Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 1.pdf/179

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The steps of human wand'rer e'er approach, He'll stand aghast, and flee the horrid place, With dark imaginations frightful made, The haunt of damned sprites. O! cursed wretch! I' the fair and honour'd field shouldst thou have died, Where brave friends, proudly smiling thro' their tears, Had pointed out the spot where Basil lay! (A light seen in window.) But ha! the wonted, welcome light appears. How bright within I see her chamber wall, Athwart it too, a dark'ning shadow moves, A slender woman's form; it is herself! What means that motion of its clasped hands? That drooping head? alas! is she in sorrow? Alas! thou sweet enchantress of the mind, Whose voice was gladness, and whose presence bliss, Art thou unhappy too? I've brought thee woe; It is for me thou weep'st! Ah! were it so, Fall'n as I am, I yet could life endure, In some dark den from human sight conceal'd, So, that I sometimes from my haunt might steal, To see and love thee still. No, no, poor wretch! She weeps thy shame, she weeps, and scorns thee too. She moves again; e'en darkly imag'd thus, How lovely is that form! (Pauses, still looking at the window.) To be so near thee, and for ever parted!