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THE PHRENZY OF ORRA.
Theobald. Her body is.
Is she well?
Hart. And not her mind? oh, direst wreck of all!
Theo. 'Tis Heaven's infliction; let us call it so;
Eleanora. Nay, do not thus despair; when she beholds us, She'll know her friends, and, by our kindly soothing, Be gradually restored
Let me go to her.
Theo. Nay, forbear, I pray thee;
I will myself with thee, my worthy Hartman,
Go in and lead her forth.
Come back, come back! the fierce and fiery light! Theo. Shrink not, dear love! it is the light of day. Orra. Have cocks crow'd yet?
Theo. Yes; twice I've heard already
Their matin sound. Look up to the blue sky-
Orra. Aye, so it is; day takes his daily turn,
Till glow-worms gleam, and stars peep through the dark,
[Bending her ear to the ground. Hark, hark! aye, hark!
They are all there: I hear their hollow sound
Theo. Be still, poor troubled soul! they'll ne'er return-
Thou shalt from henceforth have a cheerful home,
Elea. My gentle Orra! hast thou then forgot me?
Orra. 'Tis like an old tune to my ear return'd. For there be those who sit in cheerful halls,
And breathe sweet air, and speak with pleasant sounds;
I wot not now how long.
Hughobert. Keen words that rend my heart! thou hadst a home, And one whose faith was pledged for thy protection.
Urston. Be more composed, my Lord; some faint remembrance Returns upon her, with the well-known sound
Of voices once familiar to her ear.
Let Alice sing to her some fav'rite tune,
Orra. Ha, ha! the witch'd air sings for thee bravely.
Why are ye here?-That is the blessed sun.
Oh, grievous state! what terror seizes thee?
Mine eyes have look'd upon all dreadful things;
And when the earth yawns, and the hell-blast sounds,
With stiff, clench'd, terrible strength.
Hugh. A murd'rer is a guiltless wretch to me.
Let me encounter it.
Orra. Take off from me thy strangely-fasten'd eye;
Elea. Alas, the piteous sight! to see her thus,
Theo. Out on thy hateful and ungenerous guile!
[Raising Orra from the ground. No; rise, thou stately flower with rude blasts rent; As honour'd art thou with thy broken stem And leaflets strew'd, as in thy summer's pride. I've seen thee worshipp'd like a regal Dame, With every studied form of mark'd devotion, Whilst I, in distant silence, scarcely proffer'd Ev'n a plain soldier's courtesy; but now,
No liege man to his crownèd mistress sworn,
And he who offers to thy alter'd state
The slightest seeming of diminish'd rev'rence,
Must in my blood-(To Hartman)-O pardon me, my friend! Thou'st wrung my heart.
Hart. Nay, do thou pardon me,-I am to blame:
Thy nobler heart shall not again be wrung.
Theo. O none! none! none! but gentle sympathy, And watchfulness of love.
My noble Orra! Wander where'er thou wilt, thy vagrant steps Shall follow'd be by one, who shall not weary, Nor e'er detach him from his hopeless task; Bound to thee now as fairest, gentlest beauty Could ne'er have bound him.
Alice. See how she gazes on him with a look,
There is a kindness in her changing eye.
How still the morning of the hallow'd day!
The plough-boy's whistle, and the milk-maid's song.