversation, the heavens had been covered with clouds, and

the rain descended with violence. But the change had not been noticed by

Imogen. "Well then, my fair one, we will depart. What though the wind

whistles along the heath, and the rain patters among the elms? We will

defy their fury. Let us go! But, ah, my Imogen, look there! The hinds

are flying across the plain for shelter; and see! two of them approach

to the clump of trees directly before us on the outside of the garden.

No, shepherdess, it is in vain that we resolve, and in vain that we

struggle: we cannot escape."

The mind of Imogen was now wrought up to the extremest distress. Her

heart was wrung with anguish. She was ready to charge the immortals with

conspiring against her, had not her piety forbad it. She saw the reality

of what Roderic stated, and yet she was ready to charge him with raising

eternal obstacles. She cast upon him a look of despair and agony. But

she did not read in the countenance of the imaginary shepherd congenial

sentiments. "Methinks," said she, with a voice full of reproachful

blandishment, and inimitable sweetness, "methinks it is not with the

tenderness of sympathy, that you tell me we must desist. Sure it is only

the mist of tears through which I behold you, that makes me see the

suppressed emotion of pleasure in your countenance. No, it is not in the

heart of Edwin to harbour for a moment the sentiments of barbarity and

insult—But if we cannot now escape—if the dangers to which we must

submit may be diminished by delay—indeed, Edwin, something must be

attempted—at least let us now fix upon a plan, and determine what to do.

Let not delay relax the spirit of enterprise, or shake the firmness of

our purpose."

"And what plan," cried the pretended shepherd, "can we form? I have

already trod the intricate and dangerous road, and there is nothing

better for us than to tread my footsteps back again. The day is

particularly unfavourable, as it is accompanied with activity and

business. We must therefore wait for the night. Then we must watch our

opportunities, and embrace the favourable interval. Imogen, I feel not

for myself. I do not throw away a thought upon my own safety, and I am

ready to submit to every evil for your service and your defence. But

yet, my gentle, noble-minded shepherdess, I cannot promise any very

flattering probability of success. Indeed my hopes are not sanguine. The

difficulties that are before us appear to me insurmountable. One

mountain peeps through the breaches of another, and they are like a wall

built by the hand of nature, and reaching to the skies. Penmaenmawr is

heaped upon Snowdon, and Plinlimmon nods upon the summit of Penmaenmawr.

It is only by the intervention of a miracle that we can ever revisit the

dear, lamented fields of Clwyd. Let us then, my Imogen, compose

ourselves to the sedateness of despair. Let us surrender the success of

our future efforts to fate. And let us endeavor to solace the short and

only certain interval that we yet can call our own, by the recollection

of our virtuous loves."

"Alas," cried Imogen, "I understand not in what the sedateness of

despair consists. In the prospect of every horrid mischief, mischief

that threatens not merely my personal happiness or mortal existence, but

which bears a malignant aspect upon the dignity of honour and the peace

of integrity, I cannot calmly recollect our virtuous loves, or derive

from that recollection sedateness and composure. Edwin, your language is

dissonant, and the thoughts you seek to inspire, jarring and

incompatible. If you must tell me to despair, at least point me to some

nobler source of consolation, than the coldness of memory; at least let

us prepare for the fate that awaits us in a manner decent, manly, and

heroic."

"Yes, too amiable shepherdess, if I were worthy to advise, I would

recommend a more generous source of consolation, and teach you to

prepare for futurity in a manner worthy of the simplicity of your heart;

and worthy of that disinterested affection we have ever borne to each

other. Think of those sacred ties that have united us. Think of the soft

and gentle commerce of mutual glances; the chaste and innocent

communication with which we have so often beguiled the noontide hour;

the intercourse of pleasures, of sentiments, of feelings that we have

held; the mingling of the soul. Did not heaven design us for each other?

Is not, by a long probation of simplicity and innocence, the possession

of each other become a mutual purchase? An impious and arbitrary tyrant

has torn us asunder. But do the Gods smile upon his hated purpose? Does

he not rather act in opposition to their decrees, and in defiance of

their authority?"

The magician paused. "Alas," replied the shepherdess, "what is it you

mean? Whither would you lead me? I understand you not. These indeed were

motives for fortitude and exertion, but what consolation can they impart

to the desponding heart?" "I will tell you," replied her seducer,

folding her slender waist with one of his arms as he spoke. "Since the

Gods are on our side, since heaven and earth approve our honest

attachment, let us sit here and laugh at the tyrant. While he doubles

his guards, and employs all his vigilance, let us mock his impotent

efforts."

"Ah," replied the shepherdess, her eye moistened with despair, and

beaming with unapprehensiveness, "how strange and impracticable an

advice do you suggest! Full of terror, full of despair, you bid me laugh

at fear. Threatened by a tyrant whose power is irresistible, and whose

arts you yourself assure me are not to be evaded, you would have me mock

at those arts, and this dreaded power. Is not his power triumphant? Is

not all his vigilance crowned with a fatal success? Are we not his

miserable, trembling, death-expecting victims? Can we leave this

apartment, can we almost move our hand, or utter our voice, for

solicitude and terror? Oh Edwin, in what mould must that heart have been

cast, what must be its hard and unsusceptible texture, that can laugh at

sorrow, and be full of the sensations of joy, though surrounded with all

the engines of wretchedness?"

"Imogen, your fears are too great, your anxieties exaggerate the

indigence of our condition. Though we are prisoners, yet even the

misfortunes of a prison have their compensations. The activity of the

immaterial mind, will not indeed submit long without reluctance to

confinement and restraint. But we have not yet experienced lassitude and

disgust." "Alas, Edwin, how strange and foreign are thoughts like these!

Whither do they tend? What would you infer from them?"

"This my love I would infer. That within one little cincture we are yet

absolute. No prying eye can penetrate here. Of our words, of our

actions, during a few remaining hours, we can dispose without controul."

"Ah," exclaimed the shepherdess, struck with a sudden suspicion of the

treacherous purpose, and starting from her betrayer, "ah, Edwin, yet,

yet explain yourself! A thousand horrid thoughts—a thousand dire and

shapeless phantoms—But Edwin,—sure—is plain, and artless, and

innocent.—What boots it that we can dispose of our words and actions

within this cincture?—Will that enable us to escape?—No, no, no,

no.—Escape you say is hopeless—What is it you mean?—Say—explain

yourself—Oh, Edwin!"—

"Be not alarmed," cried the remorseless villain. "Listen, yet listen

with calmness to the suggestions of my deliberate mind. Imogen, you are

too beautiful—I have beheld you too long—I have admired you with too

fierce an ardour. The Gods—the Gods have joined us. It is guilt and

malignity alone that oppose their purpose.—Let us beat them down—trample

them under our feet—employ worthily the moment that yet remains."—

As the magician pronounced these words, he advanced towards his captive,

and endeavoured to seize her in his arms. But she thrust him from her

with the warmest indignation; and contemplating him with an eye of

infinite disdain, "Base unworthy swain!"—she cried—"Insidious

traitor!—abhorred destroyer!—And is it thus that you would approach

me?—Is it thus that you would creep into the weakness of my heart?—But

fly—I know you not—One mark of compassion I will yet exhibit, which you

little deserve—Fly—I will not deliver you into the hands of your rival,

whom yet my soul does not so much loath and abhor—Fly—Live to be pointed

at as an example of degeneracy—Live to blush for and repent of that

crime, which, Edwin!—cannot be expiated."

Roderic had advanced too far to be thus deterred. He did not wish to

manage the character under which he appeared. His passions by this

interview, more private, and in which his captive had beheld him with an

eye of greater complacency than ever, were inflamed to the extremest

degree. The charms of Imogen had been in turn heightened with joy, and

mellowed with distress. Even the conscious dignity, and haughty air she

now assumed, gave new attractions to her form, and new grace to her

manner. Her muscles trembled with horror and disdain. Her eloquent blood

wrought distinctly in her veins, and spoke in a tone, not more dignified

than enchanting. Her whole figure had a life, an expression, a

loveliness, that it is impossible to conceive.

Roderic rushed forward unappalled, and unsubdued. He had already seized

his unwilling victim. In vain she resisted his violence; in vain she

strove to escape from her betrayer. "For pity's sake—for mercy's

sake—for the sake of all our past endearments—spare me!—relent—and spare

me—spare me!—" For a time she struggled; but her tender frame was soon

overcome by the strength of her destroyer. She became cold and

insensible in his arms.

At this moment a flood of splendid lightning filled the apartment. The

air was rent with the hoarse and deafening roar of the thunder, the door

flew open, and the form of that spectre that he most abhorred stood

before Roderic. "Go on," cried the phantom, "complete thy heroic

purpose. Scorn the tremendous sounds that now appal thee. They are but

the prelude of that scene that shall shortly feast my eyes. Perceivest

thou not the earth to tremble beneath thy feet? Hearest thou not the

walls of thy hated mansion cracking to their ruin? Confusion is at hand.

Chaos is come again. Go on then, Roderic. Complete thy heroic purpose."

The spectre vanished, and all was uninterrupted silence.

The whole mind of Roderic was transformed from what it was. For the

impotence of lust, and the cruelty of inexorable triumph, he felt the

terrors of annihilation, and all the cold, damp tremblings of despair.

But the victory of innocence was not yet complete.

Imogen had sunk for a moment under the horrors that threatened her, but

she had not been so far impercipient as not to hear the murmuring of the

thunder, and to see the gleam of the lightning. The form however that

terrified Roderic, and the voice that addressed him, were perceived by

him alone.

The shepherdess opened her eyes, and beheld the degenerate ravisher

pale, aghast, and trembling. "It is well, Edwin. The Gods have declared

themselves. The Gods have suspended their thunder over the head of the

apostate. Rut, oh Edwin, could I have imagined it! Desolate and

oppressed as I have been, could I have supposed, that that form was

destined to fill up the measure of my woes! I once beheld it as the

harbinger of happiness, as the temple of integrity and innocence. Oh,

how wretched you have made me! How you have shaken all my most rooted

opinions of the residence of virtue among mankind! Am I alone, and

unsupported in her cause? How forlorn and solitary do I seem to myself!

I suffered—once I suffered the thought of Edwin to mix with the love of

rectitude, and the obedience of heaven. They all together confirmed me

in the path I had chalked out for myself. Mistake not these reproaches

for the weakness of returning passion. And yet, Edwin, though I loath, I

pity you! Go, and repent! Go, and blot from the records of your memory

the cold insinuation, the aggravated guilt that you have this day

practised! Go, and let me never, never see you more!"

As she uttered these words, congratulation, reproach, wretchedness,

abhorrence and pity succeeded each other in her countenance. Rut they

were all accompanied with an ineffable dignity, and an angelic purity.

The savage and the satyr might have beheld, and been awed into

reverence. Roderic slunk away, guilty, mortified, and confounded. And

such was the success of this other attempt upon the virtue of Imogen.

BOOK THE SIXTH

IMOGEN ENDEAVOURS TO SUBDUE THE ATTENDANTS OF RODERIC.—THE SUPPER OF THE

HALL.—JOURNEY AND ARRIVAL OF EDWIN.—SUBTLETY OF THE MAGICIAN.—HE IS

DEFEATED.—END OF THE SECOND DAY.

The magician, overwhelmed and confounded with uninterrupted

disappointment, was now ready to give himself up to despair. "I have

approached the inflexible fair one," cried he, "by every avenue that

leads to the female heart. And what is the amount of the advantages I

have gained? I tempted her with riches. But riches she considered with

disdain; they had nothing analogous to the temper of her mind, and her

uncultivated simplicity regarded them as superfluous and cumbersome. I

taught her to listen to the voice of flattery; I clothed it in all that

is plausible and insinuating; but to no purpose. She was still upon her

guard; all her suspicions were awake; and her integrity and her

innocence were as vigilant as ever. Incapable of effecting any thing

under that form she had learned to detest, I laid it aside. I assumed a

form most prepossessing and most amiable in her eyes. Surely if her

breast had not been as cold as the snow that clothes the summit of

Snowdon; if her virtue had not been impregnable as the groves of Mona, a

stratagem, omnipotent and impenetrable as this, must have succeeded. She

beheld the figure of him she loved, and this was calculated in a moment

of distress to draw forth all her softness. She beheld the person of him

in whom she had been wont to find all integrity, and place all

confidence, and this might have induced her to apprehend no danger. And

yet with how much tender passion, with how distressful an indignation,

with what tumultuous sorrow did she witness his supposed crime? What

then must I do? What yet remains? I love her with a more frantic and

irresistible passion than ever. I cannot abstain from her.—I cannot

dismiss her.—I cannot forget her. Oh Imogen, too lovely, all-attractive

Imogen, for you I stand upon the very brink of fate! Nor is this all.

Soon should I leap the gulph, soon should forget every prudent and

colder prospect in the tumult of my soul, did not that cursed spectre

ever shoot across my path to dash my transports, and to mar my

enjoyments. Which way shall I turn? To leave her, that is impossible. To

possess her by open force and manly violence, that my fate forbids. My

understanding is bewildered, and my invention is lost.—Medoro!"—

Medoro received the well known signal, and stood before Roderic. He

waited not to be addressed, he read the purposes of the heart of the

magician. "Roderic," cried he, "this moment is the crisis of you[r]

destiny. The occasion, to which the curse pronounced upon you by the

inimical spectre refers, has already in part taken place. YOU HAVE SUED

TO A SIMPLE MAID, WHO BY YOUR CHARMS HAS BEEN TAUGHT TO HATE THE SWAIN

THAT ONCE SHE LOVED. It only remains that she should persevere in the

resistance she has hitherto made, and that A SIMPLE SWAIN, perhaps her

favoured Edwin, should defy your enchantments. Think then of the

precipice on which you stand. Yet, yet return, while it is in your

power. One step in advance beyond those you have already taken may be

irretrievable. Alas, Roderic, it is thus that I advise! but I foresee

that my advice will be neglected. The Gods permit to the invisible

inhabitants of air, when strongly invoked by a mortal voice, to assist

their vices and teach adroitness to their passions; but they do not

permit an invocation like this to receive for its reward the lesson of

moderation, and the attainment of happiness.

"Go on then, Roderic, in the path upon which you are inflexibly

determined. You succeeded not in the stratagem of flattery; but it

served to take off the keenness of the aversion of Imogen. She

contemplates you now with somewhat less of horror, and with a virtuous

and ingenuous fear of uncandidness and injustice upon your account.

Neither have you succeeded in that deeper stratagem and less penetrable

deceit, the assumption of the form of him she loved. It has however

served to weaken her prepossessions, and relax the chains of her

attachment. She is now the better prepared to receive openly and

impartially the addresses of a stranger swain. Thus even your

miscarriages have furthered your design. Thus may a wise general convert

his defeats into the means of victory. Think not however again to

approach her in the coolness of reason, and the sobriety of the

judgment. Hope not by temptation, by flattery, by prejudice, to shake

the immutable character of her mind. There is yet one way unessayed. You

must advance, if you would form the slightest expectations of victory,

by secret and invisible steps. Her virtue must be surrounded, entangled

and enmeshed, or ever her suspicions be awakened, or her integrity

alarmed. This can be effected only by the instrumentality of pleasure.

Pleasure has risen triumphant over many a heart that riches could not

conquer, and that ambition could not subdue. What though she has

resisted temptation under the most alluring form, when her thoughts were

collected and all around was silence?—Let the board of luxury be spread.

Let the choicest dainties be heaped together in unbounded profusion. Let

the most skilful musicians awake the softest instruments. Let neatness,

and elegance, and beauty exhibit their proudest charms. Let every path

that leads to delight, let every gratification that inebriates the soul

be discovered. If at that moment temptation approach, even a meaner and

less potent temptation may then succeed. The night advances with hasty

feet. Night is the season of dissipation and luxury. Be this the hour of

experiment, and let the apprehensive mind of Imogen be first assiduously

lulled to repose. Here, Roderic, you must rest your remaining hopes.

There is not another instrument can be discovered, to disarm and

vanquish the human mind. If here you fail, the Gods have decreed it—they

will be obeyed—Imogen must be dismissed from the enchanted halls of

Rodogune."

With these words the goblin disappeared. The warning he had uttered

passed unheeded, but the magician immediately prepared to employ this

last of stratagems. Summoning the train of attendants of either sex that

resided in the castle, he directed them some to make ready the intended

feast, and some to repair to the apartment of Imogen. The preparations

of the enchanted castle were not like those of a vulgar entertainment.

Every thing was accelerated by invisible agents. The intervention of the

retinue of Roderic was scarcely admitted. The most savoury viands, the

most high flavoured ragouts, and the most delicious wines presented

themselves spontaneously to the expecting attendant. The hall was

illuminated with a thousand lustres that depended like stars from the

concave roof, and were multiplied by the reflection of innumerable

mirrors. The whole was arranged with inconceivable expedition.

In the mean time a few of the more distinguished attendants of her own

sex repaired to the presence of Imogen. They found her feeble,

spiritless and disconsolate. "Come," exclaimed their leader, in an

accent of persuasion; "comply, my lovely girl, let not us alone have

reason to complain of your unfriendliness and inflexibility."

Imogen was fatigued and she wished not for repose. Grief and persecution

had in a former instance inspired her with the love of solitude. But her

feelings were now of another kind. The disgrace and ingratitude of Edwin

had wounded her in the tenderest point, and she could not think of it

but with inexpressible anguish. She was for the first time afraid of her

own reflections, and desirous to fly from herself. "Yes," exclaimed she,

"and I would go, if you will promise me that it shall not be to the

presence of Roderic. The castle and the fields, the freshness of the

morning air and the gloom of a dungeon, are equal to me, provided I must

be kept back from the arms of my beloved parents, and their anxious and

tender spirits must still be held in suspence. But indeed I must not, I

will not, be continually dragged to the presence of the man I hate. It

is ungenerous, unreasonable, and indecent. What is the meaning of all

this compulsion? Why am I kept here so much against my will? Why am I

dragged from place to place, and from object to object? Surely all this

cannot be mere caprice and tyranny. There must be in it some dark and

guilty meaning that I cannot comprehend. Oh shepherdesses! if ye had any

friendship, if any pity dwelt within your bosoms, ye would surely assist

me to escape this hated confinement. Point but the way, show me but the

smallest hole, by which I might get away to ease and liberty, and I

would thank you a thousand times. You, who appear the leader of the

throng, your brow is smooth, your eyes are gentle and serene, and the

bloom of youth still dwells upon your face. Oh," added the apprehensive

Imogen, and she threw herself upon her knees—"do not bely the stamp of

benevolence and clemency that nature has planted there. Think if you had

parents as I have, whose happiness, whose existence, are suspended upon

mine, if you abbhorred, and detested, and feared your jailor as I do,

what would be your feelings then, and how you would wish to be treated

by a person in your situation. Grant me only the poor and scanty boon,

that you would then conceive your right. Dismiss me, I intreat you. I

cannot bear my situation. My former days have all been sunshine, my

former companions have all been kindness. I have not been educated to

encounter persecution, and misfortunes, and horrors. I cannot encounter

them. I cannot survive it."

As she pronounced these words, she sunk, feeble, languid, and

breathless, upon the knees of the attendant. They hastened to raise her.

They soothed her ingenuous affliction, and assured her that she should

not be intruded upon by him of whom she had formed so groundless

apprehensions. Since then she was invited to partake of a slight

refreshment accompanied only by persons of her own sex, she did not long

hesitate, and was easily persuaded to acquiesce. The unostentatious

kindness of the invitation, and the modesty of the entertainment she

expected, dissipated her fears. It was from solitude that she now wished

to escape; and it was to that simple and temperate relaxation that she

had experienced among the inhabitants of Clwyd, to which she was

desirous to repair.

She was conducted towards a saloon, which had less indeed of a sumptuous

and royal appearance, but was more beautiful, more gay, more voluptuous,

and more extatic than that which had been the scene of the temptation of

the morning. The profuseness of the illuminations outdid the brightness

of the meridian sun. The table was spread in a manner to engage the eye

and allure the appetite. Every vessel that was placed upon it was of

massive silver. And in different corners of the apartment heaps of the

most fragrant incense were burning in urns of gold. The viands were of a

nature the most stimulating and delicious; and the wines were bright and

sparkling and gay. As Imogen approached, a stream of music burst upon

her ear of a kind which hitherto she had never witnessed. It was not the

sonorous and swelling notes of praise; it was not the enthusiastic

rapture of the younger bards; it was not the elevated and celestial

sounds that she had been used to hear from the lyre of Llewelyn. But if

it was not so swelling and sublime, it was soft, and melodious, and

insinuating, and overpowering beyond all conception. You could not

listen to it without feeling all the strings of your frame relaxed, and

the nobler powers of your soul lulled into a pleasing slumber. It was

madness all. The ear that heard it could not cease to attend. The mind

that listened to it was no longer master of itself.

Imogen entered the hall, and was received by a train of nymphs, some of

them more beautiful than any she had yet seen, and all attired with

every refinement of elegance and grace. Their hair was in part braided

round their bright and polished foreheads, and in part it hung in wavy

and careless ringlets about their slender necks, and heaving bosoms.

Their forms were veiled in loose and flowing folds of silk of the finest

texture, and whiter than the driven snow. The robes were not embroidered

with gold and silver; they were not studded with emeralds and diamonds;

but were adorned on every side with chaplets of the fairest and freshest

flowers. Their heads were crowned with garlands of amaranth and roses.

Though their conduct were tainted with lasciviousness, and their minds

were full of looser thoughts, yet, awed by the virtuous dignity of

Imogen, they suppressed the air of dissolute frolic, and taught by the

guileful lessons of their lord, endeavoured to assume the manners of

chaste and harmless joy.

The shepherdess, struck with the objects which so unexpectedly presented

themselves to her eyes and her ears, started back with involuntary

astonishment. "Is this," cried she, "the artless feast, and this the

simple fare of which you invited me to partake?" "Imogen," replied the

principal nymph, "we were willing to do you honour, and the preparation

we have made is slight compared with that which the roof can afford. We

considered your fatigue and your extraordinary abstinence, and we were

willing to compensate them by pleasant food, and a grateful

refreshment."

"And is such the grateful refreshment, and such the simple and

unaffected relaxation that your minds suggested? Alas, were I to

approach this board, it would be to me a business and not an amusement,

an exertion and not a relief. A feast like this is an object foreign and

unpleasing to my eyes. The feasts of the valley are chesnuts, and

cheeses, and apples. Our drink is the water of the limpid brook, or the

fair and foaming beverage that our flocks afford. Such are the

enjoyments of sobriety; such are the gratifications of innocence.

Virgins, I am not weary of the simplicity of the pastoral life. I hug it

to my bosom closer, more fondly than ever."

"Amiable, spotless maiden! we admire your opinions, and we love your

person. But virtue is not allied to rigour and austerity. Its boundaries

are unconstrained, and graceful, and sweeping. It is a robe which sits

easily on those who are formed to wear it. It gives no awkwardness to

their manner, and puts no force upon their actions. Partake then, my

Imogen, in those refreshments we have prepared for your gratification.

If this be not duty, it is not crime. It is a venial and a harmless

indulgence. Do not then mortify friends that have sought to please you,

and refuse your attention to the assiduities we have demonstrated."

"No, my gentle shepherdess, it is in vain you plead. I would willingly

qualify my refusal; but I must withdraw. The more you press me, the

farther it is necessary for me to recede. In the morning of this very

day, I was simple, and incautious, and complying. But now I have

experienced so many wiles and escaped so many snares, that this heart,

formerly so gentle and susceptible, is cased in triple steel. I can shut

my eyes upon the most splendid attractions. I can turn a deaf ear to

enticements the most alluring, and sounds the most insinuating. This is

the lesson—I thank him for it—that your lord has taught me. You must not

then detain me. I must be permitted to retire." And saying this she

withdrew with trembling speed. In vain they insisted, in vain they

pursued. Imogen escaped like a bird from the fowler, nor looked behind.

Imogen was deaf to their expostulations, and indurate and callous as

adamant to their persuasions.

The disappointment of Roderic, when he learned of this miscarriage of

his great and final attempt was extreme. He coursed up and down the

saloon with all the impatience of a wild boar pierced by the spear of

the hunter, or a wolf from whom they have torn away her young. He vented

his fury upon things inanimate. He tore his hair, and beat his breast,

with tumultuous agony. He imprecated with a hoarse and furious voice a

thousand curses upon those attendants who had permitted his captive to

escape. Through the spacious hall, where every thing a moment before had

worn the face of laboured gaiety and studied smiles, all was now

desolation, and disquiet, and uproar. And urged as the magician had been

by successive provocations, he was ready to overstep every limit he

might once have respected, and to proceed to the most fatal extremities.

In this situation, and as Roderic was hastening with a determined

resolution to follow to the apartment of Imogen, information was

suddenly brought to him, that a young stranger, tall and graceful in his

form, and of a frank and noble countenance, had by some unknown means

penetrated beyond the precipices with which the enchanted castle was

surrounded, and in spite of the resistance of the retinue of the

magician had entered the mansion. The dark and guilty heart of Roderic

immediately whispered him—"It is Edwin.—It is well.—I thank the Gods

that they do not hold this aspiring soul in a long and dreary suspence!

Let the destinies overtake me. I am prepared to receive them. Death, or

any of the thousand ills that fortune stores for them she hates, could

not come in a more welcome hour.—Oh Imogen, lovely, adorable Imogen, how

vain has been my authority, how vain the space of my command! Let then

my palaces tumble into ruin—Let that wand which once I boasted, shivered

in a thousand fragments, be cast to all the winds of heaven! I will

glory in desolation and forlornness. I will wrap myself in my poverty. I

will retire to some horrid cave in the midst of the untamed desart, and

shagged with horrid shades, that outgloom the blackness of the infernal

regions. There I will ruminate upon my past felicity. There I will tell

over enjoyments never to return. I will make myself a little universe,

and a new and unheard of satisfaction in the darkness of my reflections,

and the depth of my despair.

"And yet surely, surely the Gods have treated me severely, and measured

out to me a hard and merciless fate. What are all the felicities I talk

of, and have prized so much? Oh, they were seasoned, each of them, with

a bitter infusion! Little, little indeed have I tasted of a pure and

unmixed happiness. In my choicest delights, I have felt a vacancy. They

have become irksome and tedious. I have fled from myself; I have fled

from the magnificence of my retinue, to find variety. And yet how dearly

am I to pay for a few gratifications which were in fact no better than

specious allurements to destruction, and flowers that slightly covered

the pit of ruin! In the bloom of manhood, in the full career of youth to

be cast forth an UNPITIED, NECESSITOUS, MISERABLE VAGABOND! All but this

I could have borne without a sigh. Were I threatened with death, in this

opening scene of life, I could submit with cheerfulness. But to drag

along a protracted misery, to be shut out from hope, and yet ever awake

to every cruel reflection and every bitter remorse—This is too much!"

From this dream of unmanly lamentations Roderic was with difficulty

recovered by the assiduities of the attendants. At length incited by

their expostulations to the collectedness of reflection and the

fortitude of exertion, he determined, with that quickness of invention

with which he had been endowed at his birth, upon a plan to elude, if

possible, the perseverance of Edwin, and the menaces of his fate.

Recollecting that his person was not unknown to the swain, he

communicated his instructions to those who were about him, and withdrew

himself into a private apartment.

It was Edwin. The instructions of the Druid of Elwy had relieved him

from the insupportable burden that had begun to oppress his mind.

Persuaded by him he had submitted to seek the refreshment of sleep. But

sleep shed not her poppies upon his busy, anxious head. His mind was

crouded with a thousand fearful phantoms. A child of the valley, he was

a stranger to misfortune and misery. Upon the favoured sons of nature

calamity makes her deepest impression, and an impression least capable

of being erased. And yet Edwin was full of courage and adventure; he

asked no larger boon than to be permitted to face his rival. But his

inquietude was the offspring of love; and his wariness and caution

originated in the docility of his mind, and his anxious attachment to

innocence and spotless rectitude.

Having passed the watches of the night in uneasy and inexhaustible

reflections, he sprung from his couch as soon as the first dawn of day

proclaimed the approaching sun, and took a hasty leave of the hospitable

hermit. Issuing from the grotto, he bent his steps, in obedience to the

direction of Madoc, to that secret path, which had never before been

discovered by any mortal unassisted by the goblins of the abyss. Before

he reached it the golden sun had begun to decline from his meridian

height. He passed along the winding way beneath the impending

precipices, which formed a dark and sullen vault over his head. Ever and

anon large pieces of stone, broken from their native mass, and tumbling

among the craggy caverns, saluted his ear. Now and then he heard a

bubbling fountain bursting from the rock, which presently fell with a

loud and dashing noise along the declivity, and was lost in the pebbles

below. The only light by which his steps were guided, was that which

fell in partial and scanty streams through the fissures of the mountain,

and served to discover little more than the shapelessness of the rocks,

and the uncultivated horrors of the scene.

Through these Edwin passed unappalled. His heart was naturally firm and

intrepid, and he now cased himself round with the armour of untainted

innocence and unsullied truth. It was not long before he came forth from

this scene of desolation to that beautiful and cultivated prospect which

had already enchanted the heart of Imogen. To him it had advantages

which in the former case it could not boast. He could contrast its

gaiety and brightness with the obscure and dismal scene from which he

had escaped. Nor was he struck only by the verdure of the prospect, and

the vividness of its colours, he also beheld the inclosure, not, as his

amiable mistress had done, from a terrace adjoining to the mansion; but

from the last point of the rock from which he was ready to descend. The

mansion therefore was his principal point of view from this situation.

It stood upon a bold and upright brow that beetled over the plain below.

The ascent was by a large and spacious flight of marble steps. Its

architecture was grand, and simple, and commanding. It was supported by

pillars of the Ionic order. They were constructed of ivory and jet, and

their capitals were overlaid with the purest gold. An object like this

to one who had never before seen any nobler edifice than a shepherd's

cot, or the throne of turf upon which the bards were elevated at the

feast of the Gods, was surprising, and admirable, and sublime in the

highest degree.

"And this," exclaimed the gallant shepherd, "is the residence prepared

for infamy and lust. The sun pours upon it his light with as large a

hand, the herbage, the flowers and the fruits as fully partake of the

bounteous care of nature, as the vales of simplicity and the fields of

innocence. How venerable and alluring is the edifice I behold! Does not

peace dwell within, and are not the hours of its possessor winged with

happiness? Had my youth been spent among the beasts of the forests, had

not my ears drank in the sacred instructions of the godlike Druids, I

might have thought so. But, no. In vain in the extensive empire that the

arts of sorcery and magic afford, shall felicity be sought. What avails

all this splendour? and to what purpose this mighty profusion? All the

possessions that I can boast, are my little flock, my wattled cottage,

and my slender pipe. And yet I carol as jocound a lay, my heart is as

light and frolic, and the tranquility of self-acquittal spreads her

wings as wide over my bosom, as they could were I lord of a hundred

hills, and called all the streamlets of the valley my own. The magician

possesses a large hoard of beauty, and he can wander from fair to fair

with unlimited and fearless licence. All merciful and benign beings, who

dwell above this azure concave, give me my Imogen! Restore her safe and

unhurt to these longing, faithful arms! Let not this arbitrary and

imperious tyrant, who grasps wide the fairest productions of thy

creation with a hundred hands,—let him not wrest from me my solitary

lamb,—let him not seize for ever upon that companion, in whom the most

expansive and romantic wishes of my heart had learned to be satisfied."

Such were the beautiful and virtuous sentiments of Edwin, as he beheld

the empire of his rival from the head of the rock, and as he crossed the

glade that still divided him from the object of all his exertions. From

the eminence upon which he had paused for a few contemplative moments,

the distance had appeared narrow and trifling. But the equal height of

the ground upon which he stood, and of that which afforded a situation

for the palaces of Roderic, had deceived him. When he looked towards the

scene that was to form the termination of his journey, the glade below

escaped from his sight. But when he descended to the plain, it was

otherwise. One swell of the surface he had to traverse succeeded

another; and the irregularity of the ground caused him sometimes to be

lost, in a manner, in the length of the way, and took from him the

consolation of being able so much as to perceive the object of his

destination. As he passed the hills, and climbed each successive ascent,

a murmur rose in his bosom; his impatience grew more and more

ungovernable, and the eagerness of his pursuit taught him to imagine,

that his little labour would never be done.

Every performance however of human exertion has its period; and Edwin

had at length surmounted the greater part of the distance, and now

gained a larger and more distinct view of the castle. But by this time

the sun was ready to hide himself in the ocean, and his last rays now

gleamed along the valley, and played in the party-coloured clouds.

Meanwhile a dark spot, which had for some time blotted the brightness of

the surrounding azure, expanded itself. The shades gathered, the light

of the sun was hid, and the blackness of the night forestaled. The wind

roared among the mountains, and its terrors were increased by the hollow

bellowings of the beasts they harboured. The shower began; it descended

with fury, and Edwin had scarcely time to gain the protection of an

impervious thicket that crowned the lawn. Here he stood and ruminated.

The solemnity of the scene accorded with the importance of his

undertaking. The pause was friendly. He composed his understanding, and

recollected the lessons of the hospitable hermit. He fortified himself

in the habits of virtue; and, with a manly and conscious humility,

recommended this crisis of his innocence to the protection of heaven.

The shower ceased, but the darkness continued. He had too well marked

however the bent of his journey during the continuance of the day, to

permit this to be any considerable obstacle. In the mean time it doubled

and rendered more affecting the stilness of the night. Nothing was to be

heard but the low whispers of the falling breeze, and the murmurs of the

prowling wolf that now languished and died away upon the ear. This was

the moment in which magic lords it supreme, in which the goblin breaks

forth from his confinement, and ranges unlimited in the nether globe;

and in which all that is regular and all that is beautiful give place to

the hunger of the savage brute, and the witcheries of the sorcerer. But

Roderic was otherwise engaged. His heart was employed in inventing

guile, and was lulled into unapprehensive security. But Edwin was

heroic. His bosom swelled with the most generous purposes; and he

trusted unwaveringly in that guardianship that is every where present,

and that eye that never slumbers.

He entered the walls of the enchanted castle. The novelty of the

appearance of a stranger within the circle of those mountains, which no

vulgar mortal had yet penetrated, the dignity of his appearance, and the

boldness of his manner, at first distracted the attendants from the

performance of that, which might have seemed most natural in their

situation, and awed them into passiveness. He still wore that flowing

and graceful garb, which was appropriated by the inhabitants of Clwyd to

the celebration of public solemnities. He had passed through the midst

of the shower, and yet one thread of his garment was not moistened with

the impetuousness of its descent. His face wore a more beautiful and

roseat glow than was native to its complexion. His eye was full of

animation and expressiveness. Expectation, and hope, and dignity, and

resolution had their entire effect in his appearance. "It is a celestial

spirit!" cried they. "It is a messenger from the unseen regions!" and

they sought in his person for the insignia that might confirm and

establish their conjecture.

But such was not the imagination of Roderic. The master-guilt to which

he was conscious, was ever ready to take the alarm upon any unexpected

event; and he had immediately conjectured, by a kind of instinctive

impression, who was this new and unwelcome guest. However unguarded and

unprepared had been his retinue, they had recollected themselves

sufficiently to detain Edwin in the avenue of the mansion, till they had

received the orders of their lord. These were immediately communicated;

and the magician withdrew himself till the proper period should arrive

for his appearance to the swain.

Edwin, when he had entered the palace of Roderic, had been desirous, if

it were possible, to push forward to the presence of his rival, without

making any previous enquiries, or admitting of a moment's pause. The

frequency however of the domestics had disappointed his purpose, and he

was detained by them in spite of his efforts. "What means," cried he,

"this violence? I must enter here. I will not be delayed. My purpose

admits not of trifling and parley. To me every moment is big with fate."

He said. For Edwin disdained the employment of falsehood and disguise.

He lifted the javelin in his hand, but his heart was too full of

gentleness and humanity rashly to employ the instrument of death. His

tone however was resolute, and his gesture commanding, and the

astonished attendants were uncertain in what manner to conduct

themselves.

At this instant a domestic, who had received the instructions of his

lord, entered the court. He had the appearance of superior dignity; and

removing the attendants who pressed with rudeness upon the shepherd, he

enquired of him the cause of his intrusion. "Lead me," cried Edwin, "to

the lord of your mansion. My business is important and pressing, and

will not admit of being communicated to any other ear. Whence this

difficulty? Innocence does not withdraw from the observation of those

who are desirous to approach it; and a manly courage is not apprehensive

of an enemy."

"Young stranger," replied the domestic, "you are misinformed. This

mansion knows not a lord. It belongs solely to proprietors of the softer

sex, whom fortune has indulged as you perceive with every thing that is

calculated to give new relish to the pursuits of life, and beguile the

lazy foot of time. It is our boast and our honour to serve these

damsels. And could my report add one ray to their lustre, I would tell

you, that they are fair as the peep of the morning, and more fragrant

than beds of violets and roses. It is their command, that humanity

should be extended by all around them, not only to man, but to the

humblest and weakest animals. Though you have entered their residence by

mistake, we shall but fulfil the service they expect in furnishing you

with every assistance and every accommodation in our power. If you are

hungry, come in and partake of the liberal plenty the castle affords. If

you thirst, we will cheerfully offer you the capacious goblet and the

richest wines. If you are fatigued with the travel of the day, or have

wandered from your path and are benighted in your journey, enter their

mansion. The accommodations are large, and they are all free for the use

of the poor, the necessitous, the unfortunate and the miserable."

Edwin listened with astonishment to the narration. He was not used to

the address of falshood; and strongly warned as he had previously been

of the iniquity of the train, the ingenuousness of his mind induced him

at first without reflection to yield an easy credit to the story that

was told him. It was related with fluency, plausibility, and gravity;

and it was accompanied with a manner seemingly artless and humane, which

it was scarcely possible for one unhackneyed in the stratagems of deceit

to distrust and contradict.

"Surely," replied Edwin, "I cannot be wholly mistaken. At least has

there not a young shepherdess just arrived here, tall, tender and

beautiful, and whose flaxen tresses are more bright than gold, and more

abundant than the blossoms in the spring?"

Before the officious domestic could reply to his enquiries, two of the

nymphs, who had been attired for the feast of Imogen, came into the

outer apartment in which the shepherd was, and advanced toward him.

"These are my mistresses," cried the attendant. Edwin approached them

with respect, and repeated his former enquiries. They were the most

beautiful of the train of Roderic. They were clad in garments of the

whitest silk, and profusely adorned with chaplets of flowers. Their

appearance therefore was calculated to give them, in a shepherd's eye,

an air of sweetness and simplicity that could not easily be resisted.

One of them was tall and majestic, and the other low, and of a shape and

figure the most alluring. This appeared to be like a blossom in May,

whose colours discovered to the attentive observer all their

attractions, without being expanded to the careless eye: And that might

be supposed to be a few summers farther advanced to a delicious

maturity. The majesty of the one had nothing in it of the gross, the

indelicate, and the forbidding; and the softness of the other was

attempered with inexpressible propriety and grace. Both of them were

gentle and affable. But the affability of the former took the name of

benignity and condescension, and the affability of the latter was full

of harmless gaiety, and a cheerful and unpretending spirit of society.

"We cannot," replied the elder, "attend to your enquiries here. The

apartment is comfortless and inhospitable. You appear fatigued. And we

pretend not, young stranger, merely to contribute what is in our power

to relieve the uneasiness of your mind, we would also refresh your

wearied frame. Come in then, and we will afford you every satisfaction

we are able. Enter the mansion, and partake of the plenty the Gods have

bestowed upon us, and which we desire not to engross to ourselves."

During these words Edwin surveyed his fair entertainers with wonder and

admiration. But enchanting as they were, they found not the avenue to

his heart. There Imogen reigned alone, and could not admit of a rival.

Even though upon a slighter occasion, and at less important moment, the

purity of his mind, that virtue so much esteemed among the swains, could

have been tainted, yet now that his undertaking whispered him, "Imogen

alone is fair!" now that he feared for her safety, and hoped every

moment to arrive at the dreaded, pleasing period of his anxiety, he

could but be constant and be faithful. He recollected the sage

instructions of the Druid of Elwy: and his resolutions were unshaken as

the roots of Snowdon.

He accepted their invitation. Immediately, as upon a signal, an hundred

flambeaux lighted the area and lined the passage to the saloon of

pleasure. The nymphs placed themselves on each side of the shepherd, and

in this manner they passed along. If Imogen had been struck with the

profuseness of the illumination, the richness of the plate, the

sumptuousness of the viands and the wines, and the fragrant clouds of

incense that filled the apartment, how much more were they calculated to

astonish the soul of Edwin! He had comparatively passed through no

previous scenes; he had not been led on step by step; and the

voluptuousness of the objects that now presented themselves before him

had been unknown and unexpected. The train of the subordinate attendants

of the magician filled the apartment with beauty and with grace, and

seemed to pay the most unreserved obedience to the nymphs that at first

addressed him.

But before the shepherd had time to examine the objects that surrounded

him, the musicians awaked their instruments, and all his faculties were

engrossed with soft melody and enchanting sounds. The instrumental

performance was illustrated and completed with a multitude of harmonious

voices, and those who sang were each of them of the softer sex.

"What are the possessions most eagerly courted among mankind? Which are

the divinities by mortals most assiduously adored? This goodly universe

was intended for the seat of pleasure, unmixed pleasure. But a sportive,

malicious divinity sent among men a gaudy phantom, an empty bubble, and

called the shadow Honour. In pursuit of a fancied distinction and a

sounding name, the children of the earth have deserted all that is bland

and all that is delicious. Labour, naked, deformed, and offensive, they

willingly embrace. They brave hardship and severity. They laugh at

danger. From hence they derive the virtue of resolution, the merit of

self-denial, and the excellence of mortification.

"But heaven did not open wide its hand, and scatter delight through

every corner of the universe, without intending that they should be

enjoyed. Enjoyment, indulgence, and felicity are not crimes. Abstinence,

self-denial and mortification have only a specious mien and a fictitious

merit. Did all mankind obey their fallacious dictates, the unlimited

bounties of nature would become a burden to the earth, and fill it with

pestilence and contagion. The soil would be oppressed with her own

fertility; the herds would overmultitude their lords; and the crouded

air would be darkened with the plumes of its numerous inhabitants. The

very gems that now lie buried in the bosom of the ocean, would then

bespangle its surface, and the dumb tenants of the watery tracts, inured

to their blaze, would learn to leave the caverns of the sea and gaze

upon the sun.

"Mortals, open your hearts to the divinity of pleasure! Why should he be

in love with labour, who has a capacious hoard of choice delights within

his reach? Why should we fly from a present good that we possess, to a

future that we do not comprehend? Is this the praise we owe the

bounteous Gods? Can neglect and indifference to their gifts be

gratitude? This were to serve them like a timorous and trembling slave

beneath the eye of an austere and capricious tyrant; and not with that

generosity, that enthusiasm, that liberal self-confidence, which are

worthy of a father, a patron and a friend.

"Ye that are wise, ye that are favoured of propitious heaven, drink deep

of the cup of pleasure. The sun has now withdrawn his splendid lustre,

and his flaring beams. The period of exercise is past, and the lids of

prying curiosity is [are] closed. Night is the season of feast and the

season of gaiety. In the graver hours of activity and industry, sobriety

may be proper. It may then be fit to listen to the dictates of prudence,

and pay some attention to the prejudices of mankind. The sternness of

age and the austerity of censoriousness are now silent. Now pleasure

wears a freer garb; and the manners of enjoyment are more frank and

unrestrained. The thinness of indiscretion and the airy forms of

inadvertence are lost and annihilated amid the shadows of the night.

"Now the numerous inhabitants of the waters come forth from their oozy

beds and play and flounce in the beams of the moon. Round the luminary

of the night the stars lead up the mystic dance, and compose the music

of the spheres. The deities of the woods and the deities of the rivers

come out from their secret haunts, and keep their pastimes

unapprehensive of human intrusion. The elves and the fairies repair to

their sports, and trip along the velvet green with many-twinkling feet.

Let us imitate their amiable alacrity and their cheerful amusements.

"What has sleep to do with the secrecy and silence of the night? It is

the hour of pleasure unrestrained and free. It is the hour in which the

empire of beauty is complete, and those mysteries are disclosed which

the profaner eye of day must never behold. Ye that are wise, ye that are

favoured of propitious heaven, drink deep of the cup of pleasure! The

festive board is spread before you; the flowing bowl is proffered for

your acceptance. Beauty, the crown of enjoyment, the last perfection of

society, is within your reach. Be wise and taste. Partake of the

munificence the Gods vouchsafe."

As the song proceeded the two nymphs, who had first appeared to Edwin,

and since attended him with the extremest officiousness, endeavoured by

every artful blandishment to engage his attention, and rivet his

partiality. They exerted themselves to suppress the grossness,

inelegance and sensuality to which they had commonly been habituated,

and to cover the looseness of the passions with the veil of simplicity,

delicacy, and softness. As the music ceased, the master of the spectacle

came forth from his retreat. But his figure was no longer that which

bespoke the magician, and which Edwin had already seen. He appeared in

the form of a youth of that age in which the frolic insignificance of

childhood gives place to the eagerness, the enthusiasm and the engaging

manners of blooming manhood. His habit was that of a cupbearer. His

robes were of azure silk, and floated in graceful folds as he passed

along. The beauty of his person was worthy of the synod of the Gods. His

features had all the softness of woman without effeminacy; and in his

eye there sat a lambent fire which bespoke the man, without roughness,

and without ferocity. In one hand he bore a crystal goblet full of every

potent enchantment, and which rendered him who drank for ever a slave to

the most menial offices and the most wanton caprices of his seducer. In

the other hand he held loosely, and as if it had been intended merely to

give a completeness to his figure and a gracefulness to his step, that

irresistible wand by which the majesty of man had often been degraded,

and the reluctant spirit had been conjured up from the caverns of the

abyss. The goblet he delivered to the elder nymph, who presented it,

with inimitable grace and a bewitching condescension, to the gallant

shepherd.

Edwin had the fortitude of a hero, but he had also the feelings of a

man. He could not but be struck with the beauty of the nymphs, he could

not but be surprised with the profuseness of the entertainment, and the

richness of the preparations. The soul of Edwin was full of harmony. It

had been one of his earliest and most ruling passions. No shepherd

excelled him in the skill of the pipe, no shepherd with a sweeter or

more sonorous voice could carol the rustic lay. Even the figure assumed

by Roderic, his garb, his step, his gesture had something in them of

angelic and celestial without the blaze of divinity, and without the

awfulness that surrounds the godlike existencies, that sometimes

condescend to visit this sublunary scene. The shepherd took into his

hand the fatal bowl.

In the midst however of all that was attractive, and all that was

unknown, Edwin had not forgotten the business that had brought him

hither and the lessons of Madoc. The visage of Imogen, ever present to

his soul, suggested these salutary reflections. By her assistance he

strengthened all his resolutions, and gave vigour to the heroism of his

mind. Through the memory of Imogen he derived a body, and communicated a

visible form to the precepts of rectitude; and virtue wore all those

charms that had the most uncontroled empire in his bosom. Half way to

his lips he raised the cup of vice, and inexorable fate sat smiling on

the brim. He paused; he hesitated. By an irresistible impulse of

goodness he withdrew the fatal draught. He shed the noxious composition

upon the ground, and hurled from him with indignation the vessel in

which it had been contained.

Roderic beheld the scene with deep emotion, and was agitated by turns

with a thousand passions. He saw the issue with confusion, despondence

and fury. The roseat smiles of the cupbearer vanished; and, without the

notice and consent of his mind, his limbs resumed their wonted form, and

his features confirmed the suspicions of the shepherd, that he was now

confronted with his mortal enemy. Thrice the magician invoked the spirit

of his mother, and thrice he conjured the goblins, the most potent that

ever mix in the mortal scene. He lifted the wand in his hand. It was the

fiery ordeal that summons human character to the severest trial. It was

the judgment of God in which the lots are devoutly committed to the

disposal of heaven, and the enthroned Divinity, guided by his

omniscience of the innocence of the brave, or the guilt of the

presumptuous, points the barbed spear, and gives a triple edge to the

shining steel. If the shepherd had one base and earth-born particle in

his frame, if his soul confessed one sordid and sensual desire, now was

the time in which for his prospects to be annihilated and his reputation

blotted for ever, and the state and empire of his rival to be fixed

beyond the power of human machinations to shake or subvert it.

"Presumptuous swain!" cried the sorcerer, "what folly, what unmeaning

rashness has brought you within the circle of my incantations? Know that

from them no mortal has escaped; that by them every swain, whom

adventurousness, ignorance, or stratagem has introduced within these

limits, has been impelled to assume the savage form, and to herd with

the most detestable of brutes. Let then thy foolhardiness pay the

penalty which my voice has ever annexed to it. Hence to thy fellows! Go,

and let their hated form bely the reason thou shalt still retain, and

thy own voice affright thee, when thou shalt groan under irremediable

misery!"

The incantation that had never yet failed of its hated purpose was

pronounced in vain. Edwin had heard it unappalled. He wore the amulet of

Madoc. He opposed to it the unconquered shield of spotless innocence.

Even in the midst of the lordly despotism and the imperious haughtiness

of his rival, he had been conscious to the triumph which nothing but the

calmness of fortitude and the serenity of virtue can inspire. He was

mindful of the precepts of the Druid. While Roderic was overwhelmed with

disappointment and despair, he seized the wand of the magician, and with

irresistible vigour wrenched it from his hand. He struck it with

violence upon the ground, and it burst into a thousand shivers. The

castle rocked over his head. Those caverns, which for revolving years

had served to hide the iniquity and the cruelty of their possessor,

disclosed their secret horrors. The whole stupendous pile seemed rushing

to the ground. A flood of lightning streamed across the scene. A peal of

thunder, deafening and tremendous, followed it. All now was vacancy. Not

a trace of those costly scenes and that magnificent architecture

remained. The heaven over-canopied the head of Edwin. The clouds were

dissipated. The light of innumerable stars gave grandeur to the scene.

And the silver moon communicated a milder lustre, and created a softer

shade. Roderic and his train, full of pusillanimity and consternation,

had fled from the direful scene, and vanished like shadows at the rising

of the sun.

No mortal, but our lovers, had ever entered the enchanted mansion

without having their characters disgraced, and their hearts thronged

with all those hateful and dissolute passions, which distinguished the

band of Roderic. No mortal was there, but our lovers, of the numerous

inhabitants of this bad edifice, who had not shrunk from the earthquake

and the solemnities that accompanied its sub-version. Edwin and Imogen

were alone. The shepherdess had listened to all the horrors of the scene

with a gloomy kind of satisfaction. "What new wonders," cried she, "are

now to be disclosed? What purpose are they intended to answer! The

amendment, or the destruction of my betrayer? But it is well. Though the

elements mix in inextricable confusion, though the earth be destroyed,

yet has innocence no cause to fear. Alas, though I myself should be

buried in the ruin, why should I apprehend, or why lament it? I was

happy; untaintedly, uninterruptedly happy. But I am miserable. I am

confined here in a loathsome, detested prison. Even my conduct is shut

up with difficulties, and my bosom disquieted with the conflict of

seeming duties. Even Edwin, the swain to whom my heart was united, and

from whose memory my integrity derived new strength is corrupted,

depraved and base. Let then destruction come. I will not lament the

being cut off in the bloom of youth. I will not shed one tear, or feel

one fond regret, but for the calamity and disappointment of my parents."

But however the despair of Imogen armed her courage against the

concussions of nature, she yet felt that delicacy of constitution which

characterises the most lovely of her sex, and that amiable timidity

which often accompanies the most invincible fortitude. When the thunder

roared with so fearful violence, when the mansion burst in ruins over

her head, she stood, trembling and breathless, at the tumult around her.

Her safety was the first object of the attention of Edwin; and when she

recovered her recollection she found herself in the arms of her lover.

"My fair one, my Imogen," cried he, "have I recovered you through so

many obstacles, and in the midst of so numerous dangers? Oh, how must

our affection, the purest, brightest, that ever lighted a human breast,

be endeared by our mutual calamities! But virtue is ever triumphant,

virtue is never deserted of the watchful care of heaven. My trials, my

lovely shepherdess, have been feeble indeed, when compared with yours.

Your integrity is unrivalled, and your innocence has surpassed all that

the bards have sung in their immortal lays. Come then, oh, dearer, far

dearer than ever to this constant heart, come to my arms! Let delay be

banished. Let the veil of virgin bashfulness be laid aside. And let us

repair together to the presence of your parents to ask an united

blessing."

While Edwin thus poured forth the raptures of his heart, Imogen turned

towards him a languid eye, full of soft and silent reproach. She retired

from him with involuntary horror. "No, shepherd," cried she, and waved

her hand with graceful indignation. "Like you I approve the justice of

the Gods in the banishment of Roderic. But I think that justice would

have been more complete, had it included in its vindictive appearance

the punishment of the base, degenerate Edwin. Unworthy Edwin, to how

vile and earth born sentiments has your heart been conscious! But go.

Hence from my sight! The very spectacle of that form which I had learned

to love is mildew and contagion to my eyes. Oh, Edwin, for your sake I

will distrust every attractive form and every ingenuous appearance. The

separation, my swain, is hard. The arts of Roderic came not near my

soul, but your baseness has fixed an indelible wound. But think

not—cherish not the fond mistake—that I will ever forget your

ungenerousness in the hour of my distress and forlornness, or receive

that serpent to my heart again."

As she pronounced these words, she hastened to fly from her imaginary

enemy. Edwin detained her by a gentle violence. With much intreaty and a

thousand soft blandishments, he wrung from her the story of her

indignation. He related to her the tale of Madoc, and told her of the

magic arts of his rival. He fully explained the scene of the pretended

repentance of Roderic, and the seduction he had attempted to practise

under the form of Edwin. As she listened to the wondrous story, Imogen

trembled at the unknown dangers with which she had been environed, and

admired more than ever the omnipotence of that virtue which had been

able to lead her safely through them all. The conviction she received of

the rectitude and fidelity of Edwin was to her, like the calm breath of

zephyr, which succeeds the tremendous storm upon the surface of the

ocean; and like that sovereign balm, which the sage Druids pour into the

wounds of the shepherd, and restore him at once to salubrity and vigour.

The amiable pair repaired with speed, and arrived with the dawn of the

sun to the cottage of Imogen. At the sight of them the venerable Edith

reared her drooping, desponding head, and the cheeks of the hoary father

were bedewed with the tears of transport. Such were the trials of our

lovers, and of correspondent worth was the reward they received. Long

did they dwell together in the vale of Clwyd, with that simplicity and

attachment which no scenes but those of pastoral life can know. Their

happiness was more sensible than that of the swains around them in that

they had known a reverse of fortune. And their virtue was the purer and

the more benevolent, in that they had passed through the fields of

trial; and that only through the ordeal of temptation, and an approved

fortitude, they had arrived to the unmixed felicity, and the

uninterrupted enjoyment they at length possessed.