Furl up our colours, and unbrace our drums;  

dislodge betimes, and quit this fatal coast,

Have we forgot to conquer?

Cast off hope:

th' imbattl'd legions of fire, air, and earth,

are banded for our foes.

For going to discover, with the dawn,

yon southern hill, which promis'd to the sight

a rise more easy to attack the fort,

scarce had we stept on the forbidden ground,

when the woods shook, the trees stood bristling up;

a living trembling nodded thro' the leaves.

Poplars, and aspen-boughs, a panic fright!

We thought so too, and doubled still our pace,

but strait a rumbling sound, like bellowing winds,

rose and grew loud; confus'd with howls of wolves,

and grunts of bears, and dreadful hiss of snakes;

shrieks more than human; globes of hail pour'd down

an armed winter, and inverted day.

Dreadful indeed!

Count then our labours lost:

for other way lies none, to mount the cliff,

unless we borrow wings, and sail thro' air.

Now I perceive a danger worthy me.

'Tis Osmond's work, a band of hell-hir'd slaves:

be mine the hazard, mine shall be the fame.

Hold, sir, and wait heav'n's time, th' attempt's too dangerous:  

there's not a tree in that enchanted grove,

but number'd out, and giv'n by tale to fiends:

and under every leaf a spirit couch'd.

But by what method to dissolve these charms,

is yet unknown to me.

Hadst thou been here, (for what can thwart thy skill?)

nor Emmeline had been the boast of Oswald;

nor I, forewarn'd, been wanting to her guard.

Her darken'd eyes had seen the light of Heav'n;

that was thy promise too, and this the time.

Nor has my aid been absent, tho' unseen,

with friendly guides in your benighted maze:

nor Emmeline shall longer want the sun.

Is there an end of woes?

There is, and sudden.

I have employ'd a subtle airy sprite

t' explore the passage, and prepare thy way.

Myself, mean time, will view the magic wood,

to learn whereon depends its force.

But Emmeline... ~

Fear not: this vial shall restore her sight.

Oh might I hope (and what's impossible

to Merlin's art?) to be myself the bearer,

that with the light of Heav'n she may discern

her lover first.

'Tis wond'rous hazardous;

yet I foresee th' event, 'tis fortunate.

I'll bear ye safe, and bring ye back unharm'd:

then lose not precious time, but follow me.

Well hast thou wrought thy safety with thy wit,  

my Philidel; go meritorious on:

me other work requires, to view the wood,

and learn to make the dire inchantments void;

mean time attend king Arthur in my room;

shew him his love, and with these sovereign drops

restore her sight.

O yonder, yonder she's already found:  

my soul directs my sight, and flies before it.

See where she sits beneath the poplar shade;

now, gentle spirit, use thy utmost art,

unseal her eyes, and this way lead her steps,

while I conceal myself, and feast my eyes

by viewing hers, new opening to the day.

Ha! what was that? Who spoke?  

I heard the voice; 'tis one of Osmond's fiends.

Some blessed angel sure; I feel my eyes

unseal'd, they walk abroad, and a new world

comes rushing on, and stands all gay before me.

Oh heav'ns! oh joy of joys! she has her sight.

I am new-born; I shall run mad for pleasure.

(staring on Matilda)

Are women such as thou? Such glorious creatures?

(aside)

Oh how I envy her, to be first seen!

Stand farther; let me take my fill of sight.

(looking up)

What's that above that weakens my new eyes,

makes me not see, by seeing?

'Tis the sun.

The sun! 'tis sure a god, if that be heav'n:

oh! if thou art a creature, best and fairest,

how well art thou, from mortals so remote,

to shine and not to burn, by near approach!

How hast thou lighten'd even my very soul,

and let in knowledge by another sense!

I gaze about, new-born to day and thee;

a stranger yet, an infant to the world!

Art thou not pleas'd, Matilda? Why, like me,

dost thou not look and wonder?

For these sights

are to my eyes familiar.

That's my joy,

not to have seen before: for nature now

comes all at once, confounding my delight.

But ah! what thing am I? Fain would I know;

or am I blind, or do I see but half?

With all my care, and looking round about,

I cannot view my face.

None see themselves

but by reflection; in this glass you may.

(gives her a glass)

(taking the glass, and looking)

What's this?

It holds a face within it: o sweet face!

It draws the mouth, and smiles, and looks upon me;

and talks, but yet I cannot hear it speak;

the pretty thing is dumb.

The pretty thing

you see within the glass, is you.

What, am I two? Is this another me?

Indeed it wears my clothes, has hands like mine;

and mocks whate'er I do; but that I'm sure

it cannot be, I'd swear it were my child.

Matilda looks.

Look, my Matilda; we both are in the glass.

Oh, now I know it plain; they are our names,

that peep upon us there.

Our shadows, madam.

Mine is the prettier shadow far, than thine.

I love it; let me kiss my t'other self.

(kissing the glass)

Alas, I've kiss'd it dead; the fine thing's gone;

indeed it kiss'd so cold as if 'twere dying.

'Tis here again.  

Oh, no, this face is neither mine nor thine:

I think the glass hath borne another child.

(she turns and sees Arthur)

Ha! what art thou, with a new kind of face,

and other clothes, a noble creature too;

but taller, bigger, fiercer in thy look;

of a controuling eye, majestic make?

Do you not know him, madam?

Is't a man?

Yes, and the most unhappy of my kind,

if you have chang'd your love.

My dearest lord!

Was my soul blind; and cou'd not that look out,

to know you, ere you spoke? Oh counterpart

of our soft sex; well are you made our lords:

so bold, so great, so godlike are you form'd.

How can you love such silly things as women?

Beauty like your's commands; and man was made

but a more boisterous, and a stronger slave,

to you, the best delights of human kind.

But are ye mine? Is there an end of war?

Are all those trumpets dead themselves, at last,

that us'd to kill men with their thund'ring sounds?

The sum of war is undecided yet;

and many a breathing body must be cold,

ere you are free.

How came ye hither then?

By Merlin's art, to snatch a short liv'd bliss;

to feed my famish'd love upon your eyes,

one moment, and depart.

O moment! worth

whole ages past, and all that are to come!

Let love sick Oswald, now unpitied mourn;

let Osmond mutter charms to sprites in vain,

to make me love him; all shall not change my sool.

Ha! does th'inchanter practise hell upon you?

Is he my rival too?

Yes, but I hate him;

for when he spoke, thro' my shut eyes I saw him;

his voice look'd ugly, and breath'd brimstone on me:

and then I first was glad that I was blind,

not to behold perdition.

My sovereign, we have hazarded too far;  

but love excuses you, and prescience me.

Make haste; for Osmond is even now alarm'd,

and greedy of revenge is hasting home.

Oh take my love with us, or leave me here.

I cannot, for she's held by charms too strong;

which, with th' enchanted grove, must be destroy'd:

till when, my art is vain: but fear not, Emmeline;

th' inchanter has no power on innocence.

Farewell, since we must part:

when you are gone,

I'll look into my glass, just where you look'd,

to find your face again;

if 'tis not there, I'll think on you so long,

my heart shall make your picture for my eyes.

Where'er I go, my soul shall stay with thee:

'tis but my shadow that I take away:

true love is never happy but by halves;

an April sunshine, that by fits appears,

it smiles by moments, but it mourns by years.

May all good angels spread their wings,

and shield my love from harm.

This way, this way, Matilda;  

now my Arthur's gone, the loveliest object

to my new-born sight, I'll look round and round

upon the lesser beauties of creation.

Matilda, save me from this ugly thing,  

this foe to sight; speak, dost thou know him?

Too well; 'tis Oswald's fiend, the great magician.

It cannot be a man, he's so unlike the man I love.

(aside)

Death to my eyes, she sees!

I wish I could not; but I'll close my sight,

and shut out all I can ~ It wo'not be;

winking, I see thee still, thy odious image

stares full into my soul; and there infects the room

my Arthur shou'd possess.

(aside)

I find too late,

that Merlin and her lover have been here.

If I was fir'd before when she was blind,

her eyes dart lightning now; she must be mine.

I pr'ythee, dreadful thing, tell me thy business here;

and, if thou canst, reform that odious face;

look not so grim upon me.

My name is Osmond; and my business, love.

Thou hast a grizly look forbidding what thou ask'st,

if I durst tell thee so.

My pent-house eye-brows, and my shaggy beard,

offend your sight, but these are manly signs:

faint white and red abuse your expectations;

be woman; know your sex, and love full pleasures.

Love from a monster, fiend?

Come, you must love; or you must suffer love;

no coyness, none, for I am master here.

And when did Oswald give away his power,

that thou presum'st to rule? Be sure I'll tell him:

for as I am his prisoner, he is mine.

Why then thou art a captive to a captive.

O'er-labour'd with the fight, opprest with thirst,

that Oswald, whom you mention'd, call'd for drink,

I mix'd a sleepy potion in his bowl,

which he and his fool friend quaff'd greedily.

The happy dose wrought the desir'd effect;

then to a dungeon's depth I sent both bound;

where, stow'd with snakes and adders, now they lodge;

two planks their beds, slippery with oose and slime,

the rats, that brush o'er their faces with their tails,

and croaking paddocks, crawl upon their limbs;

since when the garrison depends on me;

now know you are my slave.

He strikes a horror thro' my blood.

I freeze, as if his impious art had fix'd

my feet to earth.

But love shall thaw ye.

I'll show his force in countries cak'd with ice,

where the pale pole star, in the north of heav'n,

sits high, and on the frosty winter broods;

yet there love reigns: for proof, this magic wand

shall change the mildness of sweet Britain's clime

to Iceland, and the farthest Thule's frost,

where the proud god, disdaining winter's bounds,

oe'rleaps the fences of eternal snow,

and with his warmth supplies the distant sun.

I cou'd be pleas'd with any one but thee,  

who entertain'd my sight with such gay shows,

as men and women moving here and there;

that coursing one another in their steps,

have made their feet a tune.

What, coying it again!

No more, but make me happy to my gust,

that is, without your struggling.

From my sight,

thou, all thy devils in one, thou dar'st not force me.

You teach me well; I find you would he ravish'd;

I'll give you that excuse your sex desire.

Who's that, my Grimbald! Come and help thou me;

for 'tis thy work t'assist a ravisher.

I'll read'em backwards, and release thy bonds.

Mean time go in. ~

(to Emmeline)

Prepare yourself, ease my drudgery.

But if you will not fairly be enjoy'd,

a little honest force is well employ'd.

Heav'n be my guard, I have no other friend!  

Heav'n, ever present to thy suppliant's aid,

protect and pity innocence betray'd.