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 shows ;
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;
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'll seek my friends!" said he, "my right good
friends;
They'll 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,
Even while he paid a thousand pieces down
"What then!" said they, "thy lands are broad and For a vain bauble! From another's lips
Get money on them!" Ah, 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'll drink and laugh, to show we yet can spend !"
-"The woods are felled; the money is all spent;
What now remains? - The land'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:
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 show as for a festival.
"I come in a good hour!" said he to one
Who stood hard by-"what means this merry show?"
"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 fathers' 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'll 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?
Better than that poor wretch who lives by alms?
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.
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.
Thos. To win the faithless lady of his love
Made he a vow?
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Thos. I'll 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'll 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'll go with you.
Strang. [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 follows him.
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Thos. I'll 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.
"Tis 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!"
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?
"Tis 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.
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
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'll 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. "Tis scarce a league-follow yon trembling
A fine moonlight night. A lonely field in the ex
tremity of the valley of Torres. Enter Thomas
with an ass, he takes off the bridle and turns it
graze.
Thomas.
There, thou poor, half-starved, patien 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!
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Ah, I remember well.
There is a little hollow hereabout,
Where wild-briar roses, and lithe honeysuckle
Made a thick bower; 'twas 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 poetry 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,
[He shuts to the door, and bars it. 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.
O'er the old tower; you cannot miss the way.
Am I to lodge all weary travellers?
If ne 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.
[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,
I might have groaned for that poor wretch's groan
But for a hundred brave, broad, golden pieces
I'll groan not.
[He takes off his belt, and then securely fixing
them in it, fastens it round his body.
[A step is heard approaching. Thou shalt be my true breast-plate,
My heart's joy, my night and day companion!
[He shrinks into the shade, and lies close But hence! this is no land of safety for me.
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
Man. Come, come, my friend, these are my ancient quarters;
I have a foolish liking for this spot
All are alike to you
Man. It shall then be tried!
Several years afterwards.—A dark night in a distant country. A field of battle covered with dead. Enter Thomas of Torres with a small lantern in his hand.
Thos. Rings; dagger-sheaths; gold chains and spurs; massy gold embroidery-this is all clear gain -no deduction for agents-no plaguy discount-all net profit! [he gropes among the bodies.] But ha!thou art worth looking after! Come, my young gentleman, I'll be your valet!-Let go your sword. Poor wretch! that was a strong death-grasp! Now
[He lays hold on Thomas, and they off with your rings!-one, two, three! I'll lay my
ila! ha, you thief, then you have got the bag!
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!
life thou wast a coxcomb-a fine blade, with wit as keen as thy sword's edge. [he tears open the pockets.] Empty, empty! I'd be sworn he expended his gold on his outside-I've known such in my day!
[He goes forward ;—a groan is heard. Thos. Here's life among the dead!-mercy! that sound
In this unearthly silence chills my blood.
A faint Voice. For the dear love of Christ, be't friend or foe,
[He runs off. Make short my death!
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, 'tis not so! they were not killing blows—
I will not think of it!
[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'll ease my heart with thee! A hundred pieces!
Had it been five-and-twenty-even fifty,
Thos. What, art thou sick of life?
Voice. It is not life - it is a living death!
Thos. [approaching him, and looking at him atten.
vely] Ha! thou'rt an argosy with treasure laden!
Voice. My sword is at my head - for pity's sake,
Make short work with it!
Thos. [seizing his hand.] Gems worthy of a king!
Wounded Man. [raising himself.] Off with thee,
thou accursed plunderer, -
Thou stony-hearted wretch, off, off!
And thou, bright Isabel! it was for thee
I made the solemn vow, which I am keeping;
Accursed, wretched spoiler, that I am!
Let me begone! I will not look again
Upon a dead man's face - at least to-night!
[He gathers up his spoil, and goes slowly off.
A foreign city.-A miserable den-like room, surrounded with iron chests, secured with heavy padlocks — the door and windows grated and barred.-Thomas of Torres sitting at a desk, with pen and ink before him.
Enter A FINE GENTLEMAN.
Gent. Good morrow, most excellent sir!
Thos. Humph!
Gent. I have the misfortune, sir, to need a thousand gold pieces, and knowing your unimpeachable honour, I have pleasure in asking the loan from you. Thos. Humph!
Gent. Your rate of interest, sir, is
[The Gentleman, in great agitation, lays down
a bundle of parchments before him.
Well, what of these?
Give me the further sum Of twenty thousand pieces on these landsThos. Thirty per cent. for spendthrift heirs, and These parchments will be surety for the whole! two responsible sureties.
Gent. The terms are hard, sir.
Thos.
Thos. [glancing over them.] The lands of Torres !
ha ha ha!- and you're - ?
Gent. The lord of Torres.
Thos.
Thos. The jackanapes!
Enter A GRIM-LOOKING MAN.
Man. He cannot pay, sir; he declares it impossible, and prays you to have patience;-and in the meantime leaves in your hand this casket.
Thos. [opening it.] Baubles!-Can't pay!-impossible! I say I will be paid!
Of the validity of these same deeds?
Lord of T. I've heard it said that you are of that
If so, the signatures of its late lords,
Father and son, may be well known to you.
Thos. [carefully examining them.] I had some
knowledge of them-these are theirs:
And you give up your right unto this lordship
For the consideration of the sum
Of twenty thousand pieces?
Lord of T.
No, no, sir;
That doth exceed my meaning.
Thos.
Then pay down
The original sum, with interest, or a prison
Shall be your home this night,
Lord of T
Man. His ship was lost in the squall- he must sell the furniture of his house to cover your demand, and he prays you to have mercy on his wife and children! Thos. Wife and children! talk not to me of wives To give away my children's patrimony! and children!-I'll have my money!
Man. I tell you, sir, it is impossible, without you seize his goods.
Thos. Then take the city bailiff, and get them appraised.
Man. I cannot do it, sir!-You shall see him yourself. [aside.] The nether mill-stone is running water compared to his heart! [He goes out. Thos. Twenty thousand gold pieces, and seven months' interest-and give that up because a man has wife and children. - Ha! ha! ha!
[He resumes his pen, and calculates
Enter A GENTLEMAN, with a depressed countenance.
Gent. Sir, my misfortunes are unparalleled--
My ship was stranded in the squall last week,
And now my wife is at the point of death!
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