The seven temptations

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Preface

The idea of this poem originated in a strong impression of the immense value of the human soul, and of all the varied modes of its trials, according to its own infinitely varied modifications, as existing in different individuals. We see the awful mass of sorrow and of crime in the world, but we know only in part — in a very small degree, the fearful weight of solicitations and impulses of passion, and the vast constraint of circumstances, that are brought into play against suffering humanity. In the luminous words of my motto,

' What's done we partly may compute, But know not what 's resisted.'

Thus, without sufficient reflection, we are furnished with data on which to condemn our fellow-creatures,

Vlll PREFACE.

but without sufficient grounds for their palliation and commiseration. It is necessary for the acquisition of that charity, which is the soul of Christianity, for us to descend into the depths of our own nature ; to put ourselves into many imaginary and untried situations, that we may enable ourselves to form some tolerable notion how we might be affected by them ; how far we might be tempted — how far deceived — how far we might have occasion to lament the evil power of circumstances, to weep over our own weakness, and pray for the pardon of our crimes ; that, having raised up this vivid perception of what we might do, suffer and become, we may apply the rule to our fellows, and cease to be astonished in some degree, at the shapes of atrocity into which some of them are transformed ; and learn to bear with others as brethren, who have been tried tenfold beyond our own experience, or perhaps our strength.

The evil agent whom I have employed for the working out of this moral process, in this poem, may either be regarded literally, as he is represented, according to the popular creed ; or simply, as a personification of the principle of temptation, as each, individual reader's own bias of sentiment may lead him to prefer : for my own part, I regard him in the latter point of view.

There may be some who may not approve of the

I'REFACE.

extent of crime which I have brought into action in

the course of these dramas. They may deem the

But let such reflect, that without high temptation

there could be no high crime ; without high crime

there could be no actual and adequate representation

of human nature, as we know it to exist. And

therefore to have flinched in this respect, would have

been to defeat the whole object of my work. Let

those reflect also, that it has not been my plan to

render the description of crime alluring. In that

case I should have deserved, not only all the blame

the timid or the rigidly righteous could heap upon

me, but also that of the philosophical observer of our

nature ; for my view of it then would have been

false and unjust. But I have painted the career of

crime such as it is — one uniform downward tendency

to degradation and ruinous misery; and have thereby

held up to young and old, to strong and weak, to

the high and the lowly of earth, the most important

moral lesson that the light and darkness of this

strange life can teach to tried, allured, rational yet

corruptible, intellectual yet sense-involved beings

the most important wc are capable of giving or receiving,

The scenes, characters, and events in these dramas are, as in human life, exceedingly various, and exceedingly diversified in their degrees of moral purity or turpitude ; but if they are allowed only to be such as fall really within the scope of our nature, they need no defence, for they must be full of lessons of wisdom and of stimulus to good.

Contents

Page.

THE

SEVEN TEMPTATIONS

Scene I

A green hill overlooking a broad valley, in the centre of which, among a few old trees, stands a noble mansion of grey stone ; a fine lake appears in the winding of the valley, and the hillsides are scattered with a few worthless old trees, the remnants of woods which have been felled. — Thomas of Torres comes forward, and throws himself on the grass.

Thomas. That was my home — the noble hall of Torres ! Mine were those meadows — yon bright lake was mine, Where when a boy I fished, and swam, and hurled Smooth pebbles o'er its surface ; those green hills

Were mine, and mine the woods that clothed them—

This was my patrimony ! a fair spot,

Than which this green and pleasant face of earth

Can shew none fairer ! With this did descend

An honourable name — the lord of Torres !

An unimpeachable and noble name,

Without a blot on its escutcheon,

Till it descended to a fool like me —

A spendthrift fool, who is become a proverb !

My father was a good and quiet man — He wedded late in life ; and I was born The child of his old age ; my mother's face I knew not, saving in its gilded frame, Where, in the chamber of her loving husband, It hung before his bed. My father died When I was in my nonage. Marvellous pains, Reading of books, study, and exercise, Made me, they said, a perfect gentleman : Such was the lord of Torres three years since !

He rode, he ran, he hunted, and he hawked, And all exclaimed, " a gallant gentleman !" He had his gay companions— what of that ? They said that youth must have its revelries. He laughed, he sung, he danced, he drank his wine,

And all declared, " a pleasant gentleman !"

They came to him in need — his many friends —

Money he had in plenty, it was theirs !

He paid their debts ; he gave them noble gifts ;

He feasted them ; he said, " they are my friends,

And what I have is their's !" and they exclaimed,

" Oh, what a noble, generous gentleman !"

He had his friends too, of another sort —

Fair women that seduced him with their eyes, —

For these he had his fetes ; his pleasant shews ;

His banquetings in forest solitudes,

Beneath the green boughs, like the sylvan gods :

And these repaid him with sweet flatteries,

And with bewitching smiles and honeyed words !

The lord of Torres did outgo his rents ;

His many friends had ta'en his ready cash ;

" What then !" said they, " thy lands are broad and

rich, Get money on them !" AL, poor thoughtless fool, He listened to their counsels ! — Feasts and gifts, And needy friends, again have made him bare ! "Cut down thy woods!" said they. He cut them

down ; And then his wants lay open to the day, And people said " this thriftless lord is poor !"

This touched his pride, and he grew yet more lavish.

" Come to my heart," said he, "my faithful friends ;

We '11 drink and laugh, to shew we yet can spend ! "

— " The woods are felled ; the money is all spent ;

What now remains ? — The ]and 's as good as gone,

The usurer doth take its yearly rent !"

So spake the lord again unto his friends :

" Sell house and all !" exclaimed the revellers.

The young lord went to his uneasy bed

A melancholy man. The portraits old

Looked from their gilded frames as if they spoke

Silent upbraidings — all seemed stern but one,

That youthful mother, whose kind eye and smile

Appeared to say, Return, my son, return !

The lord of Torres is a thoughtful man :

His days are full of care, his nights of fear ;

He heedeth not which way his feather sits ;

He wears the velvet jerkin for the silk ;

He hath forgot the roses in his shoes ;

He drinks the red wine and forgets the pledge ;

He hears the jest, and yet he laugheth not :

Then said his friends " Our lord hath lost his wits,

Let 's leave him ample space to look for them !"

They rode away, and left his house to silence ;

The empty rooms echoed the closing doors ; —

The board was silent ! silent was the court,

Save for the barking of the uneasy hounds.

Soon spread those friends, the news of his distress !

And then again a crowd was at his doors :

This was a jeweller, and must be paid ;

This was a tailor — this had sold perfumes,

This silks, and this confectionery and wine —

They must — they must be paid — they would be paid !

" The lord of Torres is a ruined man !"

So said the cunning lawyer ; — and they sold

Horses and hounds and hawks, and then they said —

The house itself must go ! The silent lord

Rose up an angry man : " Fetch me my horse!"

Said he ; for now a thought had crossed his mind

Wherein lay hope. — Alas ! he had no horse —

The lord of Torres walked a-foot that day !

" I '11 seek my friends!" said he, " my right good

friends ; They '11 help me in my need, each one of them." He sought their doors — this saw him through the

blind, And bade his valet say, he was abroad : This spoke him pleasantly, and gave him wine, And pledged him in the cup, his excellent friend ! But when he told the purport of his visit, He shook his head, and said he had no gold, D

Even while he paid a thousand pieces down

For a vain bauble ! From another's lips

He heard the mocking words of " spendthrift," —

" beggar."

The lord of Torres turned upon his heel, And muttered curses while his heart was sad. " There 's yet another friend," said he, " beloved Beyond them all ; for while I held them churls, This was the chosen brother of my heart!" The lord of Torres stood beside his gate ; There was a shew as for a festival. " I come in a good hour !" said he to one Who stood hard by — " what means this merry shew?" " How ! know you not," said he, " this very morn The noble Count hath wedded the fair daughter Of Baron Vorm !" The young lord's cheek is white, His brain doth reel — he holds against the gate, And hides his face that none may see his tears ! He back returned unto his father's house, And entering in his chamber, barred the door, And passed a night of sleepless agony !

The lord of Torres was an altered man : A woe had shadowed o'er his countenance ; His speech was low, and tremulous, and sad ; He bore a wounded heart within his breast. Then came his aged steward with streaming eyes,

And gave to him a little bag of gold ;

" Take it," he said, " I won it in thy service,

And in the service of thy noble father !"

The lord of Torres took the old man's hand,

And wept as weeps a child ; his heart was touched.

" Take back thy gold," said he ; "I wasted mine,

Yet will I not expend thy honest gains : —

Friend, take it back — I will not touch thy gold !"

The house was sold — the lands, the lakes were sold, And debts and charges swallowed up the price ; And now he is a landless, homeless man, — He is no lord, he hath no heritage ! Thomas of Torres, get thee from this place, What dost thou here ? — art like a cursed sprite Looking into the heaven that thou hast lost ? Ay, look and long — for yonder do they lie, Thy fair lands and thy broad ! Poor outcast wretch, Thou may'st not set thy foot within those fields ; Thou may'st not pull a sapling from the hills ; Thou may'st not enter yon fair mansion-house — Another man is called the lord of Torres ! Out with thee ! thou art but a thriftless hind ; They '11 drive thee hence if thou but set thine eyes Upon their fair possessions ! What art now Better than him who wins his bread by toil P Better titan that poor wretch who lives by alms P d 2

3G THOMAS OF TORRES.

Thou canst not dig ; to beg thou art ashamed :

Oh, worse than they — thou, one-time, lord of Torres !

\A stranger advances, and pauses before Thomas.

Stranger. Are you the lord of Torres ?

Thos. I was he !

Strang. You are the man I seek !

Thos. What is 't you want ?

I can bestow no favours, give no gifts — I have not even a stiver for myself!

Strang. Nothing I ask ; I seek but to confer. Now listen to my words, my noble friend ! I knew a man whose case was like your own ; He stood upon the hills that overlooked The fair lands he had lost ; as you on yours. — He saw his treeless woods, his desolate mansion, Gone to a stranger's name — yet what did he ? Sit still and make a moan about the past, And call himself ill names and beat his breast ? No, no ! — he was another kind of man ! He made a vow to win his lost lands back ; To set a tree for every tree he felled ; To dwell in his ancestral home again !

Thos. And was his vow performed ? Strang. Indeed, it was !

Where he had counted one in his wild youth, In his old age he counted twenty fold ; And died within the room where he was born.

THOMAS OF TORR] S. 37

Thos. To win the faithless lady of his love Made he a vow ?

Strang. That vow he did not make ;

Because I know not if his heart had loved. But you may make that vow.

Thos. She is a wife !

Strang. He that has wedded her is not immortal ; Suppose he die, can you then claim her hand, A homeless, landless man ? Beside, she then Would have increased wealth ?

Thos. She was to me

Dearer than gold or silver. I 'd have ta'en her, A serving wench, without a single doit, In my prosperity.

Strang. And she loved too ?

Thos. Methought she did.

Strang. She did — nor would have wedded

Another man might she have made her choice.

Thos. Ha ! say you so? Could I believe it true, I 'd make the vow and keep it !

Strang. I swear to you

She was compelled to wed against her will — And, but that it w r ere sin, she still would love you !

Thos. I '11 do as thou hast said ! give me thy hand ! Thou hast performed a friend's part, though a stranger ; Witness my vow — witness, thou ancient earth, And thou, more ancient heaven, oh, witness it !

All that was mine I will win back to me —

All I have lost I will again possess —

Silver or gold, or love more precious still !

All that gave joy and beauty to my life,

Shall gladden and adorn it ere its close !

Hunger and thirst, and cold, and weariness

Shall not oppose me ! — through the day I '11 toil,

And through the night I will lay ceaseless schemes !

Here, in the face of my ancestral home,

I make this solemn vow ! — So help me God !

Strang. You have done well. The oath is good — now keep it!

But I must part from you — my road lies hence. Thos. My road lies any way. — I '11 go with you. Stran, [ going forward] The ground was good — and now the seed is sown Which will produce a harvest for my reaping !

[Thomas remains, looking into the valley for a few moments, and then folloivs him,.

Scene II

The interior of a miserable hut, cold ivood-ashes lie upon the hearth, and straiv, as for a bed, in one corner. — Enter Thomas of Torres, in a miners dress; he carries a lighted fagot in one hand, and a log in the other.

Thos. I '11 have a blaze anon. — The night is cold, And firewood costs me nothing.

\He lays wood upon the hearth, kindles it ;

and then bolting his door, sits down upon

a log by the fire.

'T is bright and warm !

These dry pine logs burn cheerily enough ; Hissing "and crackling, blazing merrily, They are good company — and better still, They cost me nothing — do not call for wine, Sauces and dainty meats, and savoury dishes — They live without rich doublets — do not need Gold-hilted swords, nor rings, nor laced cravats. A fire 's a good, companionable friend, A comfortable friend, who meets your face With pleasant welcome, makes the poorest shed As cheerful as a palace ! Are you cold ? He warms you — weary ? he refreshes you — Hungry? he doth prepare your viands for you — Are you in darkness ? he gives light to you — In a strange land, his face is that of one Familiar from your childhood — are you poor? What matters it to him ? he knows no difference Between an emperor and the poorest beggar ! Where is the friend that bears the name of man Will do as much for you ? When I was rich I could have counted out a hundred men,

And said, " All these would serve me, were there

need!"

And any one, or all, had sworn they would ; But when need came, where was the ready friend Said " Here 's my purse, good fellow !"

Curse on them !

I had my liveried servants in those days ; Both men and maids I had to wait on me ; I slept on down ; the hangings of my bed Were damask ; I did eat from silver ; All sorts of meats, and rare elaborate dishes Were set before me, with the choicest wines ; Upon my hands I wore most dainty rings, And of the whiteness of my hands did boast ! Look at them now — hardened and seamed and dark ; I wear no jewels now — I drink no wine. A crust of bread, and a poor herb or two Make up my daily meal ; ■ — my couch is straw ; I have no liveried servants — and what then? Am I the less a man than in those days ? My limbs I use — and I use all my senses ; I see, hear, feel, taste, smell as I did then. Go to ! thou hast not lost much by the change ! Ay, but thou hast ! thou wast a rich man then, Had'st friends, at least thy riches made them for thee — Wast loved — poor wretch ! — art loved now thinkest

thou?

Look at thy sordid frame — look at thy garb —

Look at thy blackened face, thy length of beard, Thy uncombed, tangled locks, could she love thee? 'T is but a process I am passing through ; To-day the grub, but on the morrow morn The painted butterfly !

[ A rap is heard at his door. Thomas,

starting, deadens the light with ashes, and

carefully covers something in a hole in the

wall — the rap is heard again.

Trav. [without] For God's sake, worthy Christian,

give me shelter.

Thos. Who are you — and what brings you to this

door ?

Trav. A weary traveller who hath lost his way; And chance has brought me here. — I am sore spent ; The night is chill and stormy, give me shelter.

Thos. My hut is no fit place for guest to lodge in ! I 've neither chair nor table, bread nor wine.

Trav. But you have fire— and a good roof above

you!

Thos. A little further on a village lieth ; You '11 there get fire and shelter, and good cheer. Trav. Direct me there.

Thos. [carefully opening his door~] First you must pass the mines ; Then cross yon woody ridge ; the hamlet lies Below, in the next valley.

Trav. Thank you, friend ;

And yet the way is long, and the night dark.

Thos. 'T is scarce a league — follow yon trembling star, O'er the old tower ; you cannot miss the way.

[he shuts to the door, and bars it. Am I to lodge all weary travellers ? If he got shelter, he 'd be asking food. No, no, i' faith, the world was none so ready To give me aught — I 've feasted guests enow !

[he puts out his fire, and then throws himself on the straw.

Scene III

A fine moonlight night. — A lonely field in the extremity of the valley of Torres.— Enter Thomas with an ass, he takes off the bridle and turns it to graze.

Thomas. There, thou poor, half starved, patient animal,

There 's grass, rare, green grass for thee ! eat thy fill,

Would thou could'st take a store for forty days !

This once was mine — I tell thee, it was mine !

I know it inch by inch — yon leafy hedge

Is hazel every twig. I little dreamed

When I was wandering here a happy boy,

The time would come when I should steal in here

A thief o' nights !

Ah, I remember well — There is a little hollow hereabout, Where wild-briar roses, and lithe honeysuckle Made a thick bower ; 't was here I used to come, To read sweet books of witching poetry ! Could it be I ? No, no, I am so changed, I will not think this man was once that boy ; The thought would drive me mad ! I will but think I once knew one who called this vale his own ; I will but think I knew a merry boy, And a kind, gentle father, years agone, Who had their dwelling here ; and that the boy Did love this lonely nook, and used to find Here the first nests of summer ; here did read All witching books of glorious poetry ; And then, that as the boy became a youth, And gentle feeling strengthened into passion, And love became the p oetry of life, Hither he wandered, with a girlish beauty, Gathering, like Proserpine, sweet meadow-flowers ; And that they sate beneath the wild-briar rose, And that he then did kiss that maiden's cheek The first time as a lover ! Oh my God ! That was the heir of Torres — a brave boy, A noble-hearted boy ! he grew a man, And what became of him ? Ha ! pass we that — Would that I knew not what became of him !

\_He advances into the hollow,

'Tis even as then! this bower hath little changed, But hearts have changed since then — and thoughts

have changed, And the great purpose of a life hath changed ! Oh that I were a bird among these boughs, To live a summer life of peace and joy ; To never fret my soul for broken faith ;

To have no onward hope, no retrospection!

Ah ! there 's the tiny glow-worm as of old !

It is a lovely thing. O me ! how much

That 's beautiful and pure have I forgotten !

Years is it since a glow-worm crossed my thoughts,

And it was the bright marvel of my boyhood —

A fire, and yet so cold ! let 's feel it now,

If 'tis as it was then. [He stoops to pick it up.

Heavens, it is gold !

And here is more ! bright, shining, glorious gold !

[He pulls away moss and roots, and draws

out a small bag of gold coin.

Let me into the moonlight — gold, gold, gold ! A hoard of shining gold : here lieth more Than I have saved in seven years' weary toil, And honest gain — this is some robber's booty — It were no sin to take a robber's gold,

[A step is heard approaching.

Ha ! some one comes !

[He shrinks into the shade, and lies close

under the bank.

Man. Now, by your leave, good friend, Who may you be ?

Thos. A poor night traveller, Who takes up his cheap quarters 'neath the hedges.

Man. I 'm in the like case too. But, honest friend, I have a little liking for your pillow, May'st please you take the farther side o' the bed ! Thos. First come, first served — it is a well

known adage.

Man. Come, come my friend, these are my ancient quarters ; I have a foolish liking for this spot — All are alike to you —

Thos. I have possession,

And will maintain it !

Man. It shall then be tried !

\_He lays hold on Thomas, and they struggle together.

Ha ! ha, you thief, then you have got the bag ! Thos. I have !

Man. You villain ! you marauding thief !

[Thomas rushes into the thicket — the man follows.

Man. [within the thicket. ~] I am a dead man, help ! oh, I am murdered !

Christ help me ! I am murdered !

Thos. [rushing out.^\ He is not ! no ! Cuffs do not murder men ! [he runs off.

Scene IV

A cave by the sea shore. — Enter Thomas of Torres ; he takes out the bag.

Thos. Now let me count — now let me see my gains. Ah ! it reminds me of the thirty pieces, The price of blood ! I would give every piece To know he were not dead ! A murderer — Thomas of Torres a night murderer ! No, 't is not so ! they were not killing blows — I will not think of it !

Now let me count — [he counts out a hundred pieces. Oh, thou most goodly thing — most lovely gold ! Dearer unto my soul than meat or drink ; More beautiful than woman ! Glorious gold, I love thee as a youth his earliest mistress ! Come to my heart, thou bright and beautiful — Come, come ! [he hugs the gold.

Bright prize, I care not how I won thee, I '11 ease my heart with thee ! A hundred pieces ! Had it been five-and-twenty — even fifty, I might have groaned for that poor wretch's groan —

But for a hundred brave, broad, golden pieces I '11 groan not.

[He takes off his belt, and then securely fixing them in it, fastens it round his body. Thou shalt be my true breast-plate, My heart's joy, my night and day companion ! But hence ! this is no land of safety for me.

[he goes out.