Hark, hark, a voice amid the quiet intense!
It is thy Duty waiting thee without.
Rise from thy knees in hope, the half of doubt;
A hand doth pull thee--it is Providence;
Open thy door straightway, and get thee hence;
Go forth into the tumult and the shout;
Work, love, with workers, lovers, all about:
Of noise alone is born the inward sense
Of silence; and from action springs alone
The inward knowledge of true love and faith.
Then, weary, go thou back with failing breath,
And in thy chamber make thy prayer and moan:
One day upon _His_ bosom, all thine own,
Thou shall lie still, embraced in holy death.

SCENE I.--_A room in Julian's castle_. JULIAN _and the old_ Nurse.

_Julian_.
Nembroni? Count Nembroni?--I remember:
A man about my height, but stronger built?
I have seen him at her father's. There was something
I did not like about him:--ah! I know:
He had a way of darting looks at you,
As if he wished to know you, but by stealth._Nurse_.
The same, my lord. He is the creditor.
The common story is, he sought the daughter,
But sought in vain: the lady would not wed.
'Twas rumoured soon they were in grievous trouble,
Which caused much wonder, for the family
Was always reckoned wealthy. Count Nembroni
Contrived to be the only creditor,
And so imprisoned him._Julian_.
Where is the lady?
_Nurse_.
Down in the town.
_Julian_.
But where?
_Nurse_.
If you turn left,
When you go through the gate, 'tis the last house
Upon this side the way. An honest couple,
Who once were almost pensioners of hers,
Have given her shelter: still she hopes a home
With distant friends. Alas, poor lady! 'tis
A wretched change for her._Julian_.
Hm! ah! I see.
What kind of man is this Nembroni, nurse?_Nurse_.
Here he is little known. His title comes
From an estate, they say, beyond the hills.
He looks ungracious: I have seen the children
Run to the doors when he came up the street._Julian_.
Thank you, nurse; you may go. Stay--one thing more:
Have any of my people seen me?_Nurse_. None
But me, my lord._Julian_.
And can you keep it secret?--
know you will for my sake. I will trust you.
Bring me some supper; I am tired and faint. [Nurse goes.]
Poor and alone! Such a man has not laid
His plans for nothing further! I will watch him.
Heaven may have brought me hither for her sake.
Poor child! I would protect thee as thy father,
Who cannot help thee. Thou wast not to blame;
My love had no claim on like love from thee.--How
the old tide comes rushing to my heart!I know not what I can do yet but watch.
I have no hold on him. I cannot go,
Say, _I suspect_; and, _Is it so or not_?
I should but injure them by doing so.
True, I might pay her father's debts; and will,
If Joseph, my old friend, has managed well
During my absence. _I_ have not spent much.
But still she'd be in danger from this man,
If not permitted to betray himself;
And I, discovered, could no more protect.
Or if, unseen by her, I yet could haunt
Her footsteps like an angel, not for long
Should I remain unseen of other eyes,
That peer from under cowls--not angel-eyes--
Hunting me out, over the stormy earth.
No; I must watch. I can do nothing better.

SCENE II.--_A poor cottage. An old_ Man _and_ Woman _sitting together_.

_Man_.
How's the poor lady now?_Woman_.
She's poorly still.
I fancy every day she's growing thinner.
I am sure she's wasting steadily._Man_.
Has the count
Been here again to-day?