/f 4./ 4. BRITAIN'S HISTORICAL DRAMA; A SECOND SERIES OF national Crajjeirus!, INTENDED TO ILLUSTRATE THE MANNERS, CUSTOMS, AND RELIGIOUS INSTITUTIONS OP DIFFERENT ERAS IN BRITAIN. ' ' Tragedy, as it was anciently composed, hath been ever held the gravest, moralest, and most profitable of all poems. The Apostle Paul himself thought it not unworthy to insert a verse of Euripides into the text of Holy Scripture. Therefore men in highest dignity have laboured not a little to be thought able to compose a Tragedy." MILTON. LONDON : HENRY STOCKING, 25, KING WILLIAM STREET, LONDON BRIDGE. MDCCCXXXIX. LONDON : MAURICE AND CO., HOWFORD-BL'ILDINGS, FKNCHURCH-STREET. INTRODUCTION. IF, in this enlightened age, there still exist any lingering prejudice against Dramatic Poems, it arises, no doubt, from their supposed connexion with the Stage ; and if such moral and philosophic writers as Milton, Thomson, Mason, Milman, Graham, and Mrs. Joanna Baillie, have not yet been able wholly to eradicate all groundless objec- tions, it would be unavailing for us to argue against them. The best confutation we can advance, must be found in the innocence, morality, and usefulness of the Historical Dramas themselves, which we submit to the judgment of the Public. We will, however, quote a noble defence in favour of ancient and modern fiction, written by that learned and pious historian, Mr. Sharon Turner. " Fictitious compositions are so many concentrations of the scattered virtues of life ; so many personifications of whatever is amiable and admirable in the manners or con- ceptions of the day We may, indeed, say that most of the romances of our forefathers were advantageous, in some respect or other, to the progress of their social life. In every one some vice is made revolting, and some virtue interesting It is probable that our best romances and tales have been, on the whole, nearly as efficacious in their moral operations as our sermons and our ethics. They have, at least, been great auxiliaries : society would not have been what it is without them. . . It is the fault of M80669 INTRODUCTION. the artist, not of his art, if his fictions be either unuseful or pernicious Fictitious narratives have been highly useful, and may be more so. We all need tuition as much as we dislike it ; it may therefore be welcomed from every quarter, and particularly when it comes accompanied by harmless emotion and intellectual delight. Let us only urge our minstrels and fableurs to make their own ideal beauty as excellent as they can, before they embody it to our sight. . . A From the natural desire of reputation, every man performs the task which he allots to himself as ably as he can ; and as the great preponderance of nature is always to good, society has been, on the whole, perpetually a gainer by the romances, tales, poetry, and dramas of its authors, notwithstanding the alloy of some individual eccentri- cities."* The flattering and cheering manner in which the First Series of this National Work was received by a certain portion of the Public, has been one great stimulus to our exertions in the production of a second volume ; and we trust that, in its execution, it will not be found that we have merited less forbearance, kindness, and encourage- ment, than have been shown to our first attempt ; parti- cularly when we state that it has been accomplished under domestic afflictions unusually severe and trying. * History of the Middle Ages. THE ENGLISH SLAVE; OR, THE EVE OF ST. BRICE. A TRAGEDY. " Thy castle yet, Sweet Lyd, remains, of all the dwellings fair That clustered once upon thy marge. Alas ! Profoundest silence reigns where rolled the voice Of business on the fitful wind. No more The crowded mart, the echoing street, where flowed The human stream along. The grave has closed Upon thy myriads, Lydford : nought remains Of thee and thine but that frail lonely pile, Sole relic of thy ancient glory, where Proud floating o'er the battlements, thy sons Once gave the banner to the breeze." CAKRINGTON'S DARTMOOR. DRAMATIS PERSONS SAXONS. GONDABERT, Earl of Devon. LORD EDGAR, his Son. ALBERT, the Slave. HAROLD, Seneschal of the Household. OTHMAR, Captain of the Retainers and Guards. ELFILIA, a supposed Bondmaid. EDITHA, a Neif, or Bondwoman. BRITONS. DUKE OP CORNWALL. RODERICK, Captain of the Banditti. 1st Robher. 2nd Robber. DANES. ROGVALLA, a Sea-king or Pirate. CATHIMAR, i IVOR, > Danish Chiefs. FROTHO, ) EVANDA, i T> f Captives to Gondabert. Saxon and Danish Soldiers, Peasants, Robbers, and Attendants. ERA 1002. THE ENGLISH SLAVE. ACT I. SCENE I. The Interior of a miserable Cottage. Enter Editha and Albert. EDITHA. ST. Cuthbert save us ! what can ail thee, boy, To be so testy, wayward, cross, and peevish ? Some fearful spirit of the stormy moor, Which thou dost ever haunt, hath on thee cast An evil eye ; or the night-roaming hag, Crossing thy path, bewitched thee ! ALBERT. Mother, no I love to wander when the tempest howls O'er Dartmoor's lonely wilds, for then I seem To breathe the mountain air of liberty : I the fierce stag love to companion where The herds in freedom rove, for then I seem To be as free as they : I love to climb The eagle's granite throne, and see him wave His broad wings to the wind, for then I feel As if I from my limbs had dashed the chains Of loathsome bondage, and, like that proud bird, Were master of myself. 6 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act I. EDITHA. Now goodness keep me ! Why, Albert, should thine ever-restless mind Indulge such vain desires ? Win thou content, And in thy humble lot, though hard it be, Thou 'It tind some happiness. ALBERT. None, never, none, While I behold the stern usurping Thane, In splendour clad, tread like a god the earth, ( x ) And frown me into nothing ! Why should he Have all things at command, while I must wear These sordid weeds, and toil, yoked to the plough, ( 2 ) For food his dogs would scorn ? EDITHA. The saints assoil thee ! Why, Albert, where hast thou picked up such treason Against thy high-born betters ? ALBERT. Why my betters ? In what are they my betters ? True, they feed From trenchers loaded with the daintiest cheer The garden, forest, flood, and harvest yield ; ( 3 ) Furred robes they wear, bedizened o'er with gold ( 4 ) And dazzling pebbles, bought with blood of slaves ; Curb fiery steeds, in costly trappings decked; Grasp in their hands a spear, the sign of freedom, ( 5 ) And on their ring-bound fingers bear a hawk, None daring to command them ; but are they In aught else, mother, better than myself? EDITHA. Why should that bosom harbour such proud thoughts, So ill-beseeming thy low state in life ? Scene I.J THE ENGLISH SLAVE. ALBERT. Has not this bosom passions like to theirs ? Have I not speech like them ? Was I not born A man, an Englishman, and hath not God As brightly on my forehead stamped his image, As on the proudest Thane's ? And yet for me To touch the tuneful harp, to grasp a spear, And in the forest with a falcon sport, Are crimes deemed worthy stripes and banishment. ( 6 ) O, I could curse the day that gave me birth ! EDITHA. Nay, good my child ALBERT. Why didst thou bring me forth To be a slave ? Why was thy womb not barren ? Why died I not before I saw the light ? Thyself a bond-slave, thou shouldst, knowing all The miseries of a state so vilely base, Have strangled me, even in the porch of life ; Or, wanting strength, have bade my father dash My brains out on his threshold. That had been Paternal kindness to me. EDITHA. Blessed Virgin ! Art thou distraught with passion ? O, what strange And fearful beings hast thou on the moor Held parley with ? ALBERT. Those, mother, who amid Its stony caves and fairy-haunted woods Dwell free as the wild bull, making the great ones To their dominion crouch : and if ere long THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act T I gain not freedom, man's eternal birthright, 111 join the gallant band, and then shall I EDITHA. Mercy forbid ! Thy father was a slave, So was his sire before him : they both lived And died in honest bondage, and in peace. ALBERT. And / will die in freedom ! from these limbs Bravely the fetters of bond- service fling, And cast off slavery's badge ! No peace for me Till this great work is done, till I can feel I have a title to be ranked with men, And wear its honest dignity with honour. The lord of Lydford, Devon's high potent Earl, (7) After long years of absence, to yon towers This day returns, and with him Cornwall's Duke; Whose daughter, as I hear, will be the bride Of Edgar, Devon's brave son. Mother, farewell ; I'll to the castle I must be among them. I will do something there shall make strange stir I know not what -But from this doughty Earl I'll win my freedom, or a hated life Fling reckless to the winds ! EDITHA. Stay, Albert, stay. Thou art become so headstrong, fierce, and wild- ALBERT. What ! wouldst thou have me tamely bear these wrongs ? Slavery and age have blunted all thy feelings, And thou canst smile in chains ; but my young blood Is all on fire t' achieve that sacred birthright, That noble gift which Heaven on all bestows But impious man denies Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 9 I may be torn to-morrow from thine arms. And in the market sold to some new lord ; Or, by men-stealers borne beyond the seas, Pine in far-distant lands. ( 8 ) EDITHA. O, it would break My heart, wert thou sold from me. ALBERT. Ay, and now Another passion stirs within this bosom. Where is Elfilia? EDITHA. In the forest, boy, Keeping our herd of swine. ALBERT. O, how I love No words can tell how much I love that maid, Who to our cottage came one stormy night, And craved to share with us a home of bondage. Her eye, when on its lashes hangs a tear, Is like the azure violet, full of dew. Her beauty Pshaw ! I'm barren of all words When I would praise her. Soon I'll make her mine. A powerful spur is that to urge me on To freedom's happy goal ; for while a slave Were she my wife, this Earl might tear her from me, And sell her to some merchant, cursed thought ! Mother adieu ! Til to thine arms return, And thou no more shalt call thy son a slave. I will be free free from this galling badge, Or we, dear mother, ne'er shall meet again. [Exit. EDITHA. Ah, I do love him e'en as if he were 10 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act I. Mine own begotten one. 'Tis twenty years More, by St. Cuthbert since that boy was placed, A little changeling, in my husband's arms (As o'er our evening fire we sat) by some Dark-visaged chief, who made us, trembling, swear The boy should be as ours ; and ne'er to blab In mortal ear the tale, till he again Appeared to claim him. A foul-featured deed, I ween, done in some quarter, save that he Were a sweet child brought out of fairy-land. No tidings since have come from that wild chief. 'Tis time this secret should be sent abroad : How I have kept it here so long locked up, I know not. But where stays the fair Elfilia ? She is another mystery ! O, I'd give What would I not give, could I now but reach The bottom of these secrets ! [Exit. SCENE II. A magnificent Hall in the Castle of Lydford, hung with rich tapestry. (9) Enter Evanda and Bertha. EVANDA. Stars of my destiny, when will ye cease To pour your wrathful vials on my head ! How fatal was that battle-hour to me, When on the southern coast of this great isle, Which long hath trembled at the Northman's power, The stalwart Earl of Devon, at midnight watch, Assailed our slumbering camp, and to his ships Rogvalla, Prince of Danish warriors, drove, While I was sent a captive to these towers ! Scene II.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. BERTHA. Rather would I be in these splendid halls, Than tossing to and fro wild on the deep, The sport of storms and waves. EVANDA. Rather than sit A pining slave within these Saxon walls, I would be rushing in Rogvalla's barque, Though mastless and unhelmed, o'er those dark seas That round the northern cape, involved in storms, Dash their broad-sheeted billows. [Music within. BERTHA. Hark ! heard you not Those sweet sounds, lady, of a plaintive harp ? EVANDA. 'Tis Edgar, son of Devon's stern-minded Earl, Who waits his father's coming. Day and night He, like a love-sick dreamer, to his harp Is sighing tristful ditties. BERTHA. His soft strains Perhaps are kindly, lady, meant to soothe Your dull captivity. EVANDA. They soothe not me. I'd rather hear the breakers' wolfish howl Round the steep rocks of some deserted isle, Or the wild shrieks of that fierce hag who rides The midnight tempest, leading in her train The witches and dark spirits of the north, ( 10 ) Than sweetest music in the stranger halls. BERTHA. How bright the morning shines. Will you not walk, 12 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. (Act I. And breathe the freshness of the violet air In yonder castle gardens ? EVANDA. No ; I hate The very soil on which these Saxqns tread. More pleasant than this prison's garden bowers Would be to me that island of the north, ( n ) Where Nature silent lies in death-like sleep, Mid horrors wonderful. BERTHA. Gods, keep me from them ! EVANDA. Dark isle of storms, I loved at eve to stand Amid thy desert vales and naked rocks, And view the dreadful mountain heights around, Crimsoning the skies with fire, while down their sides Rivers of burning, smoking sulphur rolled ; To gaze upon thy fountains, as they flung Their boiling columns far into the heavens, Circled with clouds, while their deep spirit-voices Filled all the dreary solitude with sounds As of a thousand thunders ! calling forth The long-departed forms of warrior hosts O'er the red firmament, bright in their pomp, With gorgeous banners rustling to the blast, And fearful din of arms \ ( 12 ) BERTHA. O, may I, lady, Ne'er look upon so terrible a sight. EVANDA. Great Odin, king of spells, hast thou decreed That I shall my Rogvalla meet no more ? If not on earth, triumphant shall we meet Scene II.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. * 3 In thy proud halls of glory. Ere this Earl Shall to the altar lead me as his bride, I'll set my spirit free, and by that act Obtain a throne among our warrior gods. BERTHA. What though Rogvalla, overwhelmed by numbers, Fled to his ships, doubt not of his return. EVANDA. When, my brave sea-king, shall I hear thy horn Wail out its battle-summons round these towers ! When shall I see thy brand with Saxon blood Red to the hilt, and in blest freedom roam With thee again the bright and boundless deep ! [ Martial flourish . What sounds are those ? "Tis not the Danish horn. Enter Harold. HAROLD. Lady, I come with tidings which, I ween, Thou with no welcome wilt from me receive. The Earl of Devon approaches. EVANDA. As I feared. HAROLD. He and his warmen from their steeds alight Without the castle gates. There also come The British Duke of Cornwall and his daughter, With many Danes, the captives of my lord. EVANDA. The purple plague come with him, and a curse To blight his fondest hopes ! But there is peace. HAROLD. Lady, I wait to lead you to his presence THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act I. EVANDA. Lead me where hungry wolves at midnight gather, And howl for blood ; or in some darksome cave, Where hideous reptiles o'er the slimy bones Of the dead murderer crawl, let me be hid For ever from the cheerful light of day, Rather than at the bridal shrine become The wife of Gondabert. Be still, my heart, There is a path to peace, though dark the way ; And when the solemn hour of trial comes, Odin shall nerve this arm to strike the blow That ends all mortal suffering, and translates My spirit to Valhalla's golden halls. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The Outside of Lydford Castle. Enter a procession of Saxon soldiers bearing banners and trophies of war, then a train of Danish captives in chains. Enter, from the castle, maidens strewing flowers and bearing garlands; then Edgar and Harold, leading Evanda, followed by Bertha and numerous domestic slaves of both sexes. Enter Gondabert, lead- ing the Princess of Cornwall, followed by the Duke, with hnights and guards. Gondabert presents the Princess to Edgar, who receives her with a respectful but melancholy air, and takes himself the hand of Evanda, whom he presents to the Duke, and then leads her forward, martial music playing the whole time. GONDABERT. When I behold thy beauty, I forget The injuries and the sufferings of my country, And with my laurel-garlands would entwine Scene III.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. The fairest rose of Denmark. 'Tis not meet That sadness o'er thy brow of sunny beauty Should fling one passing cloud, when I, returned Triumphant to these towers, with eager hope Claim the glad spousal rites. What cause for grief ? EVANDA. Canst thou, proud victor, question me the cause Of this deep sadness ? Know, then, 'tis thyself ! Thou art the cause of all this heart endures, And must endure long as thou keep'st me here. I am a woman, and the sacred laws Of honour and of knighthood bid thee yield ( 13 ) Evanda to her country, home, and friends. Think of my sufferings, and from hence permit Thy captive to go free. Saxon renowned, Act still the hero, still be nobly great In mercy as in arms, and thou shalt win A brighter wreath than garlands dyed in blood. GONDABERT. That night which on Devonians southern coast The Saxon arms with glorious conquest crowned, I waded deep in streams of Danish blood, And hewed a passage through the pagan ranks To where thou mid the war's harsh thunder stood'st, Like a bright sunbeam on the stormy sea. And shall I yield my sword-won captive up, When love imperiously demands her stay ? No, this strong arm, which thro' that death-strewed field Unfearingly o'er chiefs and ocean-kings, Rolled in their blood, did bear thee, shall ere long, Beloved Evanda, lead thee to the altar. EVANDA. Saxon, forbear ! Though now on fortune's sea 16 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act I. Thy barque in triumph rides, and all thy sails With the pride-soothing breath of fame are filled, And green the laurels on thy lofty brow, Yet, if thou play the tyrant, soon will come The fearful tempest in its darkness forth : Then shalt thou perish, and thy storm-rent wreaths Oblivion on the rushing blast shall hurl. GONDABERT. Maid of the north, thy prophecies I fling All to the winds I was not born to fear. EVAN DA. That brow of stern disdain shall yet wax pale. Proud Thane, there is an arm that o'er thee hangs I see it in the heavens, 'tis red with vengeance. Ha ! dost thou quail beneath my searching eye ? My mother knew the deep thoughts of the heart, And her prophetic spirit is upon me. ( 14 ) That arm shall smite thee ! Yes, the time draws near, The hour of awful j udgment is at hand For some dark, secret crime GONDABERT. Sound, sound the warlike trump, And let the thunder of the full-braced drum, With harp and pipe, the martial chorus swell : Then strike the bridal notes of joy, and wide The portals of my castle fling, to welcome Our regal guests of Cornwall. Warriors, on ! CHORUS. Hail, warriors, whose victorious brands Have routed Denmark's savage bands, And driven her few remaining slaves Across the ocean's storm-dashed waves. Scene III. J THE ENGLISH SLAVE. Ye Virgins, swell the choral lay, Strew garlands bright in the conqueror's way ; Loose on the winds your banners fling, Strike, strike the harp's triumphant string ; And to these scenes of festive joy, Where pleasure and mirth the hours employ, Welcome, welcome beauty bright, True Valour's just reward, young Love's delight. [Gondabert leads the Cornish Princess into the castle, the Duke takes the hand of Evanda. All the cha- racters follow, except Harold and Edgar ; the latter stands in a thoughtful and despairing attitude. EDGAR. Marry this British princess ? Rather let me Be wedded to despair, and madness seize On all my faculties ! The ducal crown May from her brows flash forth its diamond fires, As through the frosty night the clustered stars Shine out resplendently ; but this firm heart They cannot warm to love. A brighter eye Than hers hath on me sweetly beamed, and here Lit love's eternal flame. HAROLD. Ha ! youthful lord, Art thou already stricken with this Duchess ? EDGAR (not heeding him.) Yet, Elfilia, Thou art O, that accursed, horrid word Dies on my lips ! a slave ! a peasant slave ! If ever I become the Thane of Devon, She on my vassals freedom shall bestow. ( 15 ) c 18 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act I. I'll have no slaves to till my fields, and make Them barren with their curses.- But, loved maid, How to secure thee from my father's wrath ? Ah, Harold ! Thou art more my friend than servant O, I am greatly troubled. HAROLD. Good my lord, I thought you were the happiest of the happy. EDGAR. No, the most wretched living. Come thou near. This is no longer any place for me ; I must depart, fly hence this very night, To some far-distant country. HAROLD. Nay, my lord, Are you beside yourself? EDGAR. Well nigh, good Harold. HAROLD. Fly hence, when on the eve of bridal joy ? When you should wed a lady, whose fair hand Will on her bridegroom place the starry robe Of sovereignty and power ? EDGAR. I'd rather wear The savage clothing of the new-slain wolf, And in the cavern of some desert live. Whose sands the foot of man hath never trod, Than in Dunheved's princely palace dwell With Cornwall's daughter. HAROLD. Thou dost much amaze me. Scene III.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 19 EDGAR. Thy truth IVe proved then aid me to escape. I know the lofty spirit of my father, His fierce ambition, which would sacrifice The young affections of this ardent heart ; His stern relentless curses they will fall, When I am gone, on my devoted head ; Yet Fll endure all miseries, all but one, The loss of her I love. Come in with me I'll call thee friend and brother. Farewell pomp ! To pathless wilds and deserts must I fly : If here I tarry, madness is my doom ! Exeunt. END OF THE FIRST ACT. 20 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act II. ACT II. SCENE I. A pleasant Valley on the borders of the Forest of Dartmoor ; lofty and barren Mountains in the back ground. Enter Elfilia. ELFILIA. How am I changed ! Ere while in splendid robes, Mid bannered halls and gorgeous pomp, I moved Gaily and proudly ; while the air I breathed Was rich with odours and harmonious sounds Of harps and viols. Now, in these coarse weeds, I am the slave of slaves. Yet have I pomp ; The golden skies of morn are o'er these vales That shelter me outspread, where every grove Is filled with melodies, and soft the winds Breathe of the rose and violet. More than all, Peace in yon humble cottage with me dwells, And love makes blessed this delightful valley. Then why should I regret my once proud home, From which a father's sternness drove me forth To shun the bridal bed of one I hated, Though round his princely brows flashed ducal wreaths. [Music at a distance. It is my Wilford's harp. Enchanting sounds ! Yet is he lowly born, while boast my veins The noblest blood in England ; but with him, Caverns would be to me as kingly halls. Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 21 Enter Edgar, disguised, with a harp. EDGAR. My loved, my own Elfilia. [Embracing. ELFILTA. Ah, my Wilford, Thou art not what thou seem'st. No peasant slave Dares with toil-roughened hand the harp-strings sweep ; Or if he dared, could with thy skill and fire Master the gentle craft. EDGAR. My birth have I, To prove her love, concealed, and must not yet Disclose the truth (aside). Thy Wilford is no slave. My father to the house of Gondabert Was a retainer, and held lands in fee ; ( l6 ) To whom a cuirass, helm, and sword were given As a reward for valour. But I loved, From childhood loved the poet's heaven-born art ; I panted for immortal fame, and strove, Despite all scorn, reproof, and cold neglect, To win the bard's high honours. E'en my dreams ( 17 ) Were wild imaginings of sweet romance, And visions bright of genius triumphing O'er envy and oppression ; till at length My harp won Gondabert's indulgent ear, And I became his minstrel. ELFILIA. Canst thou, then, With the green laurels of thy genius crowned, Stoop from thy height to love a wretched slave ? EDGAR. O, cast not on thy beauty such a cloud ; 22 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act II. 'Tis darkness on the sun. Thou wouldst adorn Earth's mightiest throne ! Away, then, all sad thoughts, For ere to-morrow's eve-clouds dim the west, Thou shalt be free, and in these arms a bride. Enter Albert. ALBERT. So, my young harper, thou art here again ! Pve marked thy frequent visits to our valley ; And now I learn thine errand. Hie thee hence, And leave this maid to me. EDGAR. To thee, base slave ! ALBERT. Hah f how that word falls on me with a curse, And to my heart-core burns like glowing iron ! I am no slave ! at least I shall not be, Proud youth, ere long. I will be free as thou, Or e'en the haughtiest lord that treads the soil ; And though desertless now, I'll bravely wrest From Gondabert my liberty, or fling This carcass to the eagles of the moor. ELFILIA. Nay, Albert, thou to me hast still been kind, And gentle as a brother. What hath stirred These stormy feelings in thy bosom thus ? And why that brow of wrath ? ALBERT. My wrongs, my sufferings ! Long have I borne them, and in secret long Brooded o'er my despair, as on the mountain The heavy tempest lours, till came thy beauty Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 23 Shedding its brightness through the cloud and gloom ; Then all the barren desert of my mind Shone out with golden light : thy tuneful voice Fell on my soul more sweet than forest lays, That make the wild moor pleasant. Like the torrent, When genial spring-suns melt the torpid ice, My wild heart leaped with hope, and bounded on In sparkling, boisterous gladness for the land Of sunny freedom ; and that bourn I'll reach, Though giant rocks and mountains intervene ; No bar the roaring cataract shall stop Of my proud feelings, till I reach the shore Of liberty's bright ocean. ELFILIA. Hear me, Albert. ALBERT. Hear thee ? Ay, give me but one soft, kind word, And I will listen to the dove-toned sounds Of thy sweet voice, like the pale silent moon When the glad nightingale her wild love tells In yonder myrtle bowers. And shall that minstrel, That shallow-hearted boy, bear thee away From these strong manly arms ? ELFILIA. Woe worth thee, Albert ! How will this end ? ALBERT. In death, if he persist. I am a mountain-minded son of toil, And let that twangling bard of sloth and pride Beware the rover of the desert moor, Strong as its iron rocks, and sternly fierce, When moved with anger, as its own dark storms. ( 18 ) 24 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act II. EDGAR (casting away his harp.) Thou herd-groom ruffian, base-born mountain serf ! I scorn thy strength as I despise thy birth. Dare but to raise thine eye, and cast a glance Bright with love's passion on that peerless maid, And I, who have the power, will make thee crouch Like craven wolf when in the hunter's toils. ALBERT. Dare thou the thunder on those cloud-veiled rocks To dash its red and fiery streams of death, But dare not me to look on this sweet maid ! For I, though born a slave, would on her gaze, Ay, and thus clasp her to my fearless heart, Though England's crown were flashing on thy brows ! ELFILIA. Albert, forbear. EDGAR. Hence, savage of the desert ! Or I will grapple with thee, till thy limbs Fail to support thee to thy cavern lair. ALBERT. Grapple with me ? Fool ! I have on the moor The gripe encountered of the hungry bear, And with this clenched hand felled him : I have striven With the fierce stag, and dashed him to the earth ; And thus I'll trample on thy dainty form. [He rushes towards Edgar Elfilia runs between them, and in her endeavour to prevent Albert, a letter drops from her bosom. ELFILIA. O, for the love of Heaven and all the saints, Appease this dreadful anger. Albert Wilford For my sake, I implore you, be at peace. [ Music, with the cry of hunters at a distance. Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 25 EDGAR. Distraction ! 'tis my father and the Duke, Returning this way homeward from the chase. O, disappointed vengeance ! If I stay They will discover me, and I shall lose My dear Elfilia (aside.) Fly, thou dove-like maid, The falcon is abroad ; I would not have The Earl or Cornwall's Duke behold thee here. ELFILIA. The Duke of Cornwall ? All good angels save me ! O, I would fly to earth's remotest verge, Rather than meet the Duke. Yet now to go, And leave these lion-mettled spirits stirred To wage a deadly strife Nay, Albert, yield ; Let my sad tears fall like the rain from heaven, To cool thy bosom's fire-enkindled wrath. Thus low on bended knee do I beseech Thee, Albert, to withdraw. EDGAR. Rise, loved Elfilia, Nor humble thus thyself before a slave. All must be told. Mark me, wild mountaineer ; Though clad in minstrel vest, I am Lord Edgar, Son of Devonia's Earl ; and if thou darest, Barren of honour and of warlike fame, T' insult that maid with thy degrading passion, Like a wild bull shalt thou be seized and sold To those who traffic in the blood of men Amid the slave-mart, and on foreign shores ( 19 ) A master find to tame thy daring spirit. [Exit. ALBERT. A brooklet in a storm ! Thy frothy rage Flows idly by, and beggars my contempt ; 26 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act II. For come the worst, there's freedom in the caves Of yon cloud-haunted tors, where strong bands lurk Who fear no mortal thing. I know thee now, And to the echoes of the rocks will shout The treachery of thy heart. Elfilia, cast The false one off, even as thou wouldst a snake That on thy sleeping breast had coiled its folds, Or he will sting thy soul. That lord to-morrow The daughter of the Cornish sovereign weds. ELFILIA. Wed CornwalFs daughter ? ALBERT. Let me die unhouseled, ( 20 ) If I speak not the truth. The Duke hath brought His daughter, heiress of the western crown, To Lydford castle, where the bridal feast Is now preparing. ELFILIA. Ha ! all gracious Heaven ! No, Albert, no ; it cannot, cannot be Dwells, Wilford, in thy heart such cruel falsehood ? ALBERT. By the most holy rood-tree, by ELFILIA. Swear not, For I believe thee now. That deep disguise, A borrowed name, and the deluding tale Of his low birth all, all confirm thy words, Nor joy, nor hope on earth remains for me ! Fiend of despair, come fling thy moody spell Wild on my brain, and let the tempest loose To hurl me down the gulph of madness, where Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. % Remembrance through the dark confusion sheds .No gleam o'er all the past ! ALBERT. Elfilia, turn to me. Here is a heart all truth, a heart that burns With passionate feeling. Give me one bright smile, And though it long hath been a dreary waste. The wilderness into sunshine and with joy Shall break forth into singing, and the flowers Of hope bloom sweetly there. ELFILIA. What ! love a slave ? ALBERT. A curse eternal on the ashes rest Of him who first his fellow-men enslaved ! He who yon kingly orb flung on the heavens. And crowned the shadowy night with countless stars, Made me a man equal in form and mind With yon proud lord, who to the mart of slaves Would drive me like a beast. But be thou mine, And I shall feel a new and mighty spirit Uplift me, like the youthful eagle when Her untried plumes expand to meet the sun, Till fame and honour shed their glory on me. [Horns and cries near. ELFILIA. It cannot be. Hark ! the proud hunters come ! O let me fly ALBERT (seixing her arm.) Beware of my revenge ! Thou shalt be mine, or I to Gondabert Will thy stolen meetings with his son reveal. And, by St. Edmund's bones ! here is a proof [ Taking up the letter. 28 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act II. Which to the Earl, though I know not its language, Will silently confirm, past doubt, my tale. ELFILIA. 'Tis Wilford's Edgar's letter ! Lost for ever ! O Albert, with compassion hear my prayers ; And if indeed thou know'st what 'tis to love, In pity to a maiden's weakness hide Our hapless passion from the haughty Earl. Prostrate I fall before thee. O, respect My tears, my agonies. Restore that letter. ALBERT. Swear, then, on bended knee, to be my wife ; Swear by all holy things ELFILIA. To be thy wife ? Eternal powers ! where shall I turn for hope ? Woe comes on woe, the surges of despair Rush o'er my sinking soul, and I must perish If thou refuse to save. Albert, my fate Is in thy hands ; on thee I call for mercy, Mercy from him who has declared he loves me. Canst thou behold these tears thy feet bedew, Yet not relent ? Is there no spark of pity In thy stern soul ? Wouldst thou accept the hand Of her, whose breaking heart is far estranged From all thy joys and cares ? ALBERT. Then let revenge, Though it should in this bosom wake a hell Of after anguish, yield a transient joy Thy wilfulness denies. (Horns and hunters very near.) They come, proud maid, Famed Cornwall's Duke, and Devon's imperious lord ! Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 29 ELFILIA. Heaven, for thy mercy ! there is none on earth ! Remorseless man, hurl me from yonder rocks Deep in the roaring torrent's black abyss, Rather than let me meet (shrieks.) Ha ! I behold him ! The hated, dreaded Duke. ALBERT. O, how it racks My heart to see her thus. Yet must it be, Or blasted every hope that life can yield. [Aside. Swear to be mine, and I will bear thee hence, Where he shall never find thee. ELFILIA. O, faithless Edgar ! What fires are these which lighten round my brow? Madness is on my wild and burning brain ! Swear to be thine? (hesitates) thine ? Tortures, racks, and flames Shall sooner be my portion ! Monster ! fiend ! Dark savage of the moor, despair's dread curse On thy last death-hour fall ! [Rushes off. ALBERT. The secret shall be told to win my freedom, And then away away to tlr* wildest depth Of Dartmoor will I safely bear my love. Music. Enter Earl Gondabert and the Duke of Corn- wall, with a train of hunters, GONDABERT. Right gallant spoil have we this day enjoyed Amid the wilds of Dartmoor's regal forest. That shag-maned bull, by our fierce dogs embayed, 30 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act II. Fought like a veteran warrior, till he fell, Illustrious Duke, beneath thy well-aimed spear. DUKE. 'Twas ever my delight at early dawn To rouse the tusked boar, the wolf, and elk, ( 21 ) And make the vale and mountain forest ring With cry of falcon, hound, and merry horn. Such were my youthful sports, which schooled me well In all the nobler duties of the soldier. ALBERT. I would presume with Devon's fame-honoured lord To claim a private parley. GONDABERT. Who art thou ? ALBERT. I am a vassal, born on thy domains, And something have to say, redoubted chief, That much concerns thy honour. GONDABERT. Duke, lead on : My train will to the castle's eastern gate, Through yonder wood, conduct you. [Music. Exeunt Duke and hunters. Blood-stained ambition ! idol of my worship ! But one step more the dukedom of the west On what a noble height shall I have placed, In some brief hours, my loved and only son ! ALBERT. My lord GONDABERT. Let me but this long-laboured plan achieve, Let me behold my gallant Edgar lead Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 3 The British princess to the bridal shrine, And this glad heart ALBERT. If I err not, His like Your hopes, my lord, will scurvily be crossed. A princess ? no ; a bondmaid, who doth tend A swine-drift in yon forest, is the choice Of his aspiring aims. It moves my mirth To think how all thy future heirs will be Of mongrel breed, half noble and half vile ! How in their veins such different blood may flow Without eternal discord, I must leave To thy far deeper knowledge. GONDABERT. I hear thy words, but gather not their meaning. ALBERT. They'll marry in despite of thee, if I GONDABERT. Marry the devil, if thou wilt ; what reck I whom thou marriest ? Doth thy bridal aught Concern my honour ? ALBERT. No ; 'tis of Lord Edgar GONDABERT. Well, what of him ? What darest thou speak of him ? ALBERT. O, nothing evil only of his love GONDABERT. Ay, for a princess ALBERT. Princess of the hogs, And maid of honour to my honoured mother. 32 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act II. GONDABERT. Lord Edgar ? maid of honour to thy mother ? Why thou art mad ! or I, more mad than thou, Of thy strange story make most strange disorder. ALBERT. Clear is the story as those sunny beams That sparkle on Lydford's mountain flood, If thou mar not its meaning. Thy young heir A maiden woos who dwells here on the moor ; And for a princess is content to take A lowly bond- wench to his bridal bed. GONDABERT. Lord Edgar woo a bondmaid for his bride ! Away, foul-spoken villain ! ere my sword Leap from its scabbard to revenge in blood Thy base, misboding lies ! ALBERT. Ha! ha! ha! GONDABEUT. Darest, sodden-witted slave, to mock my wrath ? Fiends ! now I on him look, why do I start At th' evil glances of that scoffing eye ? His visage drives the blood cold to my heart ! His wild laugh sounded like It cannot be. What weakness hath possessed me ? (aside). Wolf-dog, hence ! Still dost thou brave me with that brow of scorn, Nor, like a trembling bond-serf, crouch in fear ? ALBERT. Fear ! what is fear? I know it not, proud Thane. GONDABERT. Audacious swineherd ! speak'st thou like an equal ? Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 33 ALBERT. Why am I not thine equal, Gondabert ? Bating thy jewelled robes, thy warman's spear Of freedom and command, thy insolent train Of serving-vassals, and thy rich domains And titled birth, for which, high-minded lord, Chance claims thy thanks. I am at least a man, Although a slave, and not the* haughtiest Thane Wins higher rank in nature; while in honour, I'll challenge an equality with him Who stands the mightiest noble of the land, Scorning the shame of falsehood. Let that teach thee An injured slave can be an honest man. [Holding out the letter. GOXDABERT (snatching it.) By Mary's blessed shrine, 'tis Edgar's hand ! ALBERT. How rolls his full eye like a savage stag's When kept at bay by hounds. Were those bright robes Of splendour on my back, I should appear A braver lord than he. GONDABERT. O, this would turn Meekness into a Fury, love paternal To deadly hate and loathing ! Powers of hell, Have ye conspired to blast a father's hopes ? Down choking rage, nor to the evil eye Of this strange slave expose me. A deep spell, A dark disease of mind, some youthful witch Hath on thee, Edgar, cast, and marred thy brain ! ( 22 ) This letter proves thy story merits faith, And high reward shall wait on thy desert. D 34 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act II. ALBERT. I ask but in return, my lord, one gift : It is emancipation from the yoke Of galling slavery, and that bright reward Shall make me feel I am indeed a man, Shall give me a new being, and to thee (As my hereafter actions I will shape) Yield greater honour than a victory won By thy good sword in battle. GONDABEET. From this hour Thou art no more a slave. On to the castle. ALBEIIT. Freedom is mine ! I've won my glorious birthright ! Off, hated badge of slavery ! [Flinging away his chain collar. My young neck Shall never stoop to wear thy yoke again. Glory is dawning on my spirit now, And fame shall mark my tomb to other years. England, the time will come when all thy sons Throughout thy wide dominions shall, like me, Dash off their chains, and shout forth " Liberty ! " [Exit. GONDABERT. That is no common slave. What mystery hangs Dark as yon hill-cloud on him ? His stern eye Glanced like the basilisk's ! Imports it not, Since he must walk no more abroad to blab This tale of witchcraft and my son's disgrace. Have I in kindred blood plunged deep this hand, Stabbed my soul's peace, and from my pillow scared The soft and balmy sleep, thus to be foiled In the great work I laboured to complete ? Sleep ! O, to me when thy brief visits come, Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 35 The shadows of the damned around me flock, And ghastly forms haunt all my evil dreams ! The forms of those IVe wronged the innocent The murdered children Enter Messenger, hastily. Who art thou ? A spy Upon my private thoughts? A listener, sent To pluck the secrets from my tortured soul, And then betray them to the scoffer's scorn ? MESSENGER. I listened not, my lord GONDABERT. Liar and slave ! [Rushing on him. Fll tear thy heart out, rend thee limb from limb, And with thy treacherous carcass gorge the wolves ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Nay, do not tremble, man. A sudden passion Came o'er my troubled brain. At times a cloud Of darkness flits across this harassed mind. My son's disgrace I mean my brother's wrongs I mean I know not what I mean. Heed not my words thy presence doth confound me. What brings thee to the forest ? MESSENGER. * Good my lord, I bear despatches of the utmost moment From Ethelred the King ; and was commanded To place them in no other hands than thine, When I arrived at Lydford. [Delivering a sealed packet. GONDABERT. All Heaven's blessings Rest on his Highness ! He, I trust, is well. MESSENGER. He is, my lord. 36 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act II. GONDABERT. Return to Lydford castle. A largess waits thee there. [Exit Messenger. What state concerns are these ? Let me peruse. [Opens the packet and reads. " To our trusty and well-beloved Thane, Gonda- bert Earl of Devon, greeting. Whereas by the advice of our ^Ethelings, Earldormen, Thanes, and chief offi- cers of our household, in council assembled, we have resolved and do decree, that on the holy Eve of St. Brice, all the Danes, not excepting one in any station, within our realms, shall for their haughtiness, oppression, and barbarous cruelty to the English, be put to the sword privately, not sparing the women or children of that detested people ; that so our kingdom may be rid of its lordling oppressors, and our loving and faithful subjects be restored to their inheritance, and dwell in liberty and peace. These commands we lay on all men of the Saxon nations, who hold authority and office under us, within these our kingdoms. ETHELKED THE KING." A general massacre ! and in cold blood ! Women and children, too ! Why even I, Who have not shrunk from fiendish deeds of guilt, Do almost freeze with horror. Hence, remorse ! The softer feelings here must find no place. St. Brice, to-morrow is thy fatal eve : Murder and death shall chaunt thy vigil hymns. I'll do this work of vengeance it may suit My private purpose : 'tis the King's command, And on his head be all the blood I spill. [Exit. END OF THE SECOND ACT. Act III.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 37 ACT III. SCENE I. The Grand Hall in Lydford Castle. Enter Gondabert and Harold. HAROLD. THE Danes throughout the kingdom to be slain ? And in one night ? GONDABERT. Ay, Harold, every soul, Man, woman, and the suckling at the breast. HAROLD. 'Tis horrible ! GONDABERT. It is the King's command ; And, seneschal, we must obey his will. Let all my warmen and retainers hold ( 23 ) Themselves in readiness, and they will need Well-sharpened blades 'twill be a bloody work. Mark, instant death shall be that soldier's doom Who dares to breathe a word. Thou look'st aghast. HAROLD. It is a frightful deed ! GONDABERT. The dainty slaves ! 'Tis just to cut them off. Do they not waste The hours in decking their voluptuous forms In splendid garments ? o'er their flowing locks Pour the most precious ointments of the East, 38 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act III. And riot on the substance of the English ? Who dare not lift the mead-cup to their lips. When in the presence of these lordly thieves, Without the fear of death. (*) HAROLD. Most true, my lord. But ah, their guiltless infants GONDABERT. Perish all The serpents and their spawn ! or the vile brood Will rise and sting our young ones to the heart All but my lovely captive and her slave. But I have that which claims more anxious thought Than these fell Danes. Go, hither send my son. HAROLD. Has he discovered Edgar's luckless passion ? Dark thoughts are gathering in his troubled breast, And mark his clouded brow. GONDABERT. Why stand'st thou there ? Command him to my presence. HAROLD. I obey. [Exit. GONDABERT. Had but this shameful tale been spread abroad, My glory had departed, and the line, The illustrious line of Gondabert been dashed From honour's radiant page. Enter Edgar. Audacious boy ! Strange thou canst wear that brow of guilty boldness, And meet my searching glance with steadfast eye, Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 39 When in thy heart lurks a disgraceful secret, Which, once made known, would thy fair honour blast, And sink thy father to a timeless grave. EDGAR. Mysterious are thy words of wrath to me. I wot not of their meaning : but I stand Fearless in innocence, and proof to all TIT envenomed shafts of slander. GONDABERT. Spare thy words. Know then at once, to strike thee dumb with shame, Thou minion of a slave-begotten slave, Thy baseness is discovered ! Look on this. [Showing the letter, then flinging it towards him. Read thy confusion there. EDGAR. A falsehood shall not taint my lips, for now The cherished passion of this ardent heart Right frankly will I own nay more, my lord, Boast of it as my joy, my honest pride. True 'tis, that gentle birth no lustre lends To the self-radiant charms of her I love, Whose beauty, form, and mind, divinely matched, Make her a paragon, transcending all The lofty damsels of the English court. Wouldst thou but on this maiden deign to look, Her smile would that stern heart to kindness win, And draw a blessing from thee. GONDABERT. I look on her ? The accurst enchantress whose dark passion-spells Thy reason arid thy honour have destroyed ? Dare not to hope that I will sacrifice 40 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act III- My glory in the flames of thy base love. My word is pledged : the powerful Duke of Cornwall Waits to bestow on thee his daughter's hand. On, then on to dominion and a throne ! EDGAR. Ambition, like the winter's reckless storms, Swells high the mountain torrent of thy pride. I love not noisy greatness, but through life Would, like the valley-streamlet, glide in peace, Amid the music and the flowers of love. GONDAJiKRT. Spell-witched enthusiast, wouldst thou love despair, And wed thyself to beggared infamy ? Such folly might teach Patience to blaspheme ! EDGAR. Thou still hast been to me the kindest parent, And I thy love return with such affection, That it would almost break my heart to say, Father, adieu for ever ! Yet banish me Far from thy presence to some storm-girt isle, Whose dreary solitudes have never heard The voice of man, with her my young heart loves, Rather than chain me to a hated throne, Or bind this brow with regal gems, whose fires Would my hot brain, like hell-born lightning, scorch ! GONDABERT. Answer one question, speak as if thou stood'st On the dim threshold of eternity : Say, is that life which being gave to thine, Is it held sacred by an only son ? EDGAR. Bear witness all ye ministers of Heaven, Ye warrior hosts of light, who o'er the Danes Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. Victory to us have given in fields of glory, And bowed their raven-banners to the Cross, ( 25 ) Witness the filial ardour of my soul For thee, loved, honoured author of my being. GONDABERT. Then, on this sword, swear swear, in solemn dread, By Heaven and all its joys, by those fierce pangs * Which hell for perjury hath in reserve ; Swear by the blessed passion of the Cross, Thy hope, thy passport to the realms of bliss ; And, if thou break thine oath, on thee invoke The torments of the lost while here on earth, And, when thou quitt'st that form of loathsome anguish. Redoubled pangs amid the penal fires Of everlasting torture ! Edgar, swear. EDGAR. Swear ! what, my lord ? What wouldst thou have me swear ? GONDABERT. Elfilia to renounce renounce for ever ! EDGAR (after a pause.) No ! Rather let me by unheard of pangs Die inch by inch, yet never reach that goal Where human sufferings end ! GOXDABERT. Then hear me swear EDGAR. Hold ! O, for mercy hold ! GONDABERT. Now by that oath, With heart of fire, that in its sternest mood Hath loved thee, Edgar ay, these burning tears Too deeply tell the father's strong affections 42 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act III. By that tremendous oath do I now swear, The hour thou wedd'st a slave shall see this sword Plunged in thy father's heart ! and on thy head His reeking blood shall rest. EDGAR. O, horror ! horror ! [Edgar staggers back, and leans against a pillar speechless. A pause. GONDABERT. Come, Edgar come, my gallant, noble son, Take courage to thine aid : like a true hero, Stir up a manly spirit to quell thyself. Thy spring-tide virtues have borne richest flowers ; Let not this spell-wrought passion blast their promise, And they shall ripen into glorious fruit, That time will make immortal. Let my prayers Win back thy soul to honour, and the blessing Of a fond parent rest upon thy head. EDGAR. O, what a struggle duty and affection Wage in this troubled heart ! Shall I prove faithless to my gentle maid ? My life, Elfilia, is bound up in thine. GONDABERT. And dost thou still prefer that low-born slave To fame, to honour, and thy father's life ? Hence from my sight, thou bastard to my blood ! I sicken to behold thee ; once my son, Now mine no more for ever ! [Exit. EDGAR. No, Elfilia, They shall not tear thee from these faithful arms ! And yet to steep my bridal bed in blood, Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 43 A dear-loved parent's blood ! O dreadful thought ! I'll yield her up, resign the beauteous maid To happier arms, myself to endless woe ! Resign her to a savage mountaineer ? Eternal madness would be then my fate ! So closely round her are these heart-strings twined. That he who plucks her from me, must the chords Of life asunder rend ! [Exit. Re-enter Gondabert. GONDABEHT. What ! is he gone ? I must be speedy in my dire intent. There is no way but this. Another victim, Ambition, must on thy red altar bleed ! How deeply am I plagued for my misdeeds. My brother, nephews where, ay, where are they ? Dust, ashes, slumbering in their gory graves ! And blood must flow again ! Now could I find That fiend-like instrument, whose dagger won For me Devonia's Earldom. He, no doubt, Has long since perished with his robber clan, And their white bones hang whistling to" the winds On yonder lonely moor. Enter Roderick, his figure and face wild, ghastly, and ferocious. What witchcraft 's this ? I have no spell to call thee from the tomb. ( 26 ) Look not upon me with that ghastly smile ; It makes my marrow freeze ! Away, grim spectre, Back to thy gallows tree ! 44 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act III. RODERICK. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! GONDABERT. The sound of hell is in thy fiendish mockery, To him who feels th' undying worm within. And hell, if thou art mortal, sent thee here Another dark and bloody scene to act. That look ferocious speaks thee ready still To do my bidding. Give me, then, thy hand 'Tis warm with life. Welcome, thrice welcome, Roderick. RODERICK. I thank thee, Thane. Hearing of thy return, I hastened hither to renew our friendship, If, proud in fortune's sun and winged with fame, Thou soar'st not to a height above my reach. I have not been without my victories, too, Or many a fair prize on the moor's wild skirts, Won gallantly in spite of sword and law. GONDABERT. Most opportunely com'st thou to my wish. RODERICK. Thou somewhat knowest my deeds. Thine elder brother By my bold daring fell into the hands Of those death-dealing Danes, who spared him not : And both his infant sons, consigned by thee To these kind nursing arms, I rocked asleep ; Nor have they from their slumbers e'er awoke. GONDABERT. Roderick, I've seen them oft. RODERICK (alarmed.) Ha ! where, my lord ? Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 45 GONDABERT. In horrid dreams and visions of the night, That o'er me fling the torments of the damned ! RODERICK. Pshaw ! 'tis thy fancy, Thane. Oft have I wiped The blood of men from this keen dagger's blade ; Yet sleep I soundly when the night-storm howls, As the strong eagle on her mountain-perch. GONDABERT. Long years have passed away since the fierce Danes Destroyed that brother, whom my soul abhorred. The grave hath safely cradled, too, those brats. But there is yet one act, brave Roderick, which Thou must perform, and ever bind me fast To thee in gratitude. RODERICK. Name it, my lord. But let me say that gratitude is oft A poor re warder. Like gold-feathered birds, That sit and warble while we stand aloof, But, if approached, soar quickly on the wing, Are most men's promises, made in their need. A dangerous service claims a better gift Than soft lack-money words. GONDABERT. What ! would this slave Claim half my Earldom ? (aside.) Do but this one act, And I will heap rewards upon thy head Beyond thine utmost wishes. Dost thou know A female slave o' th' borders of the moor, Much noted for her beauty ? RODERICK. What, Elfilia ? I've heard our band commend her comely looks. 46 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act III. GONDABERT. The same, the very same. She deals in spells, And the forbidden arts of dark enchantment. Her witchcraft blasts my brightest hopes of power, And while she lives, my honour o'er the steep Of foul disgrace clings to a reed, that bends With every sigh she breathes ! I wish her dead. RODERICK. She dies, my lord. There need no further words. GONDABERT. I charge thee be not prodigal of time. Take her off quickly, and thy great reward Shall outgo all deservings. RODERICK. Fear me not. The vesper-bell of yon monastic towers Shall be her summons to another land. [Exit. GONDABERT. She is disposed of, and my worst fears with her. Enter Evanda. EVANDA. No tidings yet, Rogvalla, of thy fleet ! On what far-distant seas have tempests driven Thy galley eagle-winged ? I come once more Freedom to claim of thee, war-honoured Earl. GONDABERT. Freedom ? All-beauteous lady, there is none Beyond these walls for thee. If thou depart From the protection of these rampant towers, Death will overtake thy steps. EVANDA. Death ? Better far His cold embrace to meet, and lay me down Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. In sweet forgetfulness, than here to dwell Hopeless of every joy. Think'st thou that I, in whose veins flow the blood Of Denmark's bravest sea-kings, I who oft Undaunted at the elm have stood, when all The deep its mountains hurled against the heavens, That thundered back their wrath, who on the deck Have fought unfearingly, and seen that deep Red with the life-stream of the battle-slain, That I will shrink from death ? GONDABERT. Bright ocean-queen, That sounds like spirit, and it charms me more Than all the softness which the softest maid Could breathe in my fond ear. Yet think how dreadful To meet cold-blooded Murder in thy path, And see his poniard, gleaming to the moon, Against thy shieldless bosom. Scorn me not. Already doth the stern Avenger whet His two-edged sword to go forth and destroy : One wild, dread shriek o'er all the land will rise, Piercing the clouds that hang upon the night, And every threshold shall be steeped in blood ! EVANDA. Thy words have a dark meaning GONDABERT. They breathe death, Death on St. Brice's Eve to every Dane ! There's not an Englishman but is prepared To do the King's command. Wilt thou refuse To fly to the protection of these arms ? No power but love can stay thy threatened doom. 48 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act III. EVANDA. Then let me perish perish gloryingly ! Think'st thou I at the altar would accept Thy hand, all reeking with my nation's blood ? How I despise and hate thee for the thought ! Visions of what shall come, your spell is on me. Hark ! hear'st thou not the shouts of fierce revenge ? From Norway's cape to Denmark's southern isles The North pours forth her thousands on thy land ! England ! thy King for this shall sit in dust, And sackcloth be his robes. He comes ! he comes ! The warrior of the North, to wear thy crown, And tread upon the necks of Saxon slaves ! GONDABERT. Never, false-boding maid. EVANDA. Proud scorner, mark ; As truly do my words predict what shall be, As those deep hollow sounds, the sea at eve Breathes in its dream of peace, foretell the storm Which dooms the barque to perish. Make thou bare That sword of vengeance, and its point shall pierce Deep to thine own heart's core ! [Exit. GONDABERT. I do not heed The wild dreams of thy darkly-troubled fancy. The sound of Death's pale steed, as on he rides In terror through the land, will tame thy spirit. Within there, ho ! Enter Harold and Othmar. Are all things now prepared For Edgar's bridal rites ? Scene II.J THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 49 HAROLD. All, good my lord, Except the bridegroom, who will ne^er be ready. [Aside. GONDABERT. Let splendour not be lacking : I would have All pomp of circumstance attend the spousals Which royalty demands. The town of Lydford I will have gay with bonfires, and with lights And torch-flames lustrous make our garden-bowers, Where every vassal to the harp and pipe Shall hold high revelry. To-morrow eve How changed will be the scene ! Thy duty 'tis To see the honours of our house sustained. [Exit Harold. Othmar, my castellain, chief of my guards, Thou know'st the secret of St. Brice's Eve ? OTHMAR. I do, my lord. GONDABERT. There is within these walls A serf, to whom I lately freedom gave, Albert by name. Have thou an eye upon him, And let him not depart : he knows a secret That troubles me. To-morrow, when thou nearest St. Brice's heavy death-knell, let him die. ( 2 ?) OTHMAR. Your will, illustrious Earl, shall be obeyed. [Exit. GONDABERT. Thus wade I on from blood to blood, each step Still deeper than the last ! What abject slaves Are we to our dark passions. All our pleasures Are dearly bought with toil ; and when achieved, 50 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act III. Fade like the rainbow, which o'er hill and dale The mountain-boy pursues with fruitless speed. Well, be it so. One sun-bright passion still inspires my soul Amid its gloomiest storms love for the land That gave me birth ; and to protect her rights, Her lofty freedom, which so well befit A subject to enjoy, a prince to give, I at thy shrine, St. Brice, a sacrifice Will offer of my country's hated foes. [Exit. SCENE II. The Castle Gardens, illuminated with torches. At the upper part of the stage, tables laid out for a feast, canopied with festoons of flowers. A crowd of Vassals of both sexes discovered, with lands of glee-men and glee-maidens dancing in various groupes, and Scalds playing on their harps ; others tossing knives and balls in the air, ( 28 ) with all the sports of a Saxon festival. Enter Elfilia, with a wild distracted air. ELFILIA (advancing to the front of the stage.} What do I here, amid this festive scene ? Where every vassal shouts joy to thy bridal, Destroyer of my peace ! I, too, will shout A darkly evil day, and many, follow Thy nuptials, cruel Edgar. Here the wolf, The grey wolf of Dunheved's mountain dwells; ( 29 ) Yet have I wildly ventured to his den. Earth has no greater misery now for me : I'm reckless what may come Scene II.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. CHORUS OF VASSALS. Sound the tabor, harp, and flute, Virgins touch the soft-toned lute ; Edgar, son of warlike might, 'Tis thy happy bridal night : Love entwines his magic flower Round thy rich coronal of power. ELFILIA. Cease those strains Of festal joy, and let the mournful knell Ring out its dirge of death. Ye roses fade, Ere on thy brows the priest, thou false one, bind ( 30 ) The sacred bridal wreath. Rend those bright garlands, And bring, ye maids, pale flowers to strew my corse : Prepare, ye guests, for me the winding-sheet, And steep it in the crimson tears this heart Weeps for thy falsehood, Edgar. I once more On thee will look, and then away, away To yonder mountains, a wild maniac flee : There with the wolf I'll make my stormy home, And dig my own grave out. The grave, the grave ! There is no other home on earth for me. [Retires. Enter Edgar, followed by Harold. EDGAR. Not see her ? no where to be found ? HAROLD. No, good my lord. I saw the bond-neif, Editha, in tears Lamenting that Elfilia, wild with grief, Had fled, she knew not whither. E 2 52 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act III. EDGAR. Fled ? Perish renown but I will through the world Seek her, nor food nor rest [As he is going off he meets Elfilia, she shrieks and sinks overpowered into his arms. Transporting bliss ! This happy, happy meeting ELFILIA (disengaging herself from his embrace. ) Hence ! forbear ! Thou art another's. See the torches blaze On yonder altar ! There thy regal bride Waits for her gallant Edgar. Let me take One last, one parting look, then far away Wander amid the howling wilderness, And find some cave to die in. Cruel Edgar ! [Bursts into tears. EDGAE. Still am I thine, and only thine, sweet maid. ELFILIA. No more delude me with thy flattering tongue EDGAR. There's not a moment to be lost in words. My flight with thee shall prove my constant truth : Our steeds stand ready to convey us hence. On, Harold, to the grove. [Exit Harold. ELFILIA. And art thou true indeed ? EDGAR. As truth itself. The impatient princess waits, Clad in her bridal robes : my father calls My father ? O, my -heart J I see him now Scene II.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. ELFILIA (alarmed.) Where, where, my dearest lord ? EDGAR C not attending to her.) O, yes, I see My honoured father in his wild despair, As he beside the trembling princess kneels, Invoking Heaven's dread curses on my head ! He on the ground flings his uprooted locks In bitter madness ! Agony of soul The flashing of his dark eye dims with tears, As rain and lightnings mingle. Now his hand The glittering dagger grasps ; he calls on me, On me his son, but calls in vain, to save him. Deep in his heart the horrid steel is plunged ! 'Tis I who strike the blow ! My brain's on fire ! His blood streams o'er the altar, and from thence Will it cry out against me for revenge ! Revenge ! revenge on a foul parricide ! [Edgar falls, Elfilia shriek* and sinks beside him. Enter Roderick and several Robbers, the Peasants scream with terror and run off. Roderick mo- tions the Robbers, who seize Elfilia. ELFILIA. Awake, my Edgar ! Fiends, let go your hold ; Ye shall not tear me from him. Save me, my Edgar, save ! He hears me not. Ah, then farewell, for ever and for ever ! [Faints in the arms of the Robbers, who bear her off. Roderick stands in a triumphant attitude over the fallen Edgar. END OF THE THIRD ACT. THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act IV. ACT IV. SCENE I. The Banks of the Tamar, by moonlight. A Danish Fleet discovered drawn up to the shore. Rog- valla, Cathimar, Ivor, and Frotho leap from the fore- most vessels, followed by the Danish army. CHORUS OF DANISH SOLDIERS. OUR home is the booming ocean wide, Where in sunlight and storm we fearlessly ride, Where many a rock-girt island lies, All wealthy and fair, the warrior's prize. We laugh when the rushing blast comes by, When lightnings dart from the lurid sky, And midnight is there, and the last faint ray Of the struggling moon hath passed away. Then afar, afar o'er the storm-swept flood We joyously rush to plunder and blood ! Now fling on this island's night-winds, fling Our dark banner-raven's magical wing. Sound, sound to the charge, lift the fierce battle-cry, And march, proudly march, to conquer or die ! ROGVALLA. Once more, fair England, to our warlike tramp Echoes thy flowery soil. What joy to roam From land to land, and hear its wail and shriek Ascend to heaven, the heralds of our might. Nor tides nor stormy billows stay our course : Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. The sea-king makes the elements his slaves, To speed him on to plunder and renown. CATHIMAR. Ours is a manly life of freeborn rovers. ROGVALLA. I scorn the dull inactive state of those Who dwell beneath a smoky roof, and quaff The wine-cup o'er their blazing hearths. By Odin ! 'Tis the life of slaves. Our dwelling is The summer ocean in its sunny pride, Or in the boundless hall of winds and storms, With meteors and the crimson lightning roofed, Where Thor on his cloud-throne of thunder sits, And rules the noisy heavens. CATHIMAR. Ay, noble chief, Lord of the land and sea the Northman roams. EOG VALLA. The wealth of field and fold my soul disdains. An honourable harvest do I reap From cities sacked and villages in flames : ( 3l ) These are the trophies of the illustrious brave. The ocean is my golden path to glory ; And I such ample spoils have nobly won, As to my wide dominion of the deep Have gained a host of brave ones. IVOR. Who will ne'er Desert thy banner, while a fragment floats Above thy barque's tall mast. ROGVALLA. I now must leave you. At my return by morn, I'll call you forth 56 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act IV. To battle with the haughty Thane of Devon, Who holds Evanda captive in his halls. Let me but free her from this Saxon's power, And then, ye dauntless lions of the sea, Shall fire and sword make one wide desolation, And plunder be your valour's bright reward. Ho! Cathimar. CATHIMAR. Here, my valiant leader. ROGVALLA. Take thou my helm, the motion of whose plumes The courses of the unruly winds can change, Or sink them into silence ; and this shield Of blazing gold, invulnerable to lance, Arrow, and sword of foe, for it was forged By fairy dwarfs amid their secret caves, Rich with refulgent ore and starry gems, ( 32 ) Then, by the maids of death, cooled in the fount Which flows beneath Valhalla's throne of light, These, in my absence, as vicegerent wear, And rule till I return. CATHIMAR. With joy and hope That thou, young warrior, wilt appear no more To claim them at my hands. [Aside. ROGVALLA. Bring my disguise. I'll seek this western Earl, And, as a wandering harper, in his halls With music's sweet enchantment charm the serpent To swift destruction. Enter Albert. Who art thou ? A Saxon ? Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 57 ALBERT. I am. ROGVALLA. Why, Christian fool, art thou life-wearied grown ? And is thy lot so dark, that not one gleam Of hope beams on thee ? ALBERT. No ; though dark it be, Yet through the storm a straggling beam of glory Breaks brightly on me. ROGVALLA. Soon will it be quenched In total darkness. We no mercy show To a vile Saxon, who bows not to earth And cries, Hail ! my lord Dane. ( 33 ) ALBERT. I will not bow To earth before the proudest of you here, Nor lick the blood-stained dust from off your feet. [Cathimar and Ivor half unsheathe their swords. I laugh your swords to scorn Give me a lance, And I will make the stoutest warman here, Who dares this iron-sinewed arm to meet In equal combat, humbly kiss the ground Beneath my feet. ROGVALLA. Thou vaunfst right boldly, slave. ALBERT. Slave in thy teeth ! I am as free as thou, A sea-king born, to wander where I list. As boldly as my tongue hath dared to speak, This arm, doubt not, shall act. 58 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act IV. ROGVALLA. Thy manly bearing, Thy form and countenance, all for thee plead, And wake my heart to friendship. Whence comest thou ? ALBERT. I from the towers of Gondabert have fled, That den of murder ; and amid these woods, Wandering I knew not whither, heard rich music Break on the breathless night. I shouted loud "Danes and revenge are come !" and the dim woods And rocks replied, " Danes and revenge are come ! " ROGVALLA. Is there a Saxon heart that can feel joy At our arrival ? ALBERT. Yes, / feel a joy, A maddening joy of fierce and just revenge On that stern, villain Thane, the Earl of Devon. Listening in secret, I overheard a plot, A plot to murder all the Danes that breathe Within the English realms ! Yet a brief space, Be well assured, and this remorseless act Shall be performed ; while I, for service done To that false Earl, was also doomed to fall. ROGVALLA. O, for such treachery shall these Saxon dogs Be worthily repaid ! Come, guide me to the Earl of Devon's strong towers, And thou shalt to my heart be as a brother. ALBERT. I'll do it gladly. ROGVALLA. Arm him with a war-knife. Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 59 And o'er his shoulders fling the minstrel's vest. Prepare our tents, and keep good watch and ward. IVOR. And wilt thou trust thee with this stalwart Saxon ? ROGVALLA. Trust him ? Ay, would I, by my golden bracelets, ( 34 ) Though he possessed the strength of twenty Saxons. There is an open, fearless honesty Imprinted on his brow ; and in that eye No base dissimulation darkly clouds The flashing of its spirit-lighted fire. ALBERT. Thou read'st me, warrior, rightly. I would joy The fiercest that e'er wielded blade to meet In a death- wrestle for the prize of fame ; But let him my protection claim, and I In his defence this heart's life-blood would spill. ROOVALLA. If I return in safety, thou shalt have Plunder and high command. ALBERT. Deeply, young chief, Have I been wronged by Saxon lords and tyrants, And from my birth in galling bondage held ; Yet let this sword-arm from my trunk be lopped, Ere I will lift it to destroy my country. Give me a battle-axe, and lead me on To other lands and other isles than England, And I as brave a name in arms will win As ever echoed round your northern shores. ROGVALLA. Take these my golden bracelets. Thou shalt be My brother until death. At our return, 60 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act IV. Well quaff the wine-cup mingled with our blood, ( s5 ) And swear eternal friendship. Hark ! I hear The distant signals of a coming storm. Thou wilt not heed the huffing of the blast? ALBERT. I heed it ? Why on yon bleak, barren moor I've met the tempest in its fiercest wrath, [Thunder remote. When awful spirits and unholy forms, That walk at night the desert, from their wings Shook the pale lightning round me ; while the thunder Made tor and mountain quake, till sunk its voice In the far-sounding cataract's solemn roar, Whose grandeur fills the wild : yet have I laughed ( 36 ) These mountain flaws to scorn, breasting their rage Unflinchingly. ROGVALLA. Come, then, and let us on. ALBERT. Now shall I, Gondabert, have full revenge For thy contempt and black ingratitude, That deemed my life more worthless than thy dog's. A sword ere long my arm will grace, and I Shall onward rush to glory o'er thy neck. \Eoceunt. SCENE II. A Forest. The stage quite dark. A Tempest, with thunder and lightning. Enter two Robbers, dragging in Elfilia in a swoon. FIRST ROBBER. I'll carry her no further. SECOND ROBBER. I do not half like this bloody business and such a Scene II.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 61 bitter tempest, too. Every thunder-clap seems to din in our ears, ""Pis a most unmanly act. FIRST ROBBER. Pshaw ! never let honour be upon thy lips again, when disobedience to orders sticks at thy fingers' ends. Our commands were to kill her in this forest, and bury her immediately. SECOND ROBBER. Well, then, to business, since it must be so. [Drawing his poniard. FIRST ROBBER. Stay ; we'll fasten her to this tree, and by the glimp- ses of the lightning make her a fair mark for our arrows I'll wager half my share of the next night's booty, that I hit her in the heart with the first shaft. ELFILIA (reviving.) O, mercy, mercy ! Spare, O, spare my life ! FIRST ROBBER. Thy prayers are vain. Our captain commanded us to dispatch thee in this forest, and we never dispute his orders. Reward is all we have to look to. ELFILIA. O think on that reward, which from the throne Of Heaven's Almighty justice is dispensed To the relentless murderer ! Hear ye not His voice, who made the world and all its creatures ? Mark, how in dreadful thunder it forbids This most inhuman deed; while every flash That your terrific forms to me reveals, Is but the pale reflection of that vengeance, Which at the hour of death shall be outpoured In crimson cataracts on the soul of him, Who dares to plunge his hand in guiltless blood ! 62 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act IV. FIRST ROBBER. Comrade, listen not to her, but help me to bind her fast ; or our captain shall know of thy cowardly milk- heartedness. ELFILIA. O, yet a moment stay give me but time To breathe one last, short prayer. Mercy, kind Heaven ! [ The Robbers fasten her to a tree in the centre of the stage, she appears nearly fainting : they then retreat on either side, and make ready their bows and arrows. The first Robber is about to draw his bow, Elfilia shrieks, and Albert and Rogvalla enter at the moment from the top of the stage. A vivid blaze of lightning illuminates the whole scene, and discovers the situation of the characters. ALBERT. Elfilia here ! Fury and vengeance ! Die, Thou hell-dog murderer, die ! [Albert rushes forward, and stabs the first Robber ; rapid lightning. The second Robber shoots an arrow at Albert, but missing his aim, is imme- diately stabbed by Rogvalla. Roderick enters at the same moment, and seeing the Robbers slain, sounds his horn : several of the Banditti rush in, who, with Roderick, seize on Rogvalla and Albert, and after a hard struggle, overcome and disarm them of their war-knives. Elfilia, during the contest, disengages herself from the tree, and makes her escape. Rogvalla's disguise is torn off, and he appears in his Danish habit. RODERICK. Ha, Danes and chiefs I Revenge again is mine. Scene II.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 63 O, how it joys my soul when I can see My sword gilt ruddily with Danish blood. By hell, that death -doomed maiden is escaped ! Pursue the fugitive, ye lagging slaves, And bring to me some witness of her fate. [Exeunt several Robbers. ALBERT. Scald-headed thief, that look'st as if thy carcass Had on the gibbet-tree to shower and sun Hung in the north-wind parching, wilt thou, canst thou Murder that maid so innocently fair ? Whose beauty all the goodness of her mind Reflects as clearly as the stream its banks, Making its waves all flowers ? Off, dog- whelps, off! My arm shall rescue her from a thousand robbers. RODERICK. Thou rescue her, Dane ! What is that maid to thee ? Ha, why it is the hunter of the moor ! My spies have always had an eye upon thee. Thou, sturdy knave, shalt do me noble service. The time is near at hand, when I will make thee A better captive than a host of Danes. ALBERT. Could I shake off these hounds, thou should st not go Unbrained from hence, cadaverous wolf-eyed villain ! Freedom but yesterday to me was given, And though my soul abhors a bondman's chains, Let me but, like the lightning, fly to save Elfilia from thy blood-dogs, and I swear, By all in earth and heaven, I'll sell this body To be from henceforth thine eternal slave, Thy meanest slave, to kneel and wipe the dust 64 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act IV. From off thy feet, do any service for thee, And lose the name of man. RODERICK. I've other work For thee to do. Hence with them to our cave. ALBERT. A curse ay, and a thousand on thee fall ! I'll plant a dagger in thy throat for this. [Exeunt. SCENE III. -Another part of the Forest. Storm continues. Enter Elfilia. ELFILIA. Have pity on me, all ye saints of light, In this appalling hour. Assuage your wrath, Ye storms, that beat on my devoted head, And pass in pity on. Yet what are all The terrors of the angry elements Compared with those of cruel men, who seek To shed my guiltless blood ? Did ever heart Feel anguish like to mine ? Where can I flee For hope or refuge ? Heaven, enwrapped in fire, Threatens above ; and through the storm I hear The dismal howlings of the hungry wolf, And wild halloo of ruffians armed to slay me ! O, Edgar, dearest Edgar, didst thou know What now is my sad doom ! All gracious heavens ! I hear the murderer's footstep rushing on. Where can I hide me from his blood-hound search ? [As Elfilia attempts to go off, enter one of the Rob- bers; she flies to the opposite side and meets another, both having their daggers drawn. Scene III.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. Ha ! then all is lost ! Sweet Virgin, take My guiltless spirit to thy mercy. Oh ! [Elfilia sinks on the ground overpowered. As the two Robbers seize her to plunge their weapons in her bosom, enter Edgar, with his sword drawn; he rushes on the Robbers, who drop their daggers and unsheathe their swords to Jight with him. Edgar encounters both. Elfilia revives, and seeing Edgar nearly overcome, snatches up one of the daggers, and stabs the Robber nearest to her ; he staggers and falls off, while the other is slain by Edgar. Elfilia and Edgar rush into each other's arms, the former overpowered by her feelings. EDGAE. Revive, loved maid ; all danger now is past. The Virgin Mother, as I through these woods Wandered in search of thee, did guide my steps And aid me in thy rescue. Come, be calm, And we, ere morn, will quit Devonians land. ELFILIA. The words of hope and joy on my pale lips Expire ere I can breathe them ; but to Heaven My heart in humble gratitude outpours Its silent adoration. EDGAR. Let us haste To where good Harold with our steeds yet waits To bear us swiftly hence. [Enter Cathimar and a party of marauding Danes, who surround Edgar as he attempts to fight, and instantly disarm him. F THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act IV. CATHIMAR. Ha, Saxons ! Ay, and beauty, too ! That is my prize. Part them, they meet no more. Thou art of noble birth (to Edgar). To-morrow is Great Odin's festival, and thou shalt be A sacrifice meet for our battle-god ; An offering of revenge to the brave spirit Of every Dane that falls by Saxon guile. ELFILIA. O, Edgar, Edgar ! EDGAR. Farewell, dear Elfilia, Till we shall meet in heaven. [Exeunt Edgar and Elfilia, hurried off separately. SCENE IV. A Hall in the Castle of Lydford, with a lofty window, reaching nearly to the ground, and partly open. Enter Gondabert. GONDABERT. Vile shame be on thee, Edgar ! I'm disgraced For ever with the haughty Duke of Cornwall. But thou, though fled, that bondmaid ne'er on earth Again shalt meet. The storms are past, and from the parted clouds, Wooed by the nightingale, comes forth the moon, Shedding her soft light o'er the quiet world. Hide thee, sweet star : how ill thy presence suits The dark scene swift approaching. Hark ! I hear The sharpening of the instruments of slaughter : It makes my blood flow cold ! [Looks out of the window. Lydford, thy streets Scene IV.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. > Are silent as the grave. What a dread moment, Big with the fearful fate of unborn years, England, is this ! There is not one of all Thy warrior sons but, like the crouching lion Ere on his prey he springs with savage roar, Eagerly listens, burning for revenge, To hear the fatal knell. [The vesper-bell of St. Brice rings. It sounds ! it sounds Through the deep stillness ! Onward, onward peals The voice of death, and mountain unto mountain Through Ethelred's dominions echoes Death ! [A noise, with cries and shrieks, without* Enter Roderick. RODERICK. Ay, this would be a scene befitting well My arm and temper, were I but at leisure. GONDABERT. Roderick ! What brings thee hither ? Hear'st thou not The rushing forth of armed multitudes, Like wintry torrents o'er the storm-beat moor ? The struggle and the groan of dying men. With shrieks of murdered infants and their mothers ? RODERICK. I've weightier matters on my hands than listening To children's screams, or wail of fearful women. GONDABERT. Sleeps in her gory tomb that maid of shame ? RODERICK. Her heart is colder than the clods that rest Dark on her forest grave. But I have news F2 68 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act IV. Now to impart, which more concerns thy fame Than that poor bondmaid's death. Well dost thou, Thane, Remember those two boys, thy ne'phews, whom GONDABERT. A mischief on thee, babbling fool ! Why name, At such a dreadful hour, those injured ones? My soul is clogged with guilt. RODERICK. More saintly qualms ! Nay, bid them all subside and hush thy fears, Thou conscience-stricken penitent, for I A remedy have brought for thy disease. GONDABERT (bitterly smiling.) A remedy ? Canst thou administer A potion which shall charm to sleep the viper That here eternal coils its fiery folds, And feeds upon my life-stream ? If thou canst, I'll kneel and bless thee. RODERICK. Tender-hearted man ! That with repentant tears dost still wash off The crimson stains of murder, and still dipp'st Thy hand afresh in blood. I, by St. Peter, Have brought a remedy, a sovereign balm, To give thee peace, and sleep, and happy dreams.- Both thy young nephews live ! GONDABERT. Both live ! said'st thou ? No, no ! My brain's bewildered, set on fire ! Madness and torture ! Live ! do they both live ? Thou hell-born traitor ! O, thou liest to plague me ! Scene IV. J THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 69 RODERICK. By Heaven ! 'tis true. Have I not brought thee balm To heal the sorrows of thy broken heart ? And call'st thou me a traitor ? Why I thought Thou wouldst have pressed me in thine arms with joy To know they live ; and, hastening to restore Thine ill-got wealth to those whom thou hast robbed, Exchange the gaudy trappings of thy power For cowl of beadsman and the hermit's weeds, Resolved in some lone cell thy days to pass With peace and penitence. GONDABERT. Drive me not mad With thy foul mockery. Tell me, where hast thou So long these boys concealed ? and why at such A time as this, when my distracted soul Is harassed with a thousand cares and fears, Are they brought forth to blast me ? RODERICK. Mark, then, my words. One of those boys I to a peasant's care Confided ; and the other with our band Was cherished as mine own, till the wild Danes Once, in my absence, plundered all our treasures, And bore that boy to sea. One led, the other joined the Danes new-landed, And both are captives in my cavern home. Hope not that I delude thee. GONDABERT. Now thou pour'st A balm indeed on my fresh-bleeding wounds. They're mine again ! O transport ! Bring them hither. They shall not live to see returning light. 7 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act IV. RODERICK. Hold ! not so fast, my lord. I will be now Rewarded amply paid for all I've done. Be generous, then. Remember, mighty Thane, I hold these struggling sleuth-hounds in the leash ; If I but let them slip, they'll hunt thee down To racks and infamy. Where will be then The boasted glory of thy far-spread fame ? GONDABERT. Death and all horrid things are in the thought ! RODERICK. Then sign this parchment with thy mark and seal, ( 37 ) (I've had it long for this event prepared ,) To me devolving half thy vast estates. Do it, and I these dangerous boys will lodge Safely within thy towers. [Gondabert stands for some moments dumb with rage and astonishment. GONDABERT. Give thee half my estates ? RODERICK. Or lose the whole. I'm weary of this life Of blood and plunder, and would fain reform, And pass my latter days an honest man. GONDABERT. An honest man ? RODERICK. Yes, plundering, murderous miser ! An honest man I should be, did I wrest, Ay, every foot of thy possessions from thee. I am of British blood, and all thou claim'st Did my forefathers through a glorious line Justly inherit : thine, a Saxon race Scene IV.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 7 1 Of worse than Danish pirates, seized the whole, My ancestors out-turning on the world To be their wretched slaves. I scorned their fate, And feel 'tis honest noble to destroy All of thy lineage who my rights usurp. ( 38 ) GONDABERT. Thou lying robber ! base, audacious slave ! This instant die ! [Rushes on Roderick and attempts to stab him, he avoids the How and wrests the dagger from Gondabert. RODERICK. Ha! ha! ha! ha! Thy feeble fury beggars my derision. Think'st thou I did not come prepared to meet Thy utmost vengeance ? If I in one hour Return not safe, these boys will be set free, Such were my strict commands, -free as the winds. They know from me the secret of their birth, And to the English monarch will appeal. There is thy blade. {Flinging it towards him. Now, if thou darest to strike, Strike manfully. I will not stir a foot, Till thou hast signed and sealed that deed of gift. GONDABERT ( snatching the parchment a pause.) I will not sign it. Let them to the king. Who will believe a wandering robber Dane, A nameless pirate ? No, I fear them not. Take, thou pernicious caitiff, back thy scroll, [Flinging it at him. I scorn thy deep-laid plans. What ho ! RODERICK. Hold, Gondabert, if thou wouldst save thyself. I heed the utmost thou to me canst do 7 2 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act IV. Less than that forest king, the stately elk, Regards the baying of the mongrel cur. When I the eldest boy bore to my hold, I marked his shoulders with a burning arrow, (39) I and my comrade Wolfe. That stamp he bears, Th' imperishable legend of his birth ; And when I stripped this sea-king, on his flesh To carve the Danish eagle, a keen torment That joys me to retaliate on those dogs, ( 40 ) I knew him for thy brother's long-lost heir. Wolfe still exists, a witness that shall crush Thy power to nothing ; for he will proclaim Before the king, the world, thy nephews' wrongs. [Gondabert, overcome by his feelings, staggers and leans for support against the side scenes. Decide ! dispatch ! Dost thou not hear, loud thundering at thy gate, The lion-like destroyer of the North ? GONDABEET (faintly.} Give me the parchment. But what pledge have I For the fulfilment of thy doubtful word ? RODERICK. The safest, surest pledge that pledge which makes Honest the miser and the veriest rogue My interest. GONDABERT (after signing.) There, begone nay, fly ! O, tarry not a moment by the way, Or I am lost for ever. RODERICK. Do not fear. The roaring lion will not 'scape the toils Ere my return. Wealth, triumph, and revenge ! [Exit. Scene IV.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 7 3 GONDABERT. Eternal maledictions be thy portion. And all plagues fasten on thee ! What a night Of damning crimes is this ! No room is here For gentle love ; but I the proud Evanda Have saved from the fierce slaughter. Well, these boys In my death-clutches soon will be secured, And then some means shall take this robber off. To hired ruffians I will trust no more : These nephews shall die openly as Danes, Whose lives my country and my king demand Grim spectre, hence ! back to thine ocean depths ! Thou com'st to stay my vengeance ; but in vain, Thou hated phantom-brother. I will strike, And save my fame and honour. His dark frowns Wither my soul ! The fearful spectre rushes, In lightning clad, upon me ! ( 41 ) I'll wrestle with thee, though of other worlds, While life remains. [In his delirium he struggles as with a real combatant. Ha ! I am nerveless with his giant grasp ; His arms of fire crumble my bones to dust ! Help ! help ! I sink amid encircling flames ! [Falls. END OF THE FOURTH ACT. 74 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V. ACT V. SCENE I. A Hall in the Castle. Enter Evanda and Bertha. EVANDA. 'Tis past, the dreadful tragedy is closed. And, England, thou art one dark land of death ! The wild lament of mothers o'er their babes Slain on their bosoms, and the roaring flames Of Danish dwellings, with the wolf-like howl And shout of Saxons o'er their manly victims, Have into silence died ! The blood-red streets Are strewed with corses, and the listless moon Sheds her cold light upon the martyred dead. BERTHA. Terror o'erpowers my senses, and I feel Like one just waking from a horrid dream. [Flourish and shouts of " The Dane ! the Dane !" EVANDA. He comes ! he comes ! my loved Rogvalla comes To save and to revenge. Those martial strains To me are like the wild notes of the swan, That sings of coming summer to those isles Amid the polar ocean. ( 42 ) [Enter, on one side, Gondabert, Othmar, and Saxon Soldiers ; on the other > Roderick and several Rob- bers, with Rogvalla in chains The Robbers fall bach and go off. Evanda rushes into the arms of Rogvalla. Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 7 5 O, to meet My gallant warrior, after long divorce. Not as a conqueror, but a chain-bound slave ! Yet it is joy e'en thus to meet, for now We'll die, Rogvalla, in each other's arms. GONDABERT (aside to Roderick.^ Is he the Danish chief ? RODERICK. Yes. GONDABERT. How like his sire ! That eagle eye unmans me, and my spirit Before him quails. Where is the younger brother ? RODERICK. Fled. GONDABERT. Fled, traitor ? I again am lost ! RODERICK. Soft awhile. My interest is at equal stake with thine In his escape. The strong-limbed villain brained Two of my stoutest fellows with his chains, And in the darkness fled to join the Danes New landed. But the country's up in arms ; Soon, as a traitor, hell be hunted down. GONDABERT. My heart feels light once more. RODERICK. Behold, my lord, Your Danish prisoner. ROGVALLA. Why, thou tenfold miscreant, 76 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V. Is this the expected freedom ? These vile chains The birthright thou bestowest ? RODERICK. Ay : is it not Sufficient for thy merit ? Higher honours Soon will be thine, when o'er the castle walls That lofty head hangs black'ning in the winds, And ravens hail with joy thine elevation. ROGVALLA. Detested robbersman ! But I will not By deep concerted treachery thus be wronged. Saxons and soldiers ! you in me behold The heir to these proud towers and their domains. Know, for a truth, I am the long-lost son, Earl Edric's first-born, whom yon recreant thieves Conspire to rob of his inheritance. RODERICK. Hear ye this madman ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! Captivity hath stirred his shallow wits To mutiny. What ! carrion bird, v/ouldst thou Usurp the tempest-daring eagle's nest? The son of Edric ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! [The Saxon Soldiers join in his lavgh. GONDABERT. Thou, a wild wandering Dane, a pagan robber, My long-departed nephew counterfeit ? Impostor ! fool ! where are thy proofs ? Away ! Such madness moves my mirth. We know thee well, Thou hideous plague-fiend, who from shore to shore Roam'st with thy savage crew, nor do ye spare Or rank, or age, or sex ; your ruthless swords, Mid shouts of impious revelry, commix Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 77 The blood of serfs and nobles, priests and kings. But your detested locust-hordes this night Are in one purple torrent swept from off The groaning land the wide-spread plague is stayed. My country's wrongs demand that thou shouldst die, And on my gates thy severed head Fll spike, England's last noble trophy of revenge ! ROGVALLA. Hide not thy hell-deeds 'neath the splendid veil Of patriot virtue. Murderer ! Fratricide ! Where is thy brother, my renowned sire ? His blood for vengeance calls on thee and thine ! GONDABERT. Stop the foul reptile's tongue ! Prepare the block. Hence with him to the castle's deepest dungeon ! EVANDA. Hold ! coward tyrant ! Stay, Rogvalla, stay ; I'll with thee die, no power again shall part us ! GONDABERT. Bear hence the lady to her chamber. Quick ! Tear them asunder. EVANDA. Off, vile murderers, off! Thus, thus Fll twine his chains around my limbs, And to him cling while sense or being last. [ The Soldiers drag off Rogvalla, Evanda wildly holding him in her arms. GONDABERT. Harm not Evanda for your lives, ye slaves. It stings me they have met. Now for my plan Of vengeance on this insolent brigand. Othmar, remember : let not one escape Of all yon robber crew the sword of justice. [Aside. [Exit Othmar. j? THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V. Roderick, give me thy hand. Right faithfully hast thou performed thy word. Thou art an honourable man thy virtues RODERICK. Oh, my lord. What further service needs the hypocrite? GONDABERT. My gratitude my favours, worthy Roderick, [Leaning on his shoulder. Shall speak ay, deep Deep to thy heart-core let my dagger speak them ! [Stabs Roderick, who falls dead at his feet ; then ea- gerly searches his bosom and finds the parchment. 'Tis here ! 'tis here ! and I am lord once more Of Lydford Castle and its wide domains ! Enter Othmar. OTHMAR. The sturdy robbers to a man are fallen. GONDABERT. My triumph is complete. No, there is one As yet beyond my reach. Pshaw ! what care I ? No friend has he to back his cause, or proof To make me fear him. Has any news Yet of my son arrived ? OTHMAR. No, good my lord. GONDABERT. Thou wayward boy ! now leisure serves to think, Thy disobedient absence sorely pains me. Send out fresh scouts, and search the country round ; I have no peace until my Edgar's found. Scene II.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 79 All other cares are past, and in this breast Love shall again find its sweet place of rest. So when dark winter's wreckful storms retire, And spring-suns light the heavens with golden fire, Returns the eve-bird to her home of flowers, And, rich in music, charms the moonlit bowers. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Plain, by moonlight. The Danish Camp in the back ground. Enter Cathimar. CATHIMAR. A Saxon renegade the news hath brought, That our young chief, Rogvalla, is a prisoner To Gondabert. I now shall have my wish. His death is certain, and I rise to power, The leader of yon bands. Enter Elfilia. Who gave thee freedom ? And whither goest thou at this early watch ? ELFILTA. O, stay me not one moment ; I would fly Swift as the winds, to save a captive's life. CATHIMAR. What captive's life, fair damsel, wouldst thou save ? ELFILIA. My Edgar's. Gondabert a prisoner holds Rogvalla in his towers; and I have won The chieftains in yon camp to let me fly To Lydford Castle, and implore the Earl To exchange the Danish sea-king for his son, Whom your stern priests demand in sacrifice. 80 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V. CATHIMAR. Have they done this wifhout consulting me ? Perish Rogvalla ! Let him inch by inch Waste, famine-clung, a living skeleton, Till he dash out his anguish-maddened brains Against his dungeon walls. Thou shalt not hence. [Seizing her arm. ELFILIA. Let go thy savage grasp ; each moment 's precious To my loved Edgar's life, and while thou hold'st me He dies ! Off monster ! off ! and let me pass. A feeble woman's weakness I cast from me, As on her cloud-girt throne the eagle shakes From her sun-gilded plume the early dew. Love nerves me with a manliness of strength, And were thy strong-knit sinews like the elk's, Fd strive with thee to save my Edgar's life. CATHIMAR. Mistaken maid ; the dove dares not to wage Unequal combat with the towering falcon. Nay, struggle not ; for softer strife than this Thy delicate and gentle limbs were formed. Come to my tent. ELFILIA. Never, till thou shalt bear My bleeding corse in thy detested arms. Oh, for a mighty giant's strengtli to battle With this foul-visaged robber ! 'Tis in vain. Alas, I feel I am but woman still. O, look with pity on me, dreadful chief! [Kneeling. Let not a poor heart-broken maiden sink Prostrate before thee, and in vain beseech A man, a gallant warrior to show mercy. Scene II.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 81 Come, come, thou wilt relent ; and let me now, Kind, gentle Dane, depart. CATHIMAR. Thou suest in vain. ELFILIA. Then will I raise the camp with my loud shrieks, And call the chiefs to aid me with their swords. CATHIMAR. Nor cries or tears will aught avail thee here ; For, in the absence of Rogvalla, I Am the commander of yon dauntless bands, And henceforth under me they march to battle. Come, then : my tent is filled with splendid robes And precious gems, the spoil of many lands. ELFILIA. Out, fiend of darkness! Help! O righteous Heaven! Enter Albert. ALBERT (as he enters.) Roam where I may, thy last despairing cries, Elfilia, on the night-winds sound, and set My frenzied soul on fire. Her vision comes Again before me ! Ha ! she lives, she lives ! And we shall part no more ! [Rushing between Elfilia and Cathimar, and throwing him off. CATHIMAR. What dog art thou ? ALBERT. One whose strong fangs shall fasten on thy flesh And shake thee into fragments, if again Thou place a finger on that lovely maid. z THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V. CATHIMAE. Wouldst thou stir up the princely lion's rage With thy whelp-bayings ? Hence ! ere I put forth My foot and trample thee, earth-crawling vermin. ALBERT. Thou shag-eared wolf s-cub of the north thou Dane ! Ill make thee howl for mercy. This good sword. Now girt upon my thigh, shall prove my manhood. [ They fight, and exeunt. ELFILIA. Angel of victory ! guide brave Albert's brand Home to the ruffian's heart. Alas ! he falls. Now, now he rises with redoubled strength ; His sword hath cleft the Danesman's crashing helm. Oh, what a sight ! I cannot look again. Yet, now I do bethink me, Albert may Retard my eager feet. I dare not tarry To thank him for deliverance. [Going. Enter Albert, wounded, with Cathimar's sword bloody. ALBERT. Stay, Elfilia, Let me the pirate's sword lay at thy feet Red with my blood the first, and ah ! the last Proud trophy of my arm. ELFILIA. Dear Albert, thou Art wounded e'en to death. ALBERT. And am I dear To thee, Elfilia ? Oh, that one kind word Soothes my departing spirit. Sweet Elfilia, Forgive, forgive the past, and let my blood Scene III.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 83 Atone the wrongs I've done. O, could I live To tell thee of my noble birth, how I, Wouldst thou be mine But no, I am cut off, Ay, in my dawn of glory ; I must sink To an untrophied grave, no voice shall speak Of me hereafter. ELFILIA. Albert, I will ne'er Forget thy noble goodness ; and my hand, Should I survive the terrors of this night, Shall strew thy grave with flowers. ALBERT. Ah, let me press On that kind hand one last, one dying kiss ; And in thy happy hours, oh ! sometimes think On him who loved thee more Farewell, Elfilia. [Dies. ELFILIA. Alas ! he died for me. Can I refuse These tears of tender pity ? [Music in the camp, Elfilia starts. Ha ! (shrieks} that horn Proclaims the approaching sacrifice to Odin. Oh, Edgar, thou wilt be led forth and slain, Ere I can save thee from their gory knives. [Rushes off. SCENE III. The Hall in Lydford Castle. Enter Gondabert. GONDABERT. I thought my heart had reached the haven of peace. There is no peace to the foul murderer's conscience. Will nothing calm the stormy passions here ? 84 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V. I wear a brow of pride ; yet to their will Am the most abject slave. Remorse is vain, For I must deeper plunge my soul in blood, Or shame will pluck my robe of honour off, And I in naked infamy shall stand The scorn of Heaven and mockery of mankind ! O, Edgar, Edgar ! where art thou, my son ? A thousand fears for thee now rack my heart. Enter Elfilia, her garments torn, her hair dishevelled, and her manner altogether wild. Gondabert starts. What fearful vision from the shades below Art thou, that hell and night have conjured up To fling new horrors round me ? Speak ! Who art thou ? ELFILIA. Elfilia. GONDABERT. Open earth, and hide me deep, Deep in thy centre, from the awful sight Of that appalling spectre. ELFILIA. Nay, my lord, I am no spectre, but a wretched maid, Who, braving every danger, dares to rush Before thee, and on bended knees entreat Compassion for thy son, thy noble Edgar. GONDABERT. Does she then live ? Oh, how have I been fooled ! ELFILIA. Thine Edgar is a captive to the Danes, And doomed to die on Odin^s gore-stained altar ! [Gondabert hides his face in agony with both hands. Scene III.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 85 Even now, in yonder camp, the inhuman priests Their horrid rites of sacrifice prepare ; Wild Dartmoor's mountains echo to their yells And fearful shouts of revelry around The blood-feast of their god. Thine Edgar's brows Are bound with garlands, and the battle-song To Odin rises from their noisy tents. Claiming the destined victim. GONDABERT. Lost, lost Edgar ! ELFILIA. Fearless of savage beasts and murderous bands, I hither o'er the dark moor wildly flew Through briar and thorny brake, stained with my blood. To cast me at thy feet. For now the knife Is sharpening for its gory work of death ; Yet such the faith they for their sea-king hold, If thou to him give freedom, Edgar lives. Haste, then, from his dark dungeon and his chains Thy captive to release. GONDABERT. No, never ! never ! ELFILIA. Art thou a parent, yet canst see the priest Plunge his red knife in thine own offspring's heart ? Canst view him on the horrid altar laid, Bleeding to death amid encircling flames ? Hear his expiring groans, his cries for mercy To thee for mercy ? thee, thou ruthless sire, Who hadst the power, yet wouldst not save thy son ? GONDABERT. Can hell find greater torments for ambition Than those I now endure ? I cannot yield, To lay me in a grave of infamy. 86 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V. No, better thou shouldst die, my Edgar, far Than be the heir to beggary and disgrace. [Aside. ELFILIA. Canst thou, stern Earl, prefer a mean revenge Even to the life of him thou call'st thy son ? Oh, think what bliss thy soul will feel, when he, Rescued from death, and by a father rescued, Shall rush into thine arms ! what ecstasies Thou wilt bestow on two young hearts that love, Like ours, with boundless passion. GONDABERT. Think not I'll save A son to give him to a bond-maid's arms. Hence ! seek again these Danes, and let their priests Mingle thy blood with Edgar's on the altar, Rather than he a base-born slave shall wed. ELFILIA. Inhuman man ! Proud kings have wreathed, ere now, Their crowns with low-born beauty's simple flowers. ( 43 ) But all must be revealed. Nor abject slave, nor vassal-maid am I. Blood full as noble in my veins doth flow, As thou, Devonians haughty chief, canst vaunt ; For I the daughter am of Gloucester's Earl, Who from a cruel parent's castle fled To shun the love of Corn wall's potent Duke ; And this disguise hath proved my Edgar's truth. GONDABERT. Can this wild tale be true ? ELFILIA. Doubt'st thou my story ? In this bosom plunge Thine angry sword, and I will bless the hand That gives me death, so thou wilt haste to set Thy Danish captive free. Scene III.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 8? GONDABERT. Oh, torture Unutterable ! There is there is a cause, A dreadful, nameless cause ! I dare not give That captive freedom. ELFILIA. Nay, thou must, thou shalt. My tears will melt thy stubborn heart to pity. The hour is nearly past. O, yet preserve him. He is, Earl Gondabert, thine only son, Thy gallant boy, whom thou so dearly lov'st. By me he supplicates thee for his life : Then save him from a horrid, horrid death. Mercy, O mercy to thine own brave son ! And wilt thou drive me mad ? Hear, hear me, Earl ; Hear me while I have strength or reason left To urge thee to compassion. Nay, I will Have mercy, or for ever hang upon thee, And shriek with frantic fury in thine ears, Cursed be the murderer of an only child ! GONDABERT. Oh, Edgar, Edgar ! all a father's feelings Rush on my soul, and bear my honour down. Thou shalt be saved, and / for ever lost ! ELFILIA. Hide, night, in thy dim cave the sun's young beams, Where morning may not find them. 'Tis too late Too late to save him now ! for see the dawn O'er yonder mist-clad mountain redly breaks. Evil betide thee to thy last dark hour, Thou unrelenting man ! GONDABERT. Ho, within there ! 88 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V. Enter Othmar and Attendants. Go, haste, and bring the Danish captive forth. [Exit Othmar. ELFILIA. Hear'st thou those shouts? That death-trump is his knell. Pale are his brows, as crowned with flowers he stands Beside the altar. Now he casts around A mournful glance, but no deliverer comes, No ransom, no redemption from the grave. The fiend-like priest stands ready. Hark ! the horn Wails its last signal. Now he lifts the knife He strikes! (shrieks.} Ha! how the blood-streams gush ! he falls ! Hurl me amid the flames, That I may perish with him ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! [Falls. GONDABERT. Gently bear her in. [Elfilia is borne off by the Attendants. Enter Othmar with Evanda, mwffled up in the minstrel robe of Rogvalla, with Guards. Chief of the Danish host, thou shalt be free. EVANDA. Tyrant, to thy confusion know, that he Is free already. [Throws off her disguise. I it was who gave The warrior freedom. Hid in monkish garb, I to his dungeon visitation paid, And, as in that disguise he safely fled, Remained thy captive in his gloomy cell. GONDABERT. Sure Heaven at length the vial of its wrath Scene IV.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 89 Hath emptied on my head ! Hast thou, whom I So fondly loved, my deadliest foe let loose ? Traitress ! that love is changed to fellest hate ! With speed send forth a herald to the Dane, And tell that wild freebooter of the sea, If he send not, unharmed, my Edgar back, I will take off E vandals head, and hang Her body o^er my walls ! EVANDA. Dark homicide, I fear thee not ; a Danish woman Now triumphs o'er thee, and defies thy rage. [Exit. GONDABERT. There is one only way. Call forth my guards ! I'll seek these Danes, and rescue from their knives My gallant boy, or perish on his ashes. [Exit. SCENE I V. A wild Heath. In the centre of the stage a large cromlech, or rock-altar, with steps leading up to it. A fire blazing on the ground ; the cold grey tints of morning on the distant mountains. A storm, with thunder and lightning. Wild and solemn music. Enter a train of Danish women, strewing the altar and ground with flowers ; then Ivor and officers, lead- ing a procession of Danish Soldiers, with banners, horns, and trumpets. Then the Chief -Priest, bearing the sacrificial knife, Edgar following in chains, and crowned with a garland ; a train of Priests behind him. Edgar is made to ascend the altar during the chorus, the Chief-Priest standing beside him prepared to strike. 90 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V. CHORUS. During which the thunder continues very loud. Sound the trump, and sound the horn, Hail to Odin's sacred morn ! Hark ! his thunders roll on high, His glories fill the burning sky. Turn the captive to the north, Let his blood gush freely forth ! Strike ! as peals his death-hymn far, The victim to our god of war ! Strike ! strike ! strike ! [ Thunder. [As the Priest lifts his arm to stab Edgar, shouts without and voices. Rogvalla ! Rogvalla ! Enter Rogvalla, the Danish officers floch round him. GRAND CHORUS. Triumph ! triumph ! he is free ! Revenge ! revenge ! and victory ! England, blood for blood now calls, Flames shall scathe thy princely halls ! Thou shalt rue St. Brice's night, And sink, the slave of Denmark's might ! Enter Frotho. FROTHO. The Earl of Devon hath stormed the camp and slain Our stoutest Danes, and, like a raging lion, He hither comes. Speed, warriors, to your ships ! Enter Gondabert and Othmar with Saxon Soldiers, driving in the Danes. Scene IV.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 91 GONDABERT (entering.) Spare not a man ! Now, Dane, shalt thou again be in my power. [Rogvalla springs on the cromlech, snatches the knife from the Priest, and points it at the breast of Edgar. ROGVALLA. Advance another step, and I this knife Will, reeking with thy son's blood, at thee hurl ! GONDABERT. Ha ! my loved boy, what in the tiger's grasp ? Withdraw thy blade. Victory how art thou checked In thy career of glory. Spare him ! spare him ! The conqueror's triumph in the father's feelings Is lost and perished. See ; proud Gondabert Kneels on the ground, and humbly at thy hand Implores for mercy to his guiltless son. ROGVALLA. On one condition only. GONDABERT. Name it, name it. ROGVALLA. That thou before thy Saxon guards confess I am the son of thy ill-fated brother, And heir to his possessions. GONDABERT. Perish my son, Dear as I love him, ere my lips shall stain My honour with such [Hesitates. EDGAR. Let me die, my father, With glory die, rather than thou shouldst yield Thy honour to the injustice of this robber. 92 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V. ROGVALLA. Justice then strike ! and for the father's crimes Let his son's blood, by this avenging arm. Stream forth to appease the spirit of the dead. GONDABERT. Hold, monster, hold ! The dead, if they are conscious, Must be avenged, appeased ; for misery's flood Rolls o'er me with so strong and deep a tide, That I amid its billows soon must sink. Pity a father's agonies ! I am Not used to tears, but anguish for my child Wrings from my iron heart these bitter drops. He is the only being whom I love, The only one on earth that now loves me. Oh, then forbear, nor send him from my heart, And I will heap rewards and blessings on thee. Enter Elfilia. ELFILIA. Ah, he still lives ! and we may yet be blest. Why dost thou threaten with that deadly knife ? Claim'st thou a victim for thy horrid gods ? Here, I this bosom offer to the blow : My life for Edgar's, stern-browed warrior, take. ROGVALLA. I cannot listen to the wail of women : His life, base Gondabert, hangs on thy breath. Proclaim thyself a murderer, and he lives ; Be dumb, and thou shalt see his spouting blood Gush o'er this flinty altar to thy feet. GONDABERT. And must he, must he perish for my crimes? Scene IV.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 93 ELFILIA. Perish ? No, no ; thou shalt not let him perish. Swear thou art guilty of the blackest crimes, Guilty of blood ! ay, e'en of kindred blood ! Rather than let yon fell destroyer slay Thy son before thy face. GONDABERT. Eternal fires were bliss to what I feel ! I'll not confess together we will die ! ELFILIA. Ay, ruthless father, we'll together die ! Away ! the mightiest here shall stay me not ! The daughter of the Earl of Gloucester mounts The stone of death, and through her heart the knife Shall only reach her Edgar's guiltless bosom. ROGVALLA. Thus, then, thou slayer of thy son, this arm Strikes the avenging blow ! GONDABERT. I yield ! I yield ! thou art ROGVALLA. Speak, homicide ! GOXDABERT. Oh, horrible ! O damning infamy ! Thou art yes, yes, thou art [With violent effort. The son of my lost brother, and his heir. [Sinks exhausted into the arms of the Saxon Sol- diers. Shouts from the Danes ; flourish of music. Rogvalla drops the knife and unbinds Edgar, who embraces Elfilia, and they both rush from the altar towards Gondabert. 94 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V. GONDABERT. Off I touch me not. I am polluted, stained with shame and blood ! To save thy life, I have confessed my guilt, And fallen from glory's height to rise no more ! This is thy work, Ambition. Ha ! the morn Is dawning on me ; never more shall I Look on its lovely brightness. Fall, ye rocks ! Ye mountains cover me ! It is not day Eternal flames their lurid glare spread round me. Tni lightning-smitten ! Oh, for some cooling draught To quench the fire within ! This is the balm [Stabs himself. For pangs like mine. The grave will yield repose. Edgar, for thee I die forgive me O [Gondabert joins the hands of Edgar and Elfilia, and dies. Evanda enters to Rogvalla, and all the characters form a picture as the curtain falls. NOTES. (*) While I behold the stern usurping Thane, In splendour clad, tread like a god the earth. . . p. 6. " The French and Norman nobility admired the fine persons, the flowing hair, and the beautiful dresses of the English nobles." Asser. Vita JElfredi. *' Persons of rank and wealth, of both sexes, among the Danes and Anglo-Saxons, seem to have been very fond of orna- ments of gold, as gold chains and bracelets." Dr. Henry, v. 4. " The Anglo-Saxon chiefs and kings were called givers of gold chains and bracelets." Chron. Saxon, p. 112. ( 2 ) and toil, yoked to the plough, For food his dogs would scorn. . . p. 6. " Let every man know his teams of men, of horses and oxen." mile. Leg. Sax. p. 47, In the laws of Ethelred the Unready, the era which this tragedy illustrates, the price of a man, or slave, among those of other things, is fixed at one pound Saxon, or 21. 16s. 3d. sterling. The price of a hawk, or a greyhound, was the same as that of a man. " In the year 1015, an express law was made in England to prevent parents from selling their own children, with which they used to supply the French markets." Sharon Turner. " It is well known that a large portion of the Anglo-Saxon population were in a state of slavery. They were bought and sold with land, and were conveyed in the grants of it promis- cuously with the cattle and other property upon it. In the Anglo-Saxon wills, those wretched beings were given away pre- cisely as we now dispose of our plate, our furniture, or our money." Hist. Anglo-Sax. ( 3 ) the daintiest cheer The garden, forest, flood, and harvest yield. . . p. 6. " Gardening was not unknown to the Saxons. Brithnod, the first abbot of Ely, was celebrated for the excellent gardens 96 NOTES TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE. and orchards which he made, stocking them with a variety of shrubs, herbs, and fruit-trees." Apud Gale. Malmesbury exhibits the island of Thorney as the picture, says Sharon Turner, of a paradise : amidst the marshes abound- ing in trees, was a fine green plain, as smooth and level as a stream j every part was cultivated ; here apple-trees arose, there vines crept along the fields, or turned round poles. Yet he adds one trait so expressive of loneliness, as to throw a gloom over the charms of nature. " When a man comes, he is ap- plauded like an angel." Some years ago, we ourselves visited this spot, and we shall always recollect with pleasure the kind- ness and hospitality which we received from the inhabitants of Thorney. ( 4 ) Furred robes they wear, bedizened o'er with gold. . p. 6. Witlaf, king of Mercia, gives, in his charter to the Abbey of Croyland, his purple mantle and his golden veil, embroi- dered with the history of Troy. " Furs of various kinds were used by persons of both sexes in lining their tunics and mantles." Dr. Henry, v. 4. ( 5 ) Grasp in their hands a spear, the sign of freedom. . p. 6. The meetings of the freemen and landholders were called weapon- tacks, or the touch of arms, because every one touched the spear of the chief magistrate, who was present, with his spear, in token of his submission to his authority and readiness to fight under him. A spear in his hand was an essential part of the dress of an Anglo-Saxon Thane, or gentleman, by which he was distinguished, and without which he never stirred abroad. Vide Leges Edwardi Regis apud Wilkins. When a Saxon slave was made free, a spear was put into his hands. (6) To touch the tuneful harp, to grasp a spear, And in the forest with a falcon sport, Are crimes deemed worthy stripes and banishment. . p. 7. By the laws of Wales, a harp was one of the three things that were necessary to constitute a gentleman, i. e. a freeman j and by the same laws, to prevent slaves from pretending to be gen- tlemen, it was expressly forbidden to teach or to permit them to play upon the harp. Among the Saxons ami Danes, those who played upon this instrument were declared gentlemen by law. Their persons were esteemed inviolable j they were ad- mitted to the highest company, and treated with distinguished marks of respect wherever they appeared. A slave could not NOTES TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 9? have a hawk, which was also the mark of gentility on the finger of a nobleman. " A master has the same right to his slaves as to his cattle." Leges Wall'icte. ** If a freeman or ceorl killed a stag in a royal forest, he was degraded to a slave j and if a slave killed one, he was put to death." Constituiiones Canutii, apud Spelman Glos. (7) The lord of Lydford, Devon s high potent Earl. . p. 8. Lydford, Lydefbrd, or Hlidaford, Lidefort, and Lyghatford, now a miserable village, was once a place of much importance. Julius Caesar is said by Bruce to have made a visit to it shortly after his invasion of this island, but without any authority. In the days of Edward the Confessor it was the king's demesne, or terra regis, and the manor extended, as it still does, over the whole forest of Dartmoor. Ethelred II. had a mint at Lydford, the coins of which are known by the letters LVD. LVDA. LVDAN. Two of these coins were in Dr. Hunter's cabinet. In the 19th of Ethelred II. the Danes came to Lyd- ford, after destroying Tavistock Abbey. The foundations of the walls and gates of the town were remaining in the time of Risdon. The ancient keep of the castle, forty feet high, on an artificial mound, is all that is left of its former grandeur. The custody of the castle and Dartmoor chase, was always given to a man of high dignity. ( 8 ) And in the market sold to some new lord ; Or, by men~stealers borne beyond the seas, Pine in far-distant lands. . . p. 9. Slaves were incapable of any office of power, trust, or ho- nour. They had no authority over their own wives and chil- dren. "An absolute power of life and death was executed by these lords 5 and when they married their daughters, a train of use- ful slaves, chained on to the waggons to prevent their escape, was sent as a nuptial present into a distant country." Gibbon. " The portreeve of Lewes in Sussex, was to have four-pence for every man sold in his borough." Scriptores Saxon. Gale edit. " Slaves still continued to form one of the most valuable articles of exportation from England in this period." Men, women, and children were carried out of this island, and, like cattle, exposed to sale in all the markets of Europe. H 98 NOTES TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE. (9) hung with rich tapestry. . . p. 10. The arts of tapestry and historical painting were well known to the Saxons. Edelfleda, widow of Brithnod, Duke of North- umberland in the tenth century, presented to the church of Ely " a curtain, which had the history of the great actions of her deceased lord painted upon it, to preserve the memory of his great valour and virtues." " Among the furniture of their rooms we find hangings, to be suspended on the walls, most of them silken, some with the figures of golden birds in needlework, some woven, and some plain. Their love of gaudy colouring was as apparent in these as in their dress, for Aldhelm says, if finished of one colour uniform, they would not seem beautiful to the eye." Hist. Anglo-Sax. There is the clearest evidence, says Dr. Henry, that the arts of weaving various figures of men or other animals, or flowers, foliages, &c. into cloth, and of embroidering them upon it after it was woven, were practised in England before the end of the seventh century. ( 10 ) Or the wild shrieks of that fierce hag who rides The midnight tempest. . . p. 1 1 . Nieneven, the giant hag that rode on the storm, and led the hags and fairies of the North. (11) that island of the north, Where Nature silent lies in death-like sleep. . p. 12. The Papar, or Irish Christians, resided on this distant island previously to the arrival of the Norwegians. Nadodd, its first discoverer in the ninth century, gave the name of Snseland (the land of snow) to this island, which Floki, the Norwegian pirate, changed to Iceland. ( 12 ) Crimsoning the skies with fire .... With gorgeous banners rustling to the blast, And fearful din of arms. . . p. 12. Gmelin gives a most terrific account of the Aurora-borealis on the borders of the Icy-sea. The animals are struck with terror, the hunters' dogs crouch on the ground, while the streams of light crackle, sparkle, whistle, and hiss, like artifi- cial fire-works. Hearne says, " I have frequently heard them making a rustling and crackling noise, like the waving of a large flag in a fresh gale." Sir Charles Giesecke, who fre- NOTES TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 99 quently observed these lights in Greenland, asserts nearly the same. ( 13 ) and the sacred laws Of honour and of knighthood bid thee yield. . . p. 15. Knighthood was well known to the northern nations. Ab- bo, a contemporary of Dunstan, in his account of the death of St. Edmund, King of East Anglia, makes the King say to the Danes, " I have always shunned the reproach of disgrace, and especially of cowardly abandoning my knights." Sharon Tur- ner, v, ii. ( 14 ) My mother knew the deep thoughts of the heart, And her prophetic spirit is upon me. . . p. 16. Witches, fatal sisters, or prophetesses, were held in high respect among the northern nations. " These admired magicians and fortune-tellers were com- monly old women, for whom the Anglo-Saxons, as well as their ancestors the Germans, entertained a very great veneration, and in whom they believed an inferior divinity resided." Vide Tacit, de Marib. German, c. 8. Among the Danes, according to their old historian Bartho- lin, these witches, or prophetesses, travelled with all the pomp and retinue that waited on Queens, and were always received and treated with the highest respect. ( 15 ) She on my vassals freedom shall bestow. . . p. 17. " We have many instances of the emancipation of slaves : A landholder in Edgar's time, who had thirty men on his grounds, directed that out of these, thirteen should be liberated as lot should decide j so that, placed in the highway, they might go wherever they pleased. Sometimes the charitable kindness of others redeemed them. Our wise and benevolent Alfred directed one of his laws to lessen the number of the enslaved. He could not emancipate those who were then in servitude, nor their future families, without a violent convulsion of the right of pro- perty which then subsisted -, and the general resistance would have made the romantic attempt not only ineffectual, but per- nicious, both to those he wished to benefit, and to society at large. But what he could do safely, he performed. He pro- cured it to be enacted by the Witenagemot, that if any one should in future buy a Christian slave, the time of his servitude should be limited to six years, and that on the seventh he H 2 100 NOTES TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE. should be free without any payment, and depart with the wife and clothes he had at first. But if the lord had given him the wife, both she and her children were to remain. If he should choose to continue a slave, he might do so. This law struck a decisive blow at slavery in England ; it checked the future multiplication of slaves ; it discouraged their sale and pur- chase ; it established a system of legal emancipation, and gave the masters a deep interest in the kind treatment of the slaves then belonging to them, to preserve the race. Hist. Anglo-Sax. ( 16 ) My father to the house of Gondabert Was a retainer, and held lands in fee . . . p. 21. " If a ceorl or freeman (a kind of gentleman farmer) had a greater propensity to arms than to learning, trade, or agricul- ture, he then became the sithcundman, or military retainer to some potent and warlike lord, and was called the huscarle of such an earl." Spelmans Glos. If the huscarle so far obtained the favour of his chief as to be presented with five hides of land, or a gilt sword, helmet, and breastplate as a reward for his valour, he was considered as an inferior Thane. Here is another certain proof that the feudal system was known and practised by the Saxons. ( 17 ) E'en my dreams Were wild imaginings of sweet romance. . . p. 21. Bede gives an account of the Saxon Scald, or poet, called Ccedmon, who was a monk in the Abbey of Streaneshalch in the seventh century, and who was so inspired with the poetical genius, that he composed his best poems in his sleep, and repeated them as soon as he awoke. (is) and sternly fierce , When moved with anger, as its own dark storms. . p. 23. " A storm on Dartmoor bears little resemblance to storms in general. It is awful, perilous, astounding, and pitiless ; and woe to the stranger who in a dark night, without a guide, is forced to encounter it." Notes to Carringtons Dartmoor. (*9) and on foreign shores A master find to tame thy daring spirit. . . p. 25. " Some young men were exported from Northumberland to be sold according to a custom of that country, where the people NOTES TO THE ENGLISH sell their nearest relatives for their own advantage, a custom which we see them practise even in our own days." William of Malrnesbury. " Great numbers of unhappy men, women, and children were carried out of this island, and, like cattle, exposed to sale in all the markets of Europe." Dr. Henry s Hist. Gr. Brit. ( 20 ) Let me die unhouseled. . . p. 26. From the Saxon Husel, the Sacrament. " Unhouseled, un- anointed, and unknelled:" for so, I have little doubt, was ori- ginally written by Shakspeare that line in Hamlet, which has so much puzzled his commentators j each word alluding to the last rites of the Catholic church. ( 21 ) To rouse the tusked boar, the wolf, and elk. . . p. 30. " William of Malmesbury speaks of the wolf (whence several places in Devon have their prefix) and the winged serpent; and though the latter may be fabulous, it is indisputable that bears, wolves, foxes, boars, martens, badgers, otters, wild bulls and cows of a milk-white, similar to those described by Bcethius in the Caledonian forest, and which were at one time common in Great Britain, perhaps the lynx, goats, hares, stags, and red deer, abounded throughout the moorish district." Notes to Carringtons Dartmoor. Fitz-Stephen informs us that in his time, the twelfth cen- tury, the wild bull, the bison, or bonassus, roamed at large in the great forest of Middlesex. The species exist to this day in Chillingham Park. " The bear shall be on the heath, old and terrible." Saxon Poem. " The best hunted meat is the stag, and the hare, and the wild boar, and the bear." From a curious old Tract in Welch, on Hunting and Field-sports, preserved by Dr. John Davies. Of the elk being a native of Britain, we have spoken in the former series. ( 22 ) A dark disease of mind some youthful witch Hath on thee, Edgar, cast, and marred thy brain. . p. 33. Mackenzie tells us that a poor girl was to die for witchcraft, whose real crime was, that she had attracted too great a share, in the lady's opinion, of the attention of the laird. " They seem to have used philtres j for it is also made JCEfc TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE. punishable if any one should use witchcraft to produce another's love, or should give him to eat or drink with magic." Hist. Anglo- Sax. v. iii. ( 23 ) Let all my warmen and retainers hold Themselves in readiness. . . p. 37. See Note 16. ( 24 ) Who dare not lift the mead-cup to their lips. . . . Without the fear of death. . . p. 38. " If an Englishman presumed to drink in the presence of a Dane, without his express permission, it was esteemed so great a mark of disrespect, that nothing but his instant death could expiate it. The English were so intimidated, that they would not adventure to drink, even when invited, till the Danes had pledged their honour for their safety j which introduced the custom of pledging each other in drinking, of which some vestiges are still remaining among the common people." Pontopidan Gesta et Vestigia Danorum. "When an Englishman met a Dane on a bridge, or in a narrow path, where he could not avoid him, he was obliged to stand still with his head uncovered, and in a bowing posture, as soon as the Dane appeared, and to remain in that position till he was out sight." Ibid. The Litany of these times contained the following petition : "A furore Normannorum libera nos, Domine." " The Danish soldiers who were quartered upon the English in the reigns of Edgar the Peaceable, and of Ethelred the Unready, were the beaus of the times, and were particularly attentive to the dressing of their hair ; which they combed at least once every day, and thereby captivated the affections of the English ladies." Dr. Henry. ( 25 ) Victory to us have given injields of glory, And bowed their raven-banners to the Cross. . . p. 41. When Corinth was besieged by the Saracens of Africa and the Sclavonians of Peloponnesus, the citizens in a sally drove the barbarians from their gates, and the glory of the victory was ascribed to the phantom of St. Andrew the Apostle, who fought for them in the foremost ranks. " When the Emperor Theodosius, near the foot of the Julian Alps, fought against Arbogastes the Frank, who had murdered Valentinian, and placed Eugenius the Rhetorician on the throne of the West, the spirits of St. John and St. Philip appeared to NOTES TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 103 him on horseback, as Theodoret affirms. This is the first in- stance of Apostolic chivalry, if we except the martial appa- rition of Constantine, which was afterwards so common in the Crusades." Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. " In the celebrated battle of Ethandune, Alfred the Great, seeing a standard-bearer leading on one of his divisions with great bravery, pointed him out to his warriors as St. Neot himself at their head. This belief increased their enthu- siasm." Anglo-Saxons, v. ii. These celestial warriors are only copies from the heathen, sufficient examples of which may be found in the machinery of Homer and Virgil. When Aquileia was besieged by the ferocious barbarian, Maximin, the inhabitants believed that Belenus, their tutelar deity, fought in person for their defence. (26) What witchcraft's this ? I have no spell to call thee from the tomb. . . p. 43. " Scinlaeca was a species of phantom, or apparition, and was also used as the name of the person who had the power of producing such things : it is, literally, a shining dead body. Galdor-craeftig implies one skilled in incantations -, and Northwyrtha is,, literally, a worshipper of the dead." Hist. Anglo-Saxons, v. iii. ( 2 7) To-morrow, when thou hear'st St. Price's heavy death-knell, let him die. . . p. 49. Numerous passages in the Saxon chronicles and laws lead us to believe, that the Saxon Earls, after the union of the Octarchy, enjoyed a power approaching to sovereignty, deri- ved from the station which their kingly predecessors held. This seems apparent from the regal diadem on the seal of Alfric, Duke of Mercia, which has been lately found near Winchester. " They obtained the power of supreme jurisdiction, both civil and criminal, within their own territories j the right of coining money, together with the privilege of carrying on war against their private enemies in their own name, and by their own authority. Such was the state of Europe from the seventh to the eleventh century." Robertsons Life of Charles V., v. 1. The lord of Spitchwich within the forest of Dartmoor, and the Abbot of Buckfastleigh, had to a late period the power of inflicting capital punishment on their vassals. ( 28 ) others tossing knives and balls in the air. . . p. 50. It may surprise many to find the feats of Indian jugglers 104 NOTES TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE. practised by the Anglo-Saxons ; but we have undoubted evi- dence of the fact : these, as well as various other exercises, formed part of the profession of the Saxon glee-men, as is evi- dent from the 17th plate in Strutt's Sports and Pastimes, taken from a MS. in the Cottonian Library, marked Vespasian, A. i. which he thus describes : " We there see a man throwing three balls and three knives alternately into the air, and catching them one by one as they fall, but returning them again in rotation. To give the greater appearance of difficulty to this part, it is accompanied with the music of an instrument resembling the modern violin." The MS. in which this paint- ing is preserved, was written as early as the eighth century. Strutt's Sports and Pastimes, p. 133 : ditto Hones ed. p. 173. Vide also, Sharon Turner s Hist. Anglo-Saxons, vol. iv. p. 98. ( 2 9) Here the ivolf, The grey wolfofDunheved's mountain dwells. . p. 50. Dunheved, the ancient name of Launceston, and residence of the British Dukes of Cornwall. ( 30 ) Ere on thy brows the priest, thou false one, bind The sacred bridal wreath. . . p. 51. " Both the bride and bridegroom were crowned with flowers by the priest, which were kept in the church for that purpose." Olai Magni, p. 553. The Druids exhibited flowers at their festivals. In the Grecian ceremonies, flowers were scattered in profusion, and the Romans founded floral games 173 years before Christ j which games were re-established at the May festivals in 1323, by the Troubadours. ( 31 ) An honourable harvest do I reap From cities sacked and villages inflames. . . p. 55. The people of Scandinavia, comprehending' the kingdoms of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, breathed nothing but war, and were animated with a most astonishing spirit of enterprise and adventure. By their numerous fleets they rode triumphant in all the European seas, and carried desolation and terror to the coasts of Germany, France, Spain, Italy, England, Scotland, and Ireland, to say nothing of the East, into which they also pene- trated. They are well known to have used the skulls of their enemies for their banquet-cups, and Temagin, or Zingis Khan, drank out of the skull, encased in silver, of the Khan of the Keraitesj who, under the name of Prester John, corresponded with the Roman Pontiff and the Kings of Europe. NOTES TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 105 ( 32 ) for it was forged By fairy dwarfs amid their secret caves. . . p. 56. The northern nations, who were Scythians, believed in a race of dwarfs who inhabited the rocky regions, and who forged in their secret caverns all kinds of weapons of warfare, to which, by their magic skill, they imparted the most wonderful powers. Witches, or magicians, were supposed by the Scandinavians to possess the power of granting to whom they thought proper, swords and armour of proof, girdles of defence, and caps that, every way they were turned, should direct the weather. ( 33 ) who bows not to earth And cries, Hail! my lord Dane. . . p. 57. For several ages after this period, a lofty insolent person was called a lord Dane. "The towns through which the Danes passed, exhibited the most horrible scenes of misery and desolation. Venerable old men lying with their throats cut at their own doors, the streets covered with the bodies of young men and women, without heads, legs, or arms, and of matrons and virgins, who had been first dishonoured and then put to death." Wallingford, apud ( 34 ) Trust him ? Ay, would I, by my golden bracelets, .p. 59. " The Danes esteemed no oath so sacred and inviolable as that which they swore by their golden bracelets." Asser. Vita, JEthelward's Chron. 1. iv. c. 3. ( 35 ) Well quaff the wine-cup mingled with our blood, And swear eternal friendship. . . p. 60. " The romantic attachment of the warriors of the North who entered into a compact of friendship, is well known to all versed in Scandinavian manners ; it was confirmed by the superstitious ceremony of mingling their blood in wine, and drinking it. They even pledged themselves not to survive each other. They were called Stall-brodre. When Baldwin II. and last Latin Emperor of Constantinople, to aid his sinking cause, formed a dishonourable alliance with the Turks and Comans, to please the latter a dog was sacrificed between the two armies, and the contracting parties tasted each other's blood as a pledge of their friendship j and a Comanian chief, or king, was buried near one of the gates of Constantinople, with a train of followers and horses alive." See Joinville. 106 NOTES TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE. The chiefs of the North were often Scaldi, as well as war- riors. Regnor Lodbrog, King of Denmark, united (as was not uncommon in that age) the characters of king, warrior, poet, and pirate. " Anlaft entered the camp of the Saxon King, Athelstan, under the disguise of a Scald, and Alfred did the same in the camp of the Danes. When the hordes of the Tartar Huns retired to the West, from the limits and dominion of the Chi- nese empire, into the extensive plains of Sogdiania, they still retained one vestige of their ancient barbarism ; for when a chieftain died, his companions or retainers who had shared his liberality and wealth, were buried alive with him in the same grave." Procopius de Bell. Persico,!. \. c. 3. ( 36 ) In the far -sounding cataract's solemn roar, Whose grandeur Jills the wild. . . p. 60. "The roaring of torrents in the moor, after heavy rains, is sublime to a degree inconceivable by those who have never heard this impressive music in a wild and solitary district." Notes to Carringtons Dartmoor. And here we are happy to have it in our power to offer a simple testimony of respect to our late dear friend, Mr. Car- rington, with whom, since the publication of the Royal Min- strel till his lamented death, we were in the habit of frequent correspondence. His poem of Dartmoor, from which we have extracted the above note, is replete with such glowing images, such just and tender sentiments, as cannot fail to touch the heart of all those who soar above the grovelling conceptions and brutal appetites of the mere ignorant purse-proud world- ling. His poetry is equally devoid of raving bombast, of maudlin cant, and dull obscurity, with which the strains of many of our modern " twangling jacks" so much abound. Its melody is exquisite, yet varied ; and its descriptive scenes are the fac-simile of Nature's most beautiful and sublime produc- tions. We have heard that his townsmen of Devonport have it in contemplation to erect a monument to his memory. Such an act would do honour to themselves, but the bard of Devon needs not this just memorial of his merits and his fame. He who has so sweetly sung " Devonia's lovely land of flowers and song," shall never lack a monument to celebrate his name while Dartmoor's lofty tors and mountains of eternal granite lift their majestic summits to heaven, a resting-place for the cloud and the storm, NOTES TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE. ( 3 7) Then sign this parchment with thy mark and seal. . p. 70. " Seals were used for the purpose of impressing the wax, which closed the epistles of the Anglo-Saxons. The seal of Ethelward, Bishop of Dunwich, (830-70) has lately been dis- covered, about two hundred yards from the gate of the Monas- tery of Eye, by a labourer 5 who gave it to the child of a work- man employed on a neighbouring farm : the child threw it on the fire, from which its mother rescued it. It was afterwards purchased by Mr. Hudson Gurney, and presented to the British Museum." Archceologia, ii. p. 480. ( 38 ) And feel 'tis honest noble to destroy All of thy lineage who my rights usurp. . . p. 7 I. " In those times (the Anglo-Saxon) too many, who by their rank and wealth were entitled to be members of the supreme council of the nation, were notorious thieves and robbers." Dr. Henry. Bede, in his Ecclesiastical History, describes the implacable hatred of the Britons against the English nation and the Catholic church. ( 3 9) / marked his shoulders with a burning arrow. . . p. 72. " When Basil Zuski, of the ancient family of Rurick, the first sovereign of Russia, ascended the throne in 1606, the Czarina, wife of Demetrius, (said to have been the son of the murdered Iwan, and deposed by Zuski,) with her father were sent to prison. The child was privately conveyed to the Ukraine, under the care of a faithful cossack, and the priest who baptized him marked on his shoulders, in aquafortis, 'This is Demetrius, the son of the Czar Demetrius.' This being discovered as he grew up, while bathing in a public bath, and the news of the discovery reaching the ears of Stanislaus, King of Poland, he invited him to his court, and treated him as the heir to the throne of Russia. After the death of this prince, he was obliged to withdraw to Holstein, where he lived some time in obscurity ; but at length the Duke, in consider- ation of the acquittal of a debt due to Zuski, for a sum of money lent to the Holstein ambassador, sent the young prince bound to Moscow, in which city he was publicly beheaded in the year 1625." Ruric was prince of the Waregi, who obtained the dominion of Russia about the period of King Alfred's youth, and fixing his seat at Novogardia, adorned it with many noble buildings. 108 NOTES TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE. ( 40 ) on his flesh To carve the Danish eagle, a keen torment That joys me to retaliate on those dogs. . . p. 72. Carving the eagle, or stripping the skin from the shoulders and turning the flaps back, was a favourite mode of torture practised by the Danes on their prisoners. ( 41 ) The fearful spectre rushes, In lightning clad, upon me. . . p. 73. " It is asserted of Theodric the Goth, who after a life of virtue and glory descended with shame and guilt into the grave, that he was alarmed by the invisible terrors of futurity. One evening, when the head of a large fish was served on the royal table, he suddenly exclaimed that he beheld the angry countenance of Symmachus, his eyes glaring fury and revenge, and his mouth armed with long sharp teeth, which threatened to devour him. The monarch instantly retired to his chamber, and, as he lay trembling with aguish cold, under a weight of bed-clothes, he expressed, in broken murmurs to his physician Elpidius, his deep repentance for the murders of Boethius and Symmachus." " But if Constans could fly from the people, he could not fly from himself. The remorse of his conscience created a phantom, who pursued him by land and sea, by day and by night j and the visionary Theodosius, presenting to his lips a cup of blood, said, or seemed to say, 'Drink, brother, drink;' a sure emblem of the aggravation of his guilt, since he had received from the hands of the deacon the mystic cup of the blood of Christ." Gibbon. ( 42 ) To me are like the wild notes of the swan, That sings of coming summer to those isles Amid the polar ocean. . . p. 74. "The singing of the swans on the neighbouring lakes, added to the novelty of the scene." Dr. Henderson s Iceland. The natives of Iceland compare the singing of the northern swans to the notes of a violin. They are heard at the end of their tedious and dismal winter, when the return of that bird announces the approach of summer : such sounds must there- fore be indeed melodious to the Icelanders, which proclaim their release from the long and gloomy horrors of an Arctic winter. NOTES TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 109 ( 43 ) Proud kings have wreathed, ere now, Their crowns with low-born beauty' 's simple flowers. . p. 86. " The mother of Athelstan and Edward was called Egwina, a shepherd's daughter of great beauty. Vide Malmesb. et Broml. Torfaeus says, that the people of Spangareid, an isthmus of Norway, relate, from the accounts of their ancestors, that a golden harp came on shore in a small bay near their residence, in which was found a little girl. She was taken care of, brought up, afterwards kept sheep, became famed for her beauty, and married a Danish king. Her name was Otlanga. They show a hill, called Otlanga's hill. The bay in which she was found is named Gall-siken, or golden bay, and the stream near it is called Kraakabecker, or the rivulet of Kraaka, which was another name belonging to this female. END OF THE ENGLISH SLAVE. THE DEVOTED ONE A TRAGEDY. TO DANIEL CABANEL, ESQ., OF BATH, AS AN HUMBLE BUT SINCERE TOKEN OF FRIENDSHIP, GRATITUDE, AND ESTEEM FOR HIS VIRTUES, THE FOLLOWING DRAMATIC POEM IS DEDICATED, BY HIS OBLIGED AND AFFECTIONATE SERVANT, J. FITZGERALD PENNIF, DRAMATIS PERSONS. CANUTE, King of England, Denmark, &c. WALDIMAR, Son of Zandagast. GODWIN, a Forester. ZANDAGAST, Sclavonian Captain of the Danish Thinga- manna, or Body-guards. ROLF IRIC, a Norwegian Prince, Duke of Northumberland. EDRIC, Saxon Duke of Mercia. TURKEETUL, Duke of East-Anglia. ULFMANDO, Brother-in-law to Canute. WULFNOTH, a Ceorl of the Forest, Brother to Edric. BORNWULF, a Swineherd. Bishop. High-priest. ELGITHA, a Saxon Lady. ERMINGILD, Mother to Waldimar. EDITH, Cousin to Canute. EVORA, Attendant on Edith. 1st Witch. 2nd Witch. 3rd Witch. 4th Witch. 5th Witch. Guards, Attendants, Priests, &c. ERA THE ELEVENTH CENTURY. THE DEVOTED ONE. ACT I. SCENE I. Selwood Forest at day-break. Enter Godwin and Bornwulf. BORNWULF. A cheery morning. GODWIN. Ay, the fiery sun, Bathing his forehead in those purple waves As he uprises, from his golden locks Shakes daylight on the world. How like a young And noble mind, that through the sullen clouds His abject birth flings on him bravely breaks, And wins the steep where Fame immortal dwells, Art thou, proud luminary of the east, That, bright and brighter still, dost upward soar, Till the wide earth is covered with thy glory. BORNWULF. More of thy flighty dreamings and vain words, Which few may understand, but I have still The plague to hear ! while all the toil is mine To tend thy father's hogs, that but for me i 2 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act I. Would stray the saints know where, and soon be lost In this wild lonesome forest. GODWIN. Soul-less clod ! BORNWULF. A soul-less clod, indeed ! Fd have thee know That I am thought, among the maids at home, As brisk and merry as a summer bee. A clod, forsooth ! What whimsey next will fill Thy crazy-smitten brain ? GODWIN. Why thou art scarce One poor degree above the swine thou serv^st. Thou look'st on Nature, but thine eyes discern None of her heartfelt beauties ; thou canst hear Her many voices, but they never come On thy dull ears in a rich flood of music. BORNWULF. Why I behold skies, mountains, rocks, and trees, And what canst thou see more ? I hear the streams Which keep a constant brawling ; hear the wind, That blustering bully, and the noisy birds Whistling, I ween, for breakfast, like a herd Of tame hogs squeaking round their feeder when Their wonted meal is due. I know not which Is the most pleasing sound, the swine or birds ; But this I know, my ears are quick as thine, Nor is my sight more dim. GODWIN (not heeding him.) O, how my soul Aspires to win renown in arms ; to mix In council and in camp with warrior Thanes ; To be the leader of a gallant host ; Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. To hear the shout of armies as I come Victorious from the field, and then to shine Amid the courtly throng ; to have my deeds Sung to the sweet-toned harp of scald, and be Companion meet for kings ! BORNWULF. I long have thought Thy shallow wits were ebbing fast away, And certain is it now they've left thee dry As any brook in summer. Blessed Mary ! Companion to a king ! Companion thou Art to thy father's hogs amid these woods, A fitting school in which to learn the airs And manners of a court. GODWIN. Fool ! hold thy peace. True dignity and noble bearing are, Like passions, born with him whom genius crowns. Kings may bestow high titles, but can give Nor virtue nor desert : he who hath these, Is far more noble than the proudest chief Whose only honours are the alms of princes. Far off I can discern that land of promise, Where 1 would dwell with Fame. The sun is on Its golden shores and emerald bowers of light ; But a wild stormy sea between us lies, Impassable to me. Yet better far To bravely breast the surges, though I perish, Than on this desert strand to sit me down, Despairing like a coward. BORNWULF. Thy good father Would wax right wrathful, if he heard thee talk 118 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act I. So like a brainless ninny. 'Tis not I That am the fool. No, no ; let wise men judge If from my lips such mad words ever fell. GODWIN. My father ? He, kind easy man, lives on Contented with his cottage-home and farm, The master of a few poor flocks and herds, And stupid slaves like thee : he never dreamt Of those gay scenes that shed the golden light Of fairy -land round rank and lordly power : He never felt the unsatisfied desire Great and renowned to live, to win a name Eternal in the annals of his country. He is content To live as his fore-fathers lived, to breathe Awhile in simple ease, and then descend To mingle with their dust in dark oblivion : He looks on greatness and its witching pomp As listless as the evening wolf regards The queen of heaven, when on her forehead shine The thickly gathered sunbeams. I would be That savage wolf and nightly howl for food, Rather than live a life so meanly worthless. BORNWULF. Bless me ! a wolf ? And why may he not lead A life to him as happy as a Thane With all his wealth enjoys? GODWIN. Dull-minded carl ! O, there is one, one only path for me. Through fields of war that track will I pursue, And live with glory, or with honour die. Yes, great I shall be ! for I met the witch, Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 119 The dreaded witch of Thorswold glen, what time, Last night, the golden star of eve arose. BOltNWULF. Sweet saints protect us ! Ay, 'tis she that hath Bewitched thee thus. Thou'rt labouring now, I see, Under some powerful spell. I'll put two straws To-night across the threshold. (*) GODWIN. Once in thy life Thou, beetle-headed sage ! hast wisely spoken. I am indeed beneath a potent spell, The spell of future greatness. " Hail, brave Earl ! For such thou shalt be," cried the prophetess : " Thrice hail, thou father of a mighty king ! Who born to conquer, yet subdued will fall. A queen shall be thy daughter, England's queen, A virgin queen, yet wedded to a king! More seek not thou to know." Mysterious words ! ( 2 ) BORNWULF. Mad ! raving mad ! Well, I'll go seek the hogs, Whose heads have wiser notions far than thine. There is some sense in them, but none in thee. [Ecoit. GODWIN. There have been many, with proud deeds emblazed In fame's bright chronicles, who wisely caught The fair advantage of the times on which Their fortune cast them ; but who still had trudged Through life's dull pilgrimage in peace, and found A mean unlaurelled grave, had not stern war And stormy faction, like a swelling flood, To glory onward borne them. These are days To call me into action ; action will beget, If bravely carried, fame, and fame bring honours, 120 THE DEVOTED ONE* [Act I. Degree above degree, till 1 have won As great a name as ever graced an age. Enter Ulfmatido. ULFMANDO. Lost in the mazes of this forest Ha, A youth ! of goodly aspect, too. I will accost him, Although a Saxon by the garb he wears. GODWIN. A warrior, and a Dane ! ULFMANDO. Even so, young man. In yesterday's great battle I pursued A remnant of the Saxon host, who fled For safety to these woods ; but when I turned To join the army of the Danish king, I sought retreat in vain, and through the night Have this wolf-haunted desert hopeless roamed Of succour or escape. GODWIN. Thou art beset On every side with perils. ULFMANDO. But if thou Wilt be my guide to where the Danish fleet Lies off the southern coast, or to the camp Of King Canute, thou shalt be well repaid For such kind service. GODWIN. O, the way is long Through these inhospitable shades, to where Thy fleet lies near the shores of Withgar's isle. The rustic dwellers of this forest land Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 121 Thy nation loathe ; and well is known the fate Of yesterday's most bloody battle, fought On the red fields of Skorstein. If the serfs Meet thee, or any of the Danish host, They will no mercy show; nor would he find A milder doom, were it once told who gave Assistance to their foeman. ULFMANDO. Can I doubt That honour dwells within a form so noble ? Or think thou wouldst betray a foe who claims Thy generous pity in the hour of need ? Then take this ring, this purse with oras filled ; They shall be freely thine, if thou wilt guide My steps in safety to the Danish host. GODWIN (after looking at the ring.) It is a tempting prize : and some there are Who bravely would protect ay, and betray, For such a gift, a foeman or a friend. Receive, lord Dane, again thy proffered wealth. Scorn fall on him who takes a bribe to act Deeds of sweet charity ! In my poor thoughts, More noble 'tis to save a suppliant foe, Than e'en the sternest in the field to quell. Come to my father's cottage ; thou shalt there Find food and shelter. When the shades of night Fall on these woods, I will conduct thee hence ; And should we safely reach thy friends and home, Reward me as thou wilt. O, how I love, Till all my spirit seems on fire, to gaze Thus on the warrior clad in gleaming arms ! Shall such bright plumes o'er my young brows e'er wave ? Such mail encase these limbs ? 122 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act I. ULFMANDO. To me thou seem'st, Like the strong eaglet, born to soar above Thy forest eyrie, and a spirit shines In thy dark eye with most prophetic beams Of gallant daring ; gentle is thy phrase, And from thy tongue flows native eloquence Might shame our courtly chiefs. My forest-boy, I cannot choose, but trust thee fearlessly. GODWIN. And I would rather die, than thou shouldst find Cause to repent thy trusting. ULFMANDO. Forward, then. Thou shalt be held in honour by the king. GODWIN. Propitious Heaven ! the day is come at last, That gives me earnest of those dreams which haunt The slumbers of my couch. Farewell ye woods And gloomy shades, and ye wild birds farewell ! I shall your simple minstrelsy exchange For courtly harp and war-proclaiming trump. Farewell ye flocks and herds, a long farewell To my poor father's home ! The world, the bright, The blissful, stirring world, is now before me, For which so oft I on these primrose banks Have sat me down in bitter spite and wept. Speed to the ocean, thou slow-toiling sun ! I, at thy setting, like the young moon, shall Begin to rise in glory. [Exeunt. Scene II.J THE DEVOTED ONE. SCENE II. Another part of tlie Forest. Enter Edith. EDITH. The woods are fragrant witli the breath of flowers, And full of pleasant sounds. Who would not live With the meek fawn these mossy glades to tread, Where the sweet violet and the cowslip dwell ? Fair daughters of the sun, ye lift your heads To meet the first warm kisses of your sire, As children, after a long absence, greet Their father's glad return. But where stays Godwin, That idle youth, who dreams of courts and kings ? Bright is the morn, but I confess his smiles Would make it still more lovely. O, to me These ancient woods are happier far than halls Of regal state, for there Enter Godwin. GODWIN. My Edith ! ay, My own dear Edith ! EDITH. What, romantic youth, Still walking in thy sleep ! for I perceive, Thou listless dreamer, by thy merry looks Thy thoughts are in some brilliant vision wrapt Of things that shine, but fade. In thy lone walks Amid this haunted forest, dost thou not Meet and commune with elves and fairy maids, And beautiful spirits of the groves and streams, Who tempt thee with strange love, and o'er thy mind 124? THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act I. Their bright enchantments of delusion shed ? I shall be jealous soon. The saints amend thee ! GODWIN. I in this forest no communion hold With any spirit half so heavenly fair As thou, my Edith, art. The queen of elves Looks not so lovely in her moonlit pomp As thou dost, with those wild flowers in thy locks, When on me fondly smiling. EDITH. Art thou not, Dear Godwin, dreaming now ? GODWIN. No, 'tis reality, and real all Those dreams of greatness, mocked by thee so oft ; For I am hither come to bid farewell To Edith and these gloomy solitudes, For camps and splendid courts. EDITH. Farewell, saidst thou ? And wilt thou leave thy Edith, and these shades Where all is peace, and melody, and love, For palace-halls in which grim Envy dwells, And Murder lurks to dye his knife in blood ? Leave these green bowers, steeped in the glittering hues Of summer suns, where breathes the violet air In all its early freshness, and the voice Of the love-speaking turtle still is heard ? Wilt thou leave these for noisy midnight camps, For battle-fields, for danger, wounds, and death ? GODWIN. Ay, will I, girl, and triumph in th 1 exchange. I hate these woodland scenes of idle dulness, Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 125 Where men grow cowards, and low ignorance lies Basking upon a dunghill like the swine. EDITH. And canst thou leave thy Edith, too, for aye ? Leave her alone with solitude and grief ? Sad will these woods be when thou art away. To me the flowers will fade, the birds forget Their merry carols. I shall heed no more The gentle voice of spring, nor wander here To list the nightingale at moonlight hour ; For busy memory would recall the past, Till my lone heart were broken. GODWIN. Leave thee, my dearest Edith, and for ever ? Am I a thing so barren of all truth ? Ill thrive my hopes, may honour cast me off, And shame and scorn pursue me through the world, If this fond heart to Edith e'er prove false ! When I the warrior's laurel-wreath have won, To thee I'll come, but not in peasant weeds. No ; in a chieftain's splendid arms I'll shine, And thou shalt be a gallant soldier's bride. EDITH. Love is a gentle spirit, soft and bright As moonbeams slumbering on the quiet waters : Her home is like the dove's, concealed beneath The fragrant blossoms and the leaves of peace. With proud Ambition she can never dwell : He steeps his hand' in blood, and offers Love A sacrifice to power. Greatness is like The swelling mountain, which in barren pride Its cloud-veiled summit lifts to meet the skies : The torrent's roar is heard amid its rocks, 126 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act I. Whose rugged brows the thunder deeply scars : But humble worth, like the low valley, lies Sheltered from storms, with silent streams made glad, And rich in virtue's roseate fruits and flowers. GODWIN. What ! shall I dwell in these inglorious shades A forester, a swineherd all my life, And perish on the spot which gave me birth ? Be like the stagnant pool amid the forest, Which rotting weeds o'ermantle, and the toad And tadpole make their home ? No ; let my course Be like the mountain cataract in its strength, With strife still onward dashing, which no rocks Can bar or hinder ; while my fame shines out, As gleams that torrent's rainbow to the sun. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Room in the Cottage of Wulfnoth. Enter Wulfnoth and Godwin. WULFNOTH. So, thou wilt leave me, Godwin ? GODWIN. Ay, my soul Is wearied with these dull unchanging scenes. WULFNOTH. And leave poor Edith, too, thou truant boy, To follow this lone stranger, this dark chief Of Danish blood ? to follow the wild bent Of thy determined will, the beckoning forms And airy visions of thy heated brain, Distempered with ambition ? GODWIN. Didst thou know, My much-loved father, how my life has past Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. Amid the dreamy shadows of these woods In shaping out the visions of that world, A land to me unknown, which lies beyond The borders of this desert ; how IVe formed Proud palaces and halls, like those which eve Lights up with sunset splendour in the heavens, And peopled them with kings and mail-clad chiefs, Whose names are held in honour ; how IVe watched The flame- winged shapes which thronged the midnight skies, When o'er the blood-red clouds came forth in arms The chivalry of heaven ; How, as they flashing mixt in battle-strife, I called them Danes and Saxons, and, when fled The vanquished host with riven shield and helm, Shouted, till all the startled woods replied From their deep solitudes ; ah ! didst thou know How then I flung me on the dewy turf And wept at my low state, burning to mix In scenes on earth like those bright scenes in heaven, Thou wouldst not marvel that from hence I go To seek a warrior's name. WULFNOTH. Alas ! my son, Thy wild imaginings of pomp and power Are all unlike their dark reality. Thou dost remind me of the sea-boy who, Far on the northern ocean's gleamy verge, City, and battlement, and tower beholds, With verdant fields and mountains forest-crowned ; But when his vessel nighs that magic clime Where human foot ne'er trod, nought finds he there Save freezing iceberg, naked rock, and surge. 128 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act I. GODWIN. But fame eudureth in its endless course, Unchanging as the everlasting sun. WULFNOTH Fame ! what is fame ? A passing meteor blaze, That one brief moment shines, the next, is nothing. What numbers, once by deeds of glory fired With the vain hope of ever-living fame, In dark forgetfulness have ages slept. From which no trump can call them to remembrance ! Where are the brazen statues, pillars, towers, The marble tombs that immortality Promised to those whose names they registered ? Dashed, with their founders, by oblivions wing To undistinguished dust ! GODWIN. Most true: but when Fve bravely shaken off This forest sloth, which heavily doth hang On all my energies, like a black cloud Hiding the sunshine from the mountain's brow, I'll win such martial glory as shall live Till the proud annals of my country die. WULFNOTH. High-aiming youth, think of the cost, if won ; And when obtained, how worthless for thy pains ! Thou'lt find, my son, the unfaithful court a place Where traitors thrive, and fawning knaves are cherished ; Where merit, if found poor, no friends can win, While wealthy fools are worshipped ; where thy tongue Must flatter bloated pride, thy knee bend low To gold-clad baseness ; and where Envy waits To thrust thee back at every step thou climb'st In thy aspiring aims. Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 129 GODWIN. O, I was born To wrestle with opposers. What if fame, Hereafter fame, be nothing but a sound, Yet living honour is a glorious thing. Splendour, and power, arid wealth are in her train, And he who would to her gay smiles prefer Pale poverty, is at the best an ass, And merits all the burdens which the hag Lays on his lank and bony back to bear. WULFNOTH. Alas ! with thy ambitious hopes to strive Is bootless all. But hear me, ere we part, And I'll a tale unfold shall stir thy wonder. I have not ever been what now I am : There was a time when all which thou dost feel Came o'er my soul in dreams as bright as thine, And faded, as I fear me thine will fade, In darkness and in storms. GODWIN. Proceed, dear father. WULVNOTB. Learn, then, that I Duke Edric's brother am, That prince of traitors, that perfidious wretch, Amid the darkness of whose demon heart There never came one brief redeeming ray Of mercy, truth, or honour. GODWIN. Saints of heaven ! Art thou the brother of a Duke ? ( 3 ) WULFXOTH. Even so. An humble peasant was our sire, who lived K 130 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act I. As I do now, and died in low content, As I would die. But we aspired to shine In camps and courts, and soon in favour rose With the mind-changing Ethelred, till both Chieftains of power became. Faithful I stood To my loved country, which on me drew down My brother's envy and despiteful hate. Of treason by his fiend-like arts accused, And doomed unheard by Ethelred to death, I fled with some few gallant ships, and roamed A sea-king o'er the deep. But vain my flight From Edric's vengeance, whose strong fleet pursued me. A tempest rose as we prepared for battle, Which wrecked our vessels on the southern coast. One poor revenge was mine, I burnt the ships Of my fell persecutor : then, dismissing Those faithful followers who survived the storm, Sought safety in these woods; where I became A tiller of the field, and here have found That peace at last, which courts and kings denied. GODWIN. O, may I meet this Duke, when I shall reach The Danish court WULFNOTH. Beware of him, I charge thee ; He hath the serpent's craft, the adder's fang, The tiger's thirst for blood : with these, a tongue That would beguile an angel. Claim thou not Kindred with him, or soon will he destroy thee. GODWIN. I'd rather own myself of wolfish blood, Than claim him for a kinsman. Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 131 WULFNOTH. Dear-loved boy, Whatever betide, let virtue still be thine. Scorn all dishonest means to make thee great ; Be modest, but not servile, and should fortune Crown thy deserts, thine honours wear with meekness, 'Twill lend them tenfold lustre. Now, farewell ! Perchance, my Godwin, 'tis a last farewell ! I, who may never more that face behold, Can not restrain these parting tears, which fall In sorrow on thy bosom. When far hence, Forget not thou my counsel ; nor forget, In joy or woe, thy sad and lonely sire. Whatever befall, here shalt thou find a home, And, till I in the cold grave lay me down, A father's arms to welcome thy return. Never shall I at night my pillow press Without a prayer for thee. Farewell, my son ! God and good angels bless thee ! GODWIN. Do not weep. I shall return to thine embrace again With glory on my brow, and joy shall crown Our happy meeting. Fare thee well, my father. [Evif. WULFNOTH. Gone ! gone art thou to me for ever, Godwin ! The sun is set that gave me light and joy ! Life's feeble twilight now is nothing worth, And night with double-darkness hastens on. Yet gentle Edith stays. Alas ! she too Must quickly bid a long, a last farewell To me and my poor dwelling. Then shall I K 2 132 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act I. Of both my children be bereaved, and left Disconsolate indeed ! Selfish and base It were to keep her here. Enter Edith. EDITH. O, my preserver, I came with thee to weep; but I behold Thy grey hairs bowed with sorrow to the dust : Then let me haste mine own dim eyes to dry, And bind with filial love thy broken heart. Godwin hath left us, ay, for stranger halls And dreams of idle pomp ; but thy poor Edith Will never leave thee. Still at early morn, And when the shadows of the evening fall, I will be nigh to aid and cheer thine age ; In health and sickness shall my prayers ascend, That Heaven may give thee comfort. WULFNOTH. Ah, my child, Thou too must leave me, yes, for ever leave me ! The time is come that we must part, and thou This humble cot, these savage deserts quit, For courts and regal halls. EDITH. Ha ! name them not ; They to my mind a thousand horrors bring Of massacre and blood ! O, they recall That dreadful night, in which the Danes were slain Throughout the kingdom. Then was my loved sire, Although an English Earl, stabbed by those fiends Who, drunk with fury, rushed amid our halls. Thou know^st too well, how, struggling with a host Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 133 To save my wretched mother's life, he sank Mangled and gashed, sank at her feet and died ! I heard that mother's wild distracted cries, As on the marble floor the Saxon foe Dashed out my brothers' brains ! O God ! I felt Her last, her agonized embrace, as thou, By pity urged, didst feld me in thine arms, And from th' assassins' fiercely-gleaming swords Bear me in safety, far beyond the gates Of Dunmarn's blood-drenched palace : nor canst thou The close of that terrific scene forget, When the ferocious Duke of Mercia dragged My frantic mother to the fatal block, A princess born of Denmark's royal line, On whose fair brows the font's ethereal dews Had been devoutly sprinkled. WULFNOTH. 'Twas a night That filled the land with wailing ! Dreadful since Hath been the retribution of just Heaven For that foul deed, by hated Edric planned, Who friend nor foeman spares. EDITH. Child as I was, That night hath images of horror stamped For ever on my brain ! Oft, in my dreams, I stand amid those gory halls of death, Where on me wildly glare fierce fiendish eyes, And flash the knives of slaughter, till with shrieks I break my troubled slumbers. Oft I see My mother's spirit bending o'er my couch, All palely beautiful in light, and hear Her mournful voice soft on the evening winds, 134 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act I. That from the forest to my window come. O, then no more talk thou to me of courts, For I will make these woods my home for ever. WULFNOTH. Thou, Edith, art the daughter of Gunhilda, Who was the sister of Canute's brave sire : Meet therefore 'tis thy beauty find that state So justly to thy noble birthright due, And shine, protected by a sovereign's power, The ornament of courts. I have concealed From Godwin thy descent, lest, knowing well His lofty thoughts, he might aspire to win Thee for his bride, and make thy princely claims The steps to his ambition. EDITH. So have I, Lest it should place me at too great a distance, And on the blossoms of his tender hopes, Like winter's lagging frost on early flowers, Fall blightingly. Ah, pray forgive in sooth We love each other dearly, very dearly. WULFNOTH. Then doubly neeedful is it thou shouldst leave My poor protection, that so rich a flower Should be transplanted from this desert soil, To bloom beneath the sunshine and the care Of kindred royalty. EDITH. Ah ! to be crushed With every bud of hope by those fierce storms That beat on dangerous greatness. Dear, my father, For such art thou to Edith, let me still Dwell here with thee, till Godwin shall again Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 135 Return to cheer us. Think, O think how. sad, How lonely thou wilt be, when we are both Gone from thee far away. Then banish not Thy fearful Edith ; cast not her, whom thou Didst from the tempest and the ocean save, On the wild surge again. WULFNOTH. My dearest child, The lofty rock which I would place thee on No future storms can shake, for half the realm Thy royal cousin by his sword hath won. In justice to thyself I send thee hence, And well, for thy sake, is my heart content To endure the heavy sorrow it must feel When thou departest from me. Some trusty slaves Will safely guard thee to the Danish court, And ample proofs have I, which shall convince Canute of thy descent. These bear thou with thee. EDITH. Whose voice shall soothe thee when I go from hence ? Who tend thy couch, should sickness thee befall, Or meet thy wishes with that tender care Thy Edith would have shown ? O, I shall weep Amid the pomp of crowded courts, to think On my loved father's loneliness and age. I cannot, will not leave thee. WULFNOTH. Be content. I am resolved, and to my lot resigned. EDITH. If go I must, one joy will yet be mine : I shall behold my Godwin, and in him Is centred every blessing earth can yield. THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act I. He will^act bravely, and make honour proud To wait upon him. I, by simple art, Will prove if Love can stern Ambition quell, And to his bridal car, in flowery bands, That lion-passion yoke. If not, adieu To kingly halls. I know my humble course : Greatness and I shall never meet again. END OF THE FIRST ACT. Act II.] 1 THE DEVOTED ONE. ACT II. SCENE I. A Grove near the Palace of Canute. Enter Elgitha and Waldimar. ELGITHA. STILL so desponding, gentle Waldimar ? Would I had power to win from thee a smile, To soothe thy wayward spirit into peace, And o'er thee fling the sunny beams of joy. WALDIMAR. No gleam of joy o'er my dark morn of life Hath ever dawned, no friend have I e'er known, Or heard the soothing tones of Pity's voice : I may conceive, though I have never felt, How sweet such blessings are. But not for me Is earthly fellowship of mortal man. I must commune [A pause. ELGITHA. With whom ? Tell me, I pray. Dreams Waldimar that in his lofty moods With bodiless spirits, forms of fire and air, He holds communion ? WALDIMAR. Spirits ? ay, with gods !] Awful, terrific forms, that make my brain Seem like the river's dark and eddying whirlpool. Speak not of spirits. O, there is no heart, No kindly heart that for my misery feels; 138 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act II, For none may know its deep and secret cause. Speed on the dreadful hour that gives me peace ! ELGITHA. Thou art, I fear, possessed : some evil spell Of wizard-craft is on thee. Let me, then, The blessed Cross upon thy forehead sign, And drive the foul fiend from thee. WALDIMAR. Not for worlds ! I should be torn in fragments, and my limbs Hurled on the struggling winds ! The mystic name, Dreadful ! ineffable ! the name that makes Heaven's everlasting pillars trembling bow ; His name whose attributes I know not, yea, Nor where He dwells, but whom I yet shall meet, Is on my forehead, and it must not be Effaced till Death's pale hand shall wash it thence, In Ister's sacred wave. ( 4 ) ELGITHA. Mysterious man, Wouldst thou become a Christian, and receive The font's baptismal rites, the peace of Heaven Would through the storm upon thy soul descend, And with its sunny glimpses make thee glad. Turn not away in moody wildness thus : In sooth, my friendship merits thy good-will. WALDIMAR. O, thou art kind and gentle, and thy voice Comes o'er my spirit, like sweet music heard Amid a lonely desert; but for me Thy pity flows in vain, like a pure stream Lost in that sun-smote desert's burning sands. Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 139 ELGITHA. Turn from thyself, and look abroad on nature : Peruse her volume of delightful records, Unfolding to the eye an endless change Of beauties ever new. WALDIMAR. It may not be. ELGITHA. Indeed it may, if thou wilt be advised. Look on the morn, When, showering roses bathed in dew, she comes CTer yonder azure mountains, and uplifts The veil of night 'neath which the dim earth slept, That laughs with joy, like a light-hearted child When by his mother found where he had lain Concealed in wanton play. Then every grove And every vale is full of life and music ; While o^er the corn that bends its wealthy ears To the soft salutation of the winds, The lark, amid the gorgeous-coloured clouds, Her merry carol sings. O, these are sights And sounds, my gentle Waldimar, might win Thy heart to peace and joy. WALDIMAR. Thou talk'st in vain. ELGITHA. Then let the sober night attract thy gaze : She in her loneliest hours hath melodies Sweeter than day can boast ; and glory, too, Glory that shines unperishingly bright, Excelling all the pomp of courts and kings. What, though I talk in vain, if thou wouldst cast Thine eye upon the moon, that vestal queen, 140 THE DEVOTED ONE. fAct II. When she doth glass her beauty in the sun, And bind her brows with light ; then mark the host Of golden stars, which from the sapphire depths Of heaven come forth to attend her solemn state, Lifting thy heart in prayer to Him who showered Those living splendours o'er eternal space ; O, HE would teach thee how to wrestle with The fiend that vexeth thee, and from thy bosom Cast out the evil one. WALDIMAR. Alas ! there is No beauty in this world for one who waits The doing of the all-nameless fearful deed ! The groves are decked in flowers, the heavens are bright With morning dyes, and evening suns go down In crimson pomp ; but not for me the flowers Put forth their bloom, or suns arise and set. My thoughts are not of those delightful scenes That bless the years of youth. Yet on me shines, When thou art present, a bright nameless gleam ; It is not joy or hope, for they can find No place in my dark bosom. ELGITHA. What hast thou done ? WALDIMAR. By Radegast ! not since I saw the light Have I to any done one evil deed. O, cast not on my innocence a shade Of guilt or crime ; or thou, alas ! wilt add New anguish to my sufferings. ELGITHA. I believe thee, Firmly believe but Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. WALDIMAIl. Thou canst never know The awful secret. When the hour arrives That I shall hence depart ne'er to return, And soon that hour must come, wilt thou, Elgitha, Remember me, and pity my sad doom ? ELGITHA. Remember thee ? ay, and with tears bewail Thy unknown destiny. O Waldimar, Say, whither goest thou ? WALDIMAR. Inquire no more. A flash darts through my stony heart like lightning. Can it be love, or something heavenly ? Know I not But well I know I would not lose this feeling, This new-born pleasure, to be made a king ! Sweet stranger-guest, thou in my soul dost shine Like a lone star arnid the clouds of night, And I will keep thee till the destined hour Of my departure hence. And now I look On thee again, Elgitha, I perceive That earth has beauty, beauty e'en for me ! For thou art of this earth, and thou dost feel Compassion for my sorrows. Fare thee well : Yet and again I'll see thee ere I go. ELGITHA. O, talk not thus WALDIMAR. Thrice beautiful ! art thou not some blest vision, Sent down to guard me from those sights and sounds That oft my reason mar ? When thou art nigh, No fierce and gloomy shadows round me throng, Or formless things of horror ; while thine eyes THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act II. A tender radiance cTer my darkness shed, Like moonbeams on the wild and stormy sea. The let me, dear Elgitha, gently press My lips to thine, since we so soon must part. I never breathed on lips of woman, save My lady mother's (kisses Elgitha.) Radegast, and all Ye gods above ! the joys of heaven are in Thy balmy kiss, and from those lips despair Might pluck eternal rapture ! My dark soul Is kindled by a strange and sudden fire, That burns and struggles with the gloom of years, Like flames amid the heart of some full forest ! But I must quench it, or on me will rush Madness and demons, hell and all its horrors. [Exit. ELGITHA. Alas, that such a noble form should be By frenzy blighted thus ! Mvstery and fate Hang on him, like a cloud which hides the thunder, Whose secret dwelling may not be approached. Pity and Friendship, ye have also lit In my poor heart a never-dying flame, That will, if he depart, to dust consume me. [Exit. SCENE II A Hall in the Palace of Canute. Enter Canute, Zandagast, Turkeetul, Rolf Iric, Earls and Attendants. CANUTE. England, thy nobler provinces are ours, By treaty fixed and ratified with Edmund. TURKEETUL. By right of valour all to thee belong, All tribes and kingdoms, princedoms, powers, and states Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 143 Within the borders of this sea-girt land ; And all, ere long, shall humble homage pay Before thy footstool. ZANDAGAST. By the Velibogc, (5) Our gods of brightness, the base craven Saxons, Of whom a troop will fly before the lance Of one Sclavonian soldier, ( 6 ) must yield up All England to thy power. The eagle dwells In solitude on her storm-shaken rock, Claiming the full dominion of the skies : The lion reigns alone, and scorns to share The desert with the wolf. CANUTE. Brave Zandagast, Renowned Sclavonian captain of my guards, I would not have thee swear by heathen gods. Thou must forget the customs of the Wends, Thy native tribes along the Baltic shores, And be a Christian. When, in merry mood, Thou lift'st the wine-cup in the hall of shields, Drink deep to Christ arid all the blessed saints : (7) So shall thy high deserts fresh honours win. ZANDAGAST. Your gods and saints are then, if I deem right, Boon wassailers, and love the jovial bowl Which I despise, hating the thief that steals All I have worthy from me. CANUTE. Speak not thou So misbeseemingly. ZANDAGAST. My lord, the race THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act II. From which I sprang, revere, as Christians do. The all-powerful Deity, whose dwelling is The temple of the skies : who frowns, and light Departeth from the sun : who speaks in wrath, And thunders roll throughout immensity : Who looks abroad, and, in his awful glance, Darkness and Night die on their funeral pyre : Who smiles, and the glad earth and heaven shine out In glory measureless: who speaks in love, And cloudy mountain, hollow vale, and wood Drink deep of music, with whose viewless spirit Ocean, inspired, doth break forth into song. He delegates the rule of all below To his celestial offspring, as a king (8) Sets o"er his provinces inferior chiefs. We to these gods, high councillors of splendour, ( 9 ) Homage, and vows, and sacrifice perform. Do we not then believe, as thou believ'st, In one true God, the Eternal King of kings? CANUTE. No ; for ye worship other gods than one. My bishop shall instruct thee in these things, For I would have my Danish subjects Christians. ( 10 ) ZANDAGAST. Not all the Christian priests that own thy power, Shall win me to forsake my fathers 1 gods : I'll perish first in fire ! (aside.} IVe yet to learn, ( n ) My royal master, that thy Danish subjects, Who have their war-gods changed, have changed them- selves, Or mended their old manners. Still they fight, Not in defence, but for unbounded power, And the Vikingers" 1 bloody craft pursue, Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 145 Plundering on sea and land, while fell Revenge Crimsons their knives as deeply as of old. At their proud banquets, night and day they spend In such debauching riot, as exceeds All I in heathendom have yet beheld. Nor are these Saxons, who so long have borne The Christian name, for better deeds approved : But much I marvel pious bishops should Make nobles drunk, to cheat them of their wealth, Whereby t' enrich themselves. ( 12 ) CANUTE. I must confess Their deeds too oft disgrace the name they bear ; But still the faith is pure, however so ill The practice of its followers. ZANDAGAST. Stranger still ! A tree so goodly, bitter fruits produce ? A fount so pure, such turbid waters yield ? Enter Officer. OFFICER. Duke Edric waits without to see your Grace, And bids me say, he brings important news To be in secret told. CANUTE. My Earls, withdraw. [Exeunt Chiefs, $c. What tidings hither brings this Mercian Duke ? I know him for a villain; but while he To my ambition ministers, I must With honours gild his baseness. Kings may love Treason to foes : but hate, and watchful fear, THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act II. And keen suspicion dog the traitor's heels, While o'er his head the sword of justice hangs By a frail hair suspended. But he comes. Enter Edric. Now, Edric, speak thy message. EDRIC (kneeling.) Hail, Canute ! Thrice hail to him who o'er all England reigns ! CANUTE. Ha ! glorious news ! But Edmund, what of him ? EDRIC. He is, my lord, as thou wouldst have him be, A lifeless piece of clay. ( 13 ) CANUTE. Relate, good Edric, The manner of his death. EDRIC. Seek not to know More than I tell thee. I beheld his blood Red on the trusty blades of those who did Their office faithfully. The nobles all Of Edmund's faction now are turned to thee, And every Saxon owns thy sovereign power. CANUTE. Then am I king indeed ! and on my brows The crowns of England and of Denmark rest, While Norway soon Scant shall not, Edric, be Thy guerdon for such service. Other deeds Must yet be done, Thy axe the royal tree, Sprung from the ancient root of Cerdic's line, Hath felled to e/irth ; but from it freshly springs Some cherished saplings, which, if not destroyed, Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 147 May grow to dangerous height. Edward and Edmund, Sons of King Ethelred, I have them safe, And they must be EDRIC. Might I advise, my lord, Those princely youths from England should be sent, To some far-distant land. It would be lack Of policy and king-craft now, when all The Saxons feel inclined to own thy sway From love, or fear, or interest, by the death Of these fair JEthelings to estrange their hearts, And thy strong fabric of dominion, reared With so much toil, and with the noblest blood Of Englishmen and Danes cemented, shake To its deep-laid foundations. No, my liege, Hence on a visit send them. CANUTE. Ay, from which, My worthy Edric, they may ne'er return. It shall be so. I will to Sweden's King Despatch them straight, with secret charge that he Rid me for ever of the dangerous brats. EDRIC. No fear they will return, to breathe again The balmy air of England. CANUTE. Call the chiefs, That I may each appoint to his command O'er the great provinces of my new kingdom. EDRIC (aside.) For this my last bold deed, no doubt mankind Will on me heap all vile opprobrious terms That baseness ever bore. And what reck I, L 2 148 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act Tl. So that my titles, wealth, and power remain ? Censure and praise, brief shadows of an hour, Ay, and hereafter obloquy and fame, Although less fleeting, less substantial far, Are equally my scorn. [Exit. CANUTE. By my war-bracelet ! I protest my heart Goes not with these dark doings ; ( u ) but my state, My crown, my empire, all compel against My better feelings. As I hope for heaven, Hereafter deeds shall for this blood atone ; And I will to all future ages leave Memorials worthy of immortal Fame, Who o'er them shall her golden sceptre wave, Though the cold atoms which compose this form Sleep where no mortal knows. Edric, Turkeetul, T&olf-Iric,andEarls. ZANDAGAST. My sovereign lord, we thy commands await. CANUTE. Chieftains of England and of Denmark, learn That Edmund is no more. His death makes void The contract which divided England's crown, And robbed it of its lustre. On our brows That symbol now in full refulgence shines, And we will wear it bravely. Gentle Earls, To each, as doth his several merit claim, We give high rule and power subordinate O'er England's provinces. Thou, Edric, still Shalt be the Duke of Mercia ; thou, Turkeetul, East-Anglia govern ; and Northumberland, Norwegian Iric of the magic sword, Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 149 Be thy domains. The south ourselves will hold In full immediacy. EDRIC (kneeling with the Earls.) We all do swear Allegiance, as true vassals, to thy throne. CANUTE. And now, brave chieftains, as ye tender well The weal and happiness of a great people Committed to your charge, as ye respect My favour and support, as ye would reap That proud reward of valour ye have sown In the red fields of war, and keep unstained Your noble honour, without which a prince Is baser than the basest predial slave, Let perfect equity to Dane and Saxon Guide every action. When ye judgment give, Beware the scales of even-handed justice Swerve not the turning of a grain of dust For love of sordid lucre, friend, or kin, Or brief will be your power. Briton and Dane, Angle and Saxon, are my subjects all, And equally will I their rights maintain : So farewell, lords, till we at banquet meet. I've counsel, Mercia, for thy private ear. [Exeunt Canute and Edric. ZANDAGAST (ttSlde.) There go two Christians ! One and well "'tis known A greater miscreant never curst the earth : The other but no matter. Edmund dead ! I doubt he came most foully by his death. That treacherous, base blood-shedder ROLF IRIC (to Turkeetul.) How died Edmund ? His death is strangely sudden. 150 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act II, ZANDAGAST. Ask Duke Edric. TURKEETUL. It matters not, Lord of Northumberland, How strange or sudden. From its suddenness We pluck our greatest comfort for his loss, Since by his death we two fair Dukedoms gain. ZANDAGAST. Mean selfishness ! Is it no matter, when A brave man falls, how by his end he came ? The field of glory should his death-bed be, His winding-sheet the banner, dipt in blood, Which o'er him waved as he to victory rushed. The poisoned cup, the assassin's hidden steel, Are only meet for cowards. TURKEETUL. I, for one, Have no weak curiosity to hunt Out dangerous secrets. If there aught be wrong, The English faction may, when they have power, Correct what is amiss. But come, my lords, It well behoves us merrily to quaff' And feast, with song and harp, from morn to night, From night to morn again, like jovial sons Of conquering Denmark : 'tis an honour due To both our own advancement and the King's. Come, thou wilt join us o'er the wassail bowl, Brave captain ? Nay, for once be social, man. ZANDAGAST. That means come, be a drunkard. Drunkenness Is one of your great Christian virtues : I Have never known a noble deed yet done Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 151 In one of its mad moods ; but who may count Its dark and evil things ? TURKEETUL. O dull of soul ! 'Tis only when bright, generous wine inspires The heart of man, that all his better powers Expand to full perfection. Selfish thoughts Are lost in friendship, and lifers vexing cares Drowned in unmeasured joy. O, such bright hours Are worth an age of dull and sober time ; Who would not bid them welcome ? Mighty wine ! Thou canst, like love, make all things lovely seem, And add to love itself a tenfold bliss : Canst make the very miser dip his hand In his close purse, and scatter blessings round him : Turn cowardice to valour ; give to silence Music and eloquence ; and, like the sun, Arouse man's torpid nature into action, Warming the wintry sleeper to new life. Glorious, but. brief, thy summer-time of mirth, Too happy long too last ; yet, ere it flies, Man feels himself a god ! ZANDAGAST. Yet this same wine His godship soon transforms into a devil. And then comes double sight, and double speech, With maudlin folly of vain-glorious tongues ; Then noisy riot, brawls, and maddening strife, And blows and wounds, till dearest friends become The bitterest foes, till murder dyes the cups With deeper purple from the gushing veins Of the fierce revellers, who to and fro Stagger, as if their feet on earthquakes trod ; THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act II. Then, of all reason, speech, and motion reft, Sink prostrate on the ground, the laugh of fools. No grovelling beast, my gallant lord^ is half So brutish as thy wine^created god. ROLF IRIC. Ye both are right ; and where meet your extremes, Is found man's brightest joy. It is a flower, A sweet enchanted flower, that blooms immortal In Odin's paradise, but fades on earth, Fades in the very plucking. ZANDAGAST. Ay, and turns To the most noxious weed, that soon destroys The infatuated gatherer. TURKEETUL. Be it so, I'll not refrain ; for, like all earthly bliss, It hath its price, which I pay willingly. I know no mortal joy has fewer cares To mar its sweetness. ZANDAGAST. Yes, sobriety. TURKEETUL. Call you sobriety a joy ? ZANDAGAST. I do; Which never makes a fool of its possessor, Or raises on his honest cheek a blush. The joy of wine is but the joy of madness, A frenzy, which lets all the passions loose To make us slaves and idiots. TURKEETUL. 'Tis a joy Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 153 I doubt thou ne'er hast felt, or bast no taste. Brave Zandagast, to feel ; and thus, like men Who have not certain passions, thou dost rail Loudly at those that have. It is, I deem, A brave defect, if a defect it be, And well becomes a soldier. ZANDAGAST. Ah ! my lord, How tenderly man blames his own misdeeds, Slight counting them, though deemed by others vile ; And still from circumstance, and time, and place He gathers fair excuse, till to himself He faultless seems, whatever may be his actions. Adieu, my lords, and merry be your revels. [Exit. TURKEETUL. A valiant, honourable heathen ; yet He scorns a cup, the soldiers blithest cheer. Better would he a bishopric become Than half the Saxon beadsmen, were his creed Of their complexion. ROLF IRIC. By my spell-forged sword ! These bishops are no fools, my lord of Anglia : They, as occasion needs, the cross or brand Can wield with equal force ; and at the banquet No Danish soldier, in his merriest hour, Ere lifted wine-cup with a freer hand Than these ascetic priests. TURKEETUL. Then do they set' An excellent example. I will choose For my confessor one that, like myself, 154 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act II. Permits not the full bowl to go its rounds Unquaffed. Light shall my penance be with him. I never yet knew one that did not love A gay carouse, but was a sullen wight, Morose and proud, with failings dark and many Hid 'neath a veil of owl-like gravity. But we lose time, that should be better spent Than in this idle talk. When morning comes, It still shall find us, Iric, jovial watchers. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Hall in the House of Zandagast. Enter Ermingild and Waldimar. ERMINGILD. My son, revered and honoured as a god Among our Wendic tribes, why hangs a more Than wonted gloom on that pale brow of thine ? And why those deep-drawn sighs ? WALDIMAR. I wot not, madam, Save 'tis the knowledge that the time draws nigh, When 1 must bid farewell to all which now Seems bright and beautiful beneath the moon. And yet am I impatient for the hour : The worst to learn, were better than this state Of dark uncertainty and fearful doubt. ERMINGILD. Thou know'st, my son WALDIMAR. Ay, know I e'en full well That thou from infancy hast on my mind Deeply impressed my doom. Ere we forsook Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 155 Our native land to follow Denmark's King, The fatal sign was fixt upon my brow; And wheresoever I moved, respect and awe From the Sclavonians met me, as if I Were the strange offspring of some fearful god, A being nor of earth, or heaven, or hell, Till from my very self I shrunk in dread, And wished the hour were come. ERMINGILD. To-morrow, then, At night's dark noon, that destined hour arrives When thou, my noble son, shalt be received Among the gods thyself a god ! and find In brighter worlds, above the strife and coil Of human passions, thine eternal home. WALDIMAll. Ah ! this hath been a dreary world to me, In which, from childhood, I have never known Kind fellowship, or sympathy, or love : If other worlds hereafter I may find, Darker they cannot be. ERMINGILD. O, thou wilt float On the resplendent meteor, and thy steed Shall be the rainbow of the summer skies, Chasing the shower o'er climes where ever bloom Roses of damask hue. Then shalt thou dwell In those refulgent palace-halls, that burn With sunlit gems, and gold, and diamond fires Amid the western heavens at eve-tide hour ; And in those cloud-isles wander where the groves, All blent with ruby dome and gate of pearl, Their emerald light o'er flowers immortal shed, 156 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act II. And bathe in crystal waters, breathing music Along their golden shores. WALDJMAR. And shall I dwell, When he, the dread Destroyer, calls me hence, In regions such as these ? ERMIXGILD. Ay, verily ; And with the warrior-spirits of the slain Companionship and lofty converse hold, Where the proud Genii of the northern star Spread their pavilion, and where gorgeous pomp Illumines earth and heaven. Thy mother oft Will from her bower look forth on those bright skies Thy form to mark, in glittering mail yclad. WALDIMAB. The warrior's guise, his glory, and his sword Are not for me. I own this heart hath felt, When I have heard the stormy trumpet fling Its brazen clamour on the winds, a wish That I had been a soldier ; but ere long Such thoughts have died amid my bosonVs gloom, Like sun-gleams on the darkly-rolling sea, When swift the storm-cloud comes. ERMINGILD. What though, my son, No battle-garland decks thy sacred brows, Thou wilt become a spirit great in power. Oft shall I list to hear thy deep-toned voice Amid the cloud-borne thunders, as thou rid'st On thy white giant steed, with vesture dipt In blood-red glory, while the nations quake With sad foreboding fear as they behold Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. Thy going forth to war. Then wilt thou bless Thy mother for her vow, that made thee great Among the gods on high. WALDIMAIt. Ah me, alas ! Your visions, O how different all to mine. That still are wildly fearful ! Oft have I On the Wenedic sea's surge-smitten shore, Shunning and shunned by man, gone forth to meet At midnight hour the coming of the tempest. There on the rocks I've laid me down to list The thunder's voice, the cataract-sounding roar Of the mad ocean, mingled with the shrieks Of drowning mariner. And then, methought, Strange mutterings came between the weary winds That sunk overspent with rage, while ghastly forms, Unlike aught human, glared with eyes of flame Upon me through the gloom, and seemed to say " Come, thou devoted one, amid the surge Plunge deep at once ; and, freed from this dull clay, Be e'en as we are. Our unknown abodes, Hid in the elements of flood and fire Amid the burning centre of the globe, Wait to receive thee, where the earthquake dwells, And the red lightning in its naked essence Lives with Eternity. " Then did I shriek With cold and thrilling horror, for I felt The god, whose name is written on my brow, Clasp in his giant arms my quivering form : His breath came like a furnace seven times heated, And o'er me waved his awful-sounding wings, That darkened sea and land with tenfold night ! ERMINGILD. 'Twas but the brain-born spectre of some dream. 158 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act II. WALDIMAR. No, 'twas reality; for laughed so loud The shadowy demon, that the thunder paused To listen, and the wild sea held its peace, Silenced by fear. Ten thousand meteors shook He from his cloud-broad plumes, that swept the heavens, Till ocean, towering cliff, and shore shone out All bright and clear, as though the morn had woke With sudden wonder : Darkness rose and fled. Then such a form unutterable I saw Above me hovering, that my spirit died With agonizing dread ! When I revived, Night stood with me alone. ERMINGILD. Ah, my loved child, Such thoughts and visions will be oft with those Who are the called and chosen of the gods. WALDIMAR. Nay, gentle mother, am I not devoted To Czernebcch, the Black and Evil One, King of the land of Darkness ? ( 15 ) Or why thus Am I so haunted with strange shapes and things Of hideous aspect, that by mortal tongue M ay never be revealed. ERMINGILD. No, no, sweet boy It is wild fear that on thy dreamy mind Such dark illusion flings. Ere Zandagast, Thy father, followed Swein to this isle, He was in battle wounded nigh to death. Then did I vow to SIVA, the CREATOR, PRESERVER, and DESTROYER, attributes In ONE OMNIPOTENT, the Lord of lords, Scene III.J THE DEVOTED ONE. 159 If he thy father's days prolonged, and thou, Unborn, a boy shouldst prove, I would to him Thy life devote ; and when revolving suns Brought in their radiant course the destined hour, Thou, to the death-song of our priests, shouldst cast Thyself from Siva's rock amid the waves Of the deep-rolling Ister. (16) WALDIMAR. Thus have I been, Since first I saw the light of heaven, cut off From those emotions other mortals feel ; And all that is to them on this fair earth Pleasing and bright, have not a charm for me. I stand alone amid a busy world, Unmoved by all its passions, like a rock Barren and shunned, around whose rugged sides The foamy sea-wave breaks, and then retires. Yet, good my mother, ever do I feel, When sweet Elgitha kindly on me smiles, A mournful joy mount to my burning cheek, As steals the crimson rose's lovely hue O'er dying twilight's paleness. ERMINGILD. Ah, my son ! Elgitha is a Christian. Thou no more That witching maid must see. WALDIMAR. O mother ! mother ! Be not so cruel to thine only child. Since I so soon must pass away, and fade From all remembrance, let me yet behold Her heavenly face till the dark billows close Above my head, and thy chief god receive me. THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act II. O, let her star-bright eye shine o'er the eve Of my departure hence, and thy poor boy Shall feel what -his lone heart ne'er felt before A parting gleam of gladness, cold, yet bright As the last glimpses of the winter sun. ERMINGILD. 'Tis as I feared. This maid in his dark bosom Hath lit lovers flame, which faintly burneth, like A dim lamp in the tomb. O Waldimar ! Thou hast not to this Saxon girl betrayed The secret of thy doom ? Canute's fierce wrath Misery and want the curses of the gods For broken vows all, all will on us light, If it be known prevented WALDIMAR. Fear not, mother ; The secret I have kept, and will thy vow Most faithfully perform. Enter Zandagast. ZANDAGAST. My Waldimar, My only one, my first-born, could thine arm Wield this good sword, couldst thou to distant years Prolong our warlike line But to the gods'* Superior claim resigned, I yield thee up. Art thou prepared thy mother's solemn oath Manfully to fulfil ? (^) WALDIMAR. I am, my father. ZANDAGAST. Are all things ready for this awful deed, Which must be done in secret ? Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 361 ERMINGILD. All, my lord. To-morrow, when shall rise May-Evening's star, The sun-rites of the ancient heathen dwellers Who once this isle possessed, will be performed By Saxon Christians. High on cairn, and rock, And mountain-steep will blaze a thousand fires ; And round the May-pole, with its flower-sheaves crowned, Maidens and youths will dance in frolic glee, ( 18 ) Beneath the midnight stars. ZANDAGAST. But what have they To do with Waldimar ? E&MINGILD. Attend my words. Nothing have they ; yet through the land will ring Loud joy and merriment, and all the sky Will shine with lights, an honour meetly due To Waldimar's translation. On that night, As our good priests affirm who with us dwell, The dead will from their graves, where they have lain Unnumbered ages, rise, and flock to meet The mighty gods of air, and flood, and fire, With goblins grim, and dwarfs, and fairy sprites, And giant demons of lone fen and moor, High festival to hold on Vadha's rock, In Rimmon's gloomy woods. ( J 9) From distant lands Will gather there those prophet hags, who with The blood of infants newly slain consult The Immortal Ones, and o'er the earth have power To cast the dread enchantment and the spell Which to their will resistless all things bind. Thither our priests shall at the midnight hour M 162 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act II. Conduct thee, Waldimar; and from that rock, Thou to the eddying flood beneath shalt leap, And so for aye be blest. ZANDAGAST. And must he join That wild and fearful throng ? I, who would stand Unshrinking in the battle-front, and brave Singly a host in arms, feel every nerve All tremulous to hear thee name this meeting. WALDIMAR. I heed not that, for I have ever loved The wilderness, lonely and dark, to haunt ; Where in its solitudes all-nameless things, And creatures not of earth, I've oft times met, And held communings with them. ZANDAGAST. By my sword, Thou wouldst have made a soldier, truly, boy, A gallant soldier ! but it may not be. 'Tis well the time is short, for England*^ King Expects that we our ancient faith should change, And soon will send his priests to teach us ERMINGILD. What ? ZANDAGAST. Their mystic creed. ERMINGILD. I'll perish ere I'll learn, Or worship their strange gods. ZANDAGAST. And so will I. He who forsakes the faith of his forefathers, From fear or interest, is the worst of traitors. [Exeunt Zandagast and Ermingild. Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 163 WALDIMAR. Would I had never seen thee, dear Elgitha ; For tenfold horror now broods on my soul, As swiftly comes the time of self-destruction. Life ! O for life but one short month t' enjoy Love's unknown heaven in my Elgitha's arms ! Then would those sufferings Fve so long endured Be more than recompensed. But no my fate is fixt. Farewell to earth, Now in its morn of beauty dawning on me ! What will the next state be ? Darkness and clouds Rest on it ; yet I faintly through the gloom Terrific forms discern, and lakes of fire Which heave and chafe against a shore that glows Like molten iron ; then in deeper night Fade, like the last red gleam T th' dusky sky. Let come what will, can I know greater misery ? Adieu, Elgitha, thou mild beam of heaven ! Soon must we part for ever ! Life's weary day Of tempest and of gloom is near its close ; And to that sun-light I must bid farewell, Which from the storms hath broken forth so brightly On my last evening hour, then haste to sink, Sink broken-hearted, in eternal night. END OF THE SECOND ACT. M 2 164 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III. ACT III. SCENE I. A Hall in the Palace. Enter Canute and Edric. CANUTE. THE sons of Ethelred are on the deep That bears them far away to Swedish shores. Their names will in the chronicle of kings Be never entered : History shall forget them, As though they ne'er had been. But think'st thou, Edric, That Athelburg will take a faithful charge Of Edwin, who too nearly stands beside Our English throne ? on whom the people look I mean the Saxon rabble with such love And worship that 'tis said he hath acquired The ambiguous title of the King of Peasants. EDRIC. The sole remaining leaf is that, my lord, Of England's regal tree, whose trunk is dry, Whose branches all are smitten by the flash Of thy death-dealing sword. Soon will the winds Of autumn dash that trembling leaf to earth, And never shall its parent root put forth A summer bud again. CANUTE. O, how I feel My eagle-spirit burn to soar above Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 165 The poor ambition of those northern kings, Whose highest fame is plunder and destruction. I would be great ay, truly, nobly great ! And though my rising be overcast and dimmed With lurid clouds of blood, shine forth 1 shall In all those princely virtues which make kings The representatives of God on earth ; And ere I set, the glory of my reign In blessings shall outspread o'er many nations. EDRIC (aside.) This King, with all his power, is but a fool ! Make others blest ! Let me be blest myself, And I reck not on whom misfortune lights. He that on man showers benefits, doth cast Seed on a naked rock, or in a soil Where nothing springs but rank ingratitude. Enter Ulfmando, and Godwin in a rich habit. CANUTE. Ha ! art thou not the shadow of thyself Risen from the grave, my brother ? Mortal still I feel thou art. A thousand welcomes home ! We deemed thee on our day of victory fallen : What caused so long thine absence ? ULFMANDO. I was lost. The foe pursuing in dim Selwood's forest ; From whence I had not 'scaped this tale to tell, But for a faithful friend. CANUTE. That friend shall find In us a friend ; and if his fortunes need 166 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III. The fostering hand of power, beneath our smiles They shall grow up to greatness. ULFMANDO. Good my lord, Behold the youth whose worthiness and faith Claim lasting gratitude. He will deserve, I'll answer with my life, thy royal favour. CANUTE. A goodly form, and on that brow is stamped A lofty nobleness, which speaks him born To noble deeds. Thou shalt have place, and rank, And honours at our court. What is thy name ? GODWIN. Godwin, my royal lord. EDRIC (aside, and starting.} There is the sound Of other years in those familiar tones. CANUTE. Kneel, and henceforth be thou Earl Godwin styled. GODWIN ( aside. J Earl Godwin ! Bliss and heaven are in that title. O, brave prophetic witch ! The rest shall follow. A swineherd yesterday, and now an Earl ! My senses are bewildered. Bold Ambition, Aid me this greatness gallantly to bear As if to honours born, nor let me pall In presence of these proud ones. CANUTE. If thou love The warrior's high renown, thou shalt ere long Means and occasion find, whereby to win That glory which shall make our gifts seem poor Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 167 As scanty rivers, when they tribute yield To the wide and wealthy ocean. GODWIN. O, for the glory of a wide renown My soul hath thirsted, like the panting hart For the cool fountain-wave in desert lands. My father was a warrior-chief; but I, A wild boy of the forest, lack the skill To handle shield and lance ; yet let the sword Of chivalry be mine, and sound the trump, I will do battle for the wreath of fame, And bravely fall ; or, braver still, redeem The pledge which thou hast ventured for my honour In thy ennobling gifts. EDRIC (aside.) The very echo of iny brother's voice ! His face the image, too, ULFMANDO. Then since thou hast To my deliverer shown such grace, my lord, I will, in token of my grateful love, To him my gentle sister give in marriage, So your renowned Highness yield consent. CANUTE. My leave thou freely hast. EDRIC (aside.) All plagues consume him ! Who is this forest upstart ? and from whence Doth he, proud peasant, come to blast my sight ? An earldom, and a bride of princely rank, Won in so brief a space by goodly looks And vaunting words, that cost him nought save breath ! He deals with hell and devils ! Is he not 168 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III. That hated brother's son ? Ere long will I My dark suspicions or confirm or end : Let them be true or false, no rest for me Till this new favourite of the court I've crushed. [Exit. ULFMANDO. And wherefore is Earl Godwin thoughtful grown ? Comes joy not with thine honours ? GODWIN. Ha! Earl Godwin? Why dost thou mock me ? Pardon, good my lord, I did forget myself. Earl Godwin ! O, Could but my father hear that blissful sound, And gentle Edith, how their hearts would leap With joy to hail my glory ! Ah ! sweet maid, Thou of my lofty greatness oft mayst hear, But not behold, for meet" we must no more ! My soul is in a whirlwind tossed and torn With fiercely struggling passions. [ Aside. ULFMANDO. Art thou sad To hear me name my sister for thy spouse ? Though she hath beauty, and an ample dower Might claim a princely bridegroom, yet if thou The pledge of my full gratitude decline, Still I must be thy friend. GODWIN. Decline, my lord ? Should I refuse and scorn a gift so bright, I were more fit to be a slave, than stand Honoured in Honour's presence. No, my lords, I'll never prove ungrateful. Why, by Heaven, Greatness, which should ennoble, makes me base, Ay, a base lying villain ! for to Edith Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 169 I must ungrateful, false, and perjured prove, Or blast the golden promise of my hopes. Love and Ambition for the mastery strive, Like seas that meet in thunder. O, I feel Something like madness here ! [Aside. CANUTE. Go, and behold The fair Celtina. By my shield and bracelet, To see her is to love. We will become A suitor in thy cause, for thou hast saved The husband of our sister, and we count No gift too great for service such as thine. [Exeunt Canute and Ulfmando. GODWIN. The die is cast. Love, thou must yield the throne To thy more powerful rival. Yet will I A brother's tenderness for Edith cherish. Soft ! there's another path, a primrose path For me to tread, that leads to perfect bliss. Edith shall be my mistress. I will have No sighs, or tears, or broken hearts, to mar The joys of rank and grandeur. Thou, Ambition, Shalt seat me high in power, and laughing Love This brow engarland with his brightest roses. I, at one leap, have cleared the wide-stretched gulph Where the dead-sea of dark oblivion rolls ; And now I stand upon a sunlit steep, With Honour by my side. O, how my heart Burned with despite and envy to behold The mighty and the noble, not from hate To rank and titles, but that I was doomed To be a thing for their contempt or pity. If kind they seemed, the manner of their kindness THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III. To me was bitter insult ; when they smiled In condescension, O, I writhed as if A gilded serpent stung me, for I felt My soaring spirit brave and proud as theirs : But when their scorn fell on me, by yon heaven, That came like molten lead poured on my brain, And I with rage would weep because they stood, Like towering cliffs above the dashing surge, Too high for my revenge. Now I'm their equal : And let them taunt my birth, and they shall find, If I have not the kingly lion's lineage, I have at least his courage. Enter Edric. EDRIC. So, brave my springal Earl, thy lucky stars Have lifted thee to courts, where thou hast found In the King's presence favour. GODWIN. By St. Brice, Thou speakest somewhat scoffingly, I trow. But let it pass awhile. EDRIC. "'Twere better thou Shouldst never name that Saint in Danish courts. Reverence for her will mar thy fortunes here. There's counsel for thee. Take it as 'tis given. GODWIN. I will, and that is with no slight contempt. Thou art a courtier ; yet I trust the King Hath gifts so rich and many to bestow On whom he lists, that what has fallen on me Can give thy heart no pang. Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. EDRIC. My heart a pang ? Thou know'st me not. Yet may I marvel much His gifts should be so great to one so young, A stranger .to himself and all the pomp That waits on high-born nobles. GODWIN. This is envy. Ay, there was truth in what my father told Of courts and palaces (aside.} Is it, my lord, So wondrous, then, that princes should feel grateful For service done them in their utmost need, And due reward bestow ? EDRIC. Thy words betray Thine ignorance of the world. Where wast thou born ? GODWIN. What's that to thee ? It matters little where I was brought forth, or who my parents are, Since born I am, born to a lofty state, A proud inheritance ; and I'll maintain With my good sword the honours I have gained, Against the mightiest lord that dares insult me. EDRIC. If they will condescend so far to grace Thy new nobility ; if not GODWIN. Why then HI taunt them in the court ay, in the presence, As base unmanly dastards. I will teach The vilest slaves to hoot them for rank cowards. My new nobility ! How old is thine ? And whence comes your patrician birth, of which 172 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III. Ye vaunt so proudly ? Fools ! know ye right well The stock from whence your ancient lineage sprang ? Did Heaven the earliest founders of your race Create superior beings ? No ; if back Ye trace your generations, ye shall find There was a time, conceal it as ye may, When your forefathers were of vulgar birth, Soldiers and robbers, who by battle-craft, By lawless plunder, and dark deeds of blood Won their distinction. And the days will come, When those proud titles ye now wear shall be The birthright of some beggar's distant issue; While your descendants, lost amid the herd Of crouching slaves, toil for their daily bread, Even on the very lands their haughty sires Held in dominion. Though my father were The meanest serf that tilled the stubborn glebe, My spirit and 'tis mind, ay, mind alone Which man exalts above his fellow men Would be as noble as the proudest chief's Who counts in his long line a thousand Earls ! EDRIC (aside.) His lofty thoughts confirm my strong suspicions. GODWIN. What though the honours which my service won, And honestly, have been but newly sown On a wild uncultured soil, they shall spring up And flourish proudly, yielding in due time A golden harvest of immortal fame. EDRIC. Immortal fame on earth ? The earth forbids it, For daily she to dissolution tends : ( 20 ) And when shall come her doom, as soon it must, Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. Where will be then thine everlasting fame ? Delusion of mad fools ! and therefore I Laugh such vain hopes to scorn, while all my care Is for the enjoyment of that narrow space Which man's few days inherit. GODWIN. Soulless sage ! Barren of all that's truly great and brave ! Thy poor nobility hangs on thy back In costly trappings. Strip thee of thy robes, And the foul beggar is at least thine equal. EDRIC. Why, saucy forest-groom, and dost thou know Who stands before thee ? GODWIN. No, not I ; and care, By Heaven, as little. EDRIC. Thou unmannered serf, I am the Duke of Mercia. GODWIN. Then indeed I know thee well, and cry thy mercy, Duke, For likening thee to a poor scurvy beggar ; Yet to the houseless beggar have I done By far the greater wrong. For not the basest, bloodiest, ditch-dog thief That nightly steals to feed his famished maw, And ruthless murders doth for guilty hire, Is half so vile as thou art ! On thy head Thy country's deep and deadly curses rest : They, like eternal fire, shall to thee cling, And in thy passion-quivering heart Remorse THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III, Crimson her vulture-beak. Living shalt thou Be as the damned; and dead, be living still In utter darkness, anguish, and despair ! EDRIC. Hence, foul-tongued ruffian ! herd thee with the wolf And forest bear, thy old and meet compeers. Thou seed of vipers, That crawling from thy slime into the sun Of courtly favour, by its warmth art swelled To serpent growth ; but I, of noble blood, Despise thy venomed fangs. GODWIN. Seed of a peasant, First-born of forest serfs and lackland slaves, Talk'st thou of noble blood ? I know thy birth, thou honourable miscreant ! By every crime that yet hath found a name Hast thou to greatness risen. Thou a Duke r A slave ! the vilest slave that ever stretched His houseless, leprous carcass on a dunghill ! Go hang thyself ! thou art too base to die By any brave man's sword. By Heaven, thy blood Would e'en disgrace the knife of an assassin. EDRIC. What is it makes me to this upstart cower ? He deals with fiends, and casts enchantment on me. [Aside. Know'st thou the law for him who dares defame ? GODWIN. What reck I of the law, now made an Earl ? I am above the law, like other courtiers. EDRIC. Til have thy tongue cut out. Such is the law Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. For false and slanderous railers. ( 21 ) GODWIN. Slander thee ? That were impossible : thy deeds outgo The blackest accusations. Gentle Duke, The Devil is no match for thee in fame ; And, spite of thy contempt for man's opinion, Disgrace shall with thee dwell throughout all time. And on thy grave the curse of ages fall. EDRIC. Thy ignorance, like thy malice, moves my laughter. Think'st thou the dead man's bones, that rotting lie In some time-ruined charnel, weed-o'ergrown, Can aught of pleasure, aught of sorrow feel, That, for the good or evil he hath done A thousand years gone by, earth's crawling worms Deem him a saint or fiend ? GODWIN. Thou surely art Some pestilent fiend embodied in that shape, Haunting the earth to curse it. Man or fiend, I'll wrestle with thee till I drive thee hence. Where is thy brother, thou dark homicide ? EDRIC. Where I will send thee shortly, in deep hell ! Unless his troubled spirit walk the earth, Seeking revenge in thy detested form. GODWIN. I am the spirit of revenge, sent forth In storm and whirlwind by my injured country; And I, ere long, will blood for blood demand, And rid the world of thee, its vilest curse ! [Exit 176 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III. EDRIC. Whence comes this bold mysterious being ? Pshaw ! It is the son of Wulfnoth, whose cold bones Sleep in the sea-caves of the southern coast. Deep hate I know pursues me for my deeds ; Nor from them can I gather self-respect, Or days of joy, or nights of sweet repose. Yet power is mine, and I from that do pluck A balm for every wound, a richer wreath Than a good name bestows, the pride of fools. And must I crouch, When flourish green and proudly all my honours, Crouch to this slave ? Eternal shame were mine If I in combat met him, for he wears The spells of sorcery, and hath to the Devil Bartered his soul for wealth and rank. The court Long cannot hold us both. Must I give place And power to him ? Fury and plagues ! If gold Can purchase steel or poison, he shall find, So generous am I, that my purse for him Whom most I hate, the noblest largess yields. [Exit. SCENE 11.^ Room of State in the Palace. Enter Edith and Evora. EVORA. O, this is glorious ! Who would wish to live In Selwood's lonesome forest ? EDITH. Sooner far I in its happy solitudes would dwell, Than in these noisy halls of wine and riot. Scene II ] THE DEVOTED ONE. 177 EVORA. O, patience bless me ! our companions there Were chattering pies, and cawing rooks, and wolves, And shag-browed clowns, from whose lips never dropped A well-turned compliment to female beauty. Here, even the knaves are dressed and talk like lords, Are so polite, so witty, and so gay, Yea, all a damsel loves. O, 'tis a heaven To live at court ! Thrice-blessed day for me When you, dear lady, took me from the woods To be your humble handmaid. EDITH. Take good heed. False-heartedness dwells here too well know I, To my deep sorrow. He who flatters most EVORA. Ay, gentle lady, is the greatest rogue. But though their courtly phrase the truth to tell Is sweet as honey, yet be sure that I Will take right caution of the envenomed sting That lurks beneath. But why in these vile weeds? Are you not born a princess ? And the king, Has he not on you showered his royal favours ? EDITH. True doubting nought which hath been of me told, EVORA. And did he not appoint you such high state As fits your noble birth ? Were mine the change, I would be decked in purple, cloth-of-gold, Ay, be a mass of jewels, every eye That looked upon me dazzling .' O, 'tis shame To see a princess like a bondmaid clad. v THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III. EDITH. Full cause there is - But well know'st thou my love For noble Godwin, noble now indeed ! For he hath rank and titles, pomp and friends, The mightiest in the court. But he, alas ! Already his poor forest maiden scorns, Deserts his Edith for some courtly dame, Whose rank and dowry promise large increase Of wealth and honour. EVORA. Noble, call you him ? Out on his nobleness ! a scurvy groom, A serf-born drudge, a poor swine-monger, whom 7 scarce had deigned to bless ! O could I see him, I'd lower his proud nobility ; Fd tell him, Though all the court were present -- EDITH. Peace, Evora, I must not hear thee speak of Godwin thus. I deemed his truth firm as the eternal hills ; And hope is mine, though round his brow the clouds Of falsehood darkly lour, that honour's sun Will on his loftiness break forth, and make him Bright with its glory, as in days gone by. I would not he should learn my altered state, Till I have proved his heart. EVORA. But surely you Will never see him thus ? EDITH. Even as I am. EVORA. So would not I. No, by my troth, I first Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 1 79 Would ransack every wardrobe in the palace. I'd load myself with gems, and my full train Should stretch throughout the hall, with twenty slaves In glittering habits to uphold its length. I'd be indeed a princess. EDITH. Silly wench, I scorn to win him by the outward show Of gilded pomp. Love, pure and simple love, Without one taint of proud ambition, shall Make him for ever mine, or I to courts Will bid a last farewell. EVORA. St. Guthlac aid us ! For he approaches, lady. Well-a-day ! Plainly do I foresee that rustic garb Will find no grace in his star-gazing eye. A sparkling coronet had conjured up A thousand tender thoughts of past affection. O, that you would but list to my wise counsel ! [Exit. EDITH. There is in her simplicity of speech Some truth, I fear. Be still my trembling heart ; The dreaded trial comes. [Retires. Enter Godwin (splendidly dressed.) GODWIN. How changed are all things ! Lowly bow the humble, While proud ones on me smile ; and earth, that seemed A dark and howling wilderness, shines out A paradise of beauty. Yet am I The happier for this change ? No ; still my thirst For splendid greatness is unslaked, as when N 2 180 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III. I at the foot of this pre-eminence Lay pining in the shade, for mountain towers O'er mountain as I rise. Brief rest for me, Till I have reached that broad and sunny height, On which no shadow falls of loftier things. I now shall climb and sit among the stars That rule the lower world. It is foretold, That from this bridal shall a son be born, Whose brows will wear the imperial crown of England. [Observes Edith. Death to my state ! How, Edith, earnest thou here ? Hast thou already, broken-hearted, died, And comes thy gentle spirit to upbraid ? How couldst thou learn, so soon, that I was false ? Why didst thou hither come ? EDITH. How could I stay In Selwood's lonely shades, where every sound Of tunefuljbird, and stream, and hollow wind, And every grove, and rock, and leafy bower Reminded me of Godwin ? So desolate was I, so woe-begone, That longer had I tarried in those woods, I should indeed have broken-hearted died. GODWIN. Be of good cheer, since we again have met, And thou hast found me all ay, more than all My wildest hopes imagined. EDITH. I have heard Of thy great sudden fortune, and in that Rejoice to learn thy merits will no more Languish, like sunless flowers, amid the gloom Scene II. J THE DEVOTED ONE. 181 Of low obscurity. I too have heard For ill news travels with the lightning's speed, 111 news indeed for me ! that thou must wed A peerless maiden of exalted birth. Fit mate for thy new honours : and, alas ! These heavy tidings have thy words confirmed. O, then what cheer in this sad world for me ? GODWIN. The brightest hopes, dear Edith, should be thine. EDITH. Cheat me no more with words of tender falsehood, But rather chide me roughly from thy sight : 'Twill aid, perchance, this heart to bear the woes That press so heavy on me. GODWIN. Chide thee ? No, Not for my Earldom, loved one. EDITH. O, my lord, I must forego all claim to be beloved, Or ever more remembered, by Earl Godwin. GODWIN. Call me not Lord or Earl, my beautiful ; Call me thine own dear Godwin, dear as when . We blithely wandered through the twilight glades Of Selwood's tuneful forest : when to all My dreams of future grandeur thou wouldst list, Leaning upon this arm, and then look up Smiling so sweetly ay, but doubtingly EDITH. Recall not to my mind those happy hours, Fled never to return ! Ah ! pray forgive My presence here. 'Tis but once more to gaze, 182 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III. A few brief moments, on that faithless face : 'Tis but once more to hear that voice, which I Shall never hear again : 'tis but to take A last, a sad farewell, and then return To Selwood's lonely shades, there soon to find An early grave beneath the forest flowers. GODWIN. Talk not of dying EDITH. Wherefore should I live ? Can earth afford one solitary joy To me, a friendless orphan, scorned, forsaken By him in whom my soul had treasured up Her sum of worldly bliss ? O, Godwin, Godwin ! Could I have once believed, when we at morn Or evening's golden hour the green woods sought, And, harmonizing with thy voice of love, Their blessed melodies came o'er my heart, Till earth to me seemed an abode for gods, Could I have then believed that voice of thine Was like the mermaid's, which the sea-boy hears In music wandering o'er the moonlight deep, Prophetic of the storm that soon shall sink His fated barque amid the ocean surge ? GODWIN (aside.) If thou, Ambition, listen to her voice, Despite thy struggles shipwrecked wilt thou be, With all thy hopes, on honour's perilous shore. EDITH. Yet did my heart forbode, when last we parted, That regal halls and stirring scenes of pomp Would cause thee to forget thy forest-maid. But I forgive thee, though my sad lone heart Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 183 For this be sorely shent. And freely, Godwin, I confess thou hast Beyond thy strength been tempted. Fare thee well ! A long, a last farewell ! When death's cold dews Hang on these brows, my quivering lips shall breathe A blessing on thee, and a prayer that thou Mayst long be happy with thy lady bride, And glory with thee dwell. Forgive these tears : Soon shall I cease to weep. GODWIN. Come, dry thine eyes, Those eyes that through their dewy lashes shine Like stars amid the humid mists of eve. Ever-beloved, we will not, cannot part. EDITH. Wouldst thou deceive me still, when well I know The nuptial garlands are prepared, and waits Thy bride in costly robes of glittering pomp ? On to the altar, and for ever leave The broken- hearted Edith to her tears. GODWIN. No, child of beauty, I will never leave thee. This hasty marriage is a state intrigue, Not of my seeking, but the King's command : And though another bride I'm doomed to wed, Thou hast my heart ; here shalt thou ever reign, While all the wealth and state my fortunes yield, In secret on thy beauty shall be lavished. EDITH. Heaven's goodness keep me ! can I hear aright ? What do thy words import ? GODWIN. That thou shalt be 184 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III. My soul's true bride, and this Ulfmando's sister Inherit but the title. EDITH. I am indeed A debtor to thy lordly courtesy, Beyond all hope such kindness to repay. Why thou dost to overflowing fill the measure Of thy dark falsehood ! Hath the wanton court Tainted so soon thy manners ? made thee base, Yea, doubly base ? O, Godwin, Godwin ! Thou wert to me the bright May-morning sun, That made life's rosy flowers of hope and love Spring in their freshness forth ; but evil clouds Have all thy lustre dimmed, and thou art fallen From virtue and from truth, dishonoured, lost To all that makes man noble. GODWIN. Nay, but Edith EDITH. Thou to thy cruelty hast added insult, Deep, bitter insult ! Didst thou deem that I, Although a cottage-maid of low desert, Should be the willing slave of thy desires, Thankful for such base service ? No, let me Become the meanest drudge, an honest beggar In tattered garments clad, rather than wear The gem-besplangled livery of disgrace ! GODWIN. Wilt thou not to me list ? EDITH. No : I have stayed Too long to hear thee. Yet be thou assured-, Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 185 That I will meet thee once again, where thou Shalt least expect to find me. Then, despite His marriage joys, his titles, and his rank, Earl Godwin shall in bitterness repent That he insulted, scorned, and set at nought The love of Edith, Sel wood's forest maid. [Exit. GODWIN. And must I lose her thus ? I must, or lose Wealth, honour, power, and fame. Ambition, thou thy golden cup hast drugged With venomed gall ; yet in the draught is found Blissful intoxication, and I'll quaff Thy potion to the lees, though madness follow. This night will I the enchanted forest seek Of Rimmon, and consult I know their haunt The witches of Dunraven's magic glen. If they but show what shall be, and let that Which must be lead to glory, I will on, Nor flinch, though to attain it Soft awhile ! If, reckless, I, like an unhelmed barque, Before the tempest of ambition drive, Still tossed from surge to surge, I shall be dashed On passion's shore, heaped with a thousand wrecks, And perish timelessly. To know the worst That may be, will a warning beacon prove To guide me through the storm, and teach me how To shun approaching ruin. Ah, poor Edith ! That light which should have been my constant star, Is in the tempest lost, lost, lost, for ever! [Exit. 186 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III. SCENE III A Hall in the House of Elgitha. Enter Elgitha and Waldimar. ELGITHA. O, if thou hast the least regard or love For thy Elgitha, tell me tell me what Mysterious doom awaits thee. WALDIMAR. Better thou Should st never, never hear of what befalls The ill-starred Waldimar. This joyous night, Gay Summer's festival, the woods will ring ( 22 ) With harp and timbrel, and the merry shout Of youth and maiden met in frolic dance ; Love, breathing odours, through the leafy shades By Beauty's side will wander. Laughing eyes, The stars of earth outshining those in heaven, Through the green bowers their sapphire beams shall dart, And Gladness spread o'er all her rosy bloom. But we, Elgitha We may not in those scenes of joyance meet. No, we shall meet no more ! ELGITHA. Thou canst not mean it. WALDIMAR. The groves their leaves will bathe in ruddy light, And hold discourse with music. But grim Darkness Will sit on Vodah's rock, where at her call Shall gather hideous forms of other worlds Winged with blue lightning, grisly hags that weave Blood-spells to plague mankind, and shadowy Death Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 187 On his pale war-horse, followed by all hell ! ( 23 ) Silent, and cold, and deep beneath that rock The waters flow, in which shall soon be done A deed no tongue must name. ELGITHA. O, thy wild words like maniac ravings sound, And, if I listen, I as wild shall be. Thy heart nor friendship, love, nor pity feels. WALDIMAR. Friendship nor love ? O, my life-love for thee Is deeper than the fulness of the ocean, And measureless as the wide heavens in which The East and West both find their distant homes ! Nay, but for thee I should from hence depart Without a sigh. O, in this world there dwelt No charm or joy, till thy rich beauty came On my lone darkness, like some fairy isle Cheating at eve the wandering mast-boy's sight ; And, like that isle, ere I can call thee mine, Thou fadest from me for ever ! ELGITHA. Tell me, I do adjure thee by thy love, This horrid mystery. Nay, then thus I'll grasp Thy garments, thus for ever to thee cling While I have life, till thou thy fate reveal. WALDIMAR. It is to die ! ELGITHA. To die ! O how ? and when ? Heart-smiting words ! Save me from madness, Heaven f Die ! for what guilty deed ? Or whose decree thine innocence hath doomed To find an early grave ? 188 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III. WALDIMAR. Nay, be at peace, and calm thy throbbing heart. Since my inevitable fate draws near, Summon thy strength and fortitude to bid The soul-despairing Waldimar farewell. ELGITHA. stay ! one moment stay ! Yes, I have strength, Have fortitude to share with thee thy doom, Whatever it be ; for life, without thy sight, To me were death. Come, lead me, lead me forth To torments, infamy, to racks and fires ; I'll bear all pangs, all shame with thee to die, And thus well perish in each other's arms ! [Embracing. WALDIMAR. 1 must reveal, though the red gulph should yawn And close its jaws upon me ! I was, Elgitha, ere I saw the light, Doomed by a mother's awful vow to be A victim, self-destroyed, to our dread god, The eternal Siva. My dark hour is nigh. At midnight the devoted Waldimar Will his loved mother's solemn vow perform. [Elgitha faints in the arms of Waldimar. Enter Ermingild. ERMINGILD. Thou disobedient one, and is it well To find thee loitering in Elgitha's bower ? Is, then, thy mother's presence irksome grown, That thou companionship must ever seek With this strange Christian maid ? My love for thee, And all my anxious care and toil, might claim The few brief hours thou yet hast in thy keeping. Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 189 ELGITHA (reviving.) Christ of his mercy save thee from this deed ! Thy mother here ? O cruel, cruel mother ! Recall thy horrid oath, preserve thy son, Or thou wilt in the fire that ever burneth Lie howling endless ages ! ERMINGILD (shrieking.) Ha ! false, ungrateful son, thou hast betrayed us ! Ruin and madness ! whither shall I flee ? ELGITHA. Flee to the Cross with penitence and tears: Revoke the fatal vow thy lips pronounced, Nor slay thine only son. Penance and fasts, And painful pilgrimage in sackcloth clad, With ashes on thine head, may pardon win ERMIXGILD. Away ! I will not hear thee ELGTTHA. Thou a mother ? Thou, savage woman of a savage race? ( 24 ) The ruthless eagle, on her rock of storms, From danger guards her young with watchful eye, And bears them on her pinions through the clouds ; The tigress on the hunter, yelling, springs, And strives with Death her offspring to defend ; But thou, more cruel than the fellest monster, Hast doomed thy son, thine only son, to die Die self-destroyed [ O, couldst thou e'er have known A mother's tender love ? Could thy stern breast Have ever fed him with life's lacteal streams ? Or been a pillow for his infant slumbers That breast, which doomed him ere his birth to fiends ? 190 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III, ERMINGILD. Blasphemer, silence ! I a mother am, And glory in my vow. He hath the streams Of being from this bosom drank, and in These arms reposed, while o'er his slumbers I Have watched the midnight hours with all the love That fondest mothers feel. I proudly nursed The rose-lipped boy to manhood, till he grew An offering worthy of the gods ; and now, Without a sigh, I yield the loved one up. ELGITHA. Pagan, the ban of angry Heaven will crush thee ! Come, Waldimar, leave thou this impious woman, Whose vow, like a dark incubus, hath hung On thy young days, and made thy life a curse. Awake ! and fling the hideous demon off; The night is past, and a new morning dawns. ERMINGILD. Come with thy mother, come, and be a god ! ELGITHA. O stay, my Waldimar, go not from hence ! Save me, O save me from the last despair, From maniac frenzy ! save thyself, or smite, Smite thy Elgitha dead ! Here let me fall, Fall at thy feet, bathed in my gushing blood, * That I may not behold thy fearful doom. ERMINGILD. Now, Waldimar, list to my awful charge : A mother, by her blessing and her curse ; By that dread Being whose thou art, and who Waits for thee on dim Vodalv's stormy rock ; By the deep thunder of that voice which calls Scene III.J THE DEVOTED ONE. 191 Thee hence to meet the dwellers of the cloud ; And by the winds which from thy native land Shall yearly come, and on that rock of death In plaintive melodies thy wild dirge sing, I solemnly command thee come with me ! WALDIMAR. Mother, I come ! I yield to thy behest. Sunbeam of earth, my own beloved Elgitha, My heart is broken !- [Falls Elgitha shrieks and sinks beside him. END OF THE THIRD ACT. 192 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act IV. ACT IV. SCENE I. The great Hall of the Palace. Enter Godwin and Evora, meeting. GODWIN. EVORA here ? Sure half the forest casts Its scum upon the palace. If report Of my success be bruited far abroad, The court will be with serfs and bond-maids thronged. [Aside. What can have brought thee hither ? EVORA. Son of Wulfnoth, Should I that question echo back to thee, Thy answer would be mine, if we spoke truth, The wish to better my hard luck at home. GODWIN. What merits canst thou have to bring thee thrift, Save a new face ? which, though it might at home For something comely pass, at court will be But homely thought, I ween. EVORA. Why, not the court, No, nor thy gaudy garments, let them mend Thy fortunes as they may, have aught improved Thy hog-sty manners. Merit ! what, forsooth, Think'st thou all merit centred in thyself ? Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 193 'Tis not for thee to measure my deserts : Would thou hadst all thine own ! GODWIN. They will be mine. EVORA. And speedy may they come ! And when they do, Thoult be a scurvy Lord ; glad once again To tend thy father's hogs ay, and to feed Upon their husks and acorns. GODWIN. Thou must learn, My lady malapert, to treat Earl Godwin With more respect and worship, and forget That thou hast ever known him in the forest. EVORA. Earl Godwin should have learnt to treat himself With more respect. Is it the mode, I pray, For Lords and Earls to break their vows of faith, And hold their plighted honour as a thing Of no account ? If so, what right have they To claim from others homage or respect ? GODWIN. What, saucy maiden, do thy words imply ? EVORA. That thou, thy false heart yielding elsewhere worship, Hast basely wronged a lovely, virtuous maid ; One thy superior, far as Eve's bright star Is to the ditch-born tadpole. Hither I With her did come GODWIN. To seek a wealthy husband. Some old, time-crazed, and war-worn soldier, who Shall tell thee endless tales of past exploits o THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act IV. In battle-fields and amorous ladies' bowers : One who, o'erseamed with scars and maimed with wounds, Wants a kind nurse to tend his second childhood, And lullaby him into early slumbers ; Or some court-servitor, whose weak head dreams That he a maiden of the woods shall find Chaste and retiring as the violet flower, And who defied temptation till it came In his bewitching person EVORA. Patience, Heaven ! The fool will chafe me into downright rage. GODWIN. Two errant damsels, sallying from the woods To lurk about the court, and seek adventures Strange and romantic. Well ; good speed be yours, And fortune mate you goldenly, for that I doubt not is your aim. EVORA. Swine-keeping groom ! Think'st thou I'd mate, like thee, with palsied age, Deformity, and ugliness and sin, So they brought riches in their frightful train ? Go wed, where neither love nor beauty lives To bless thine after life ; and perjury make Thy marriage-bed a sleepless nest of adders ! Soon shalt thou find, deep craftsman as thou art, How gloriously thy cunning hath befooled thee. Then how thy greatness 1 shall laugh to scorn. [Exit. GODWIN. Some hidden meaning, which I cannot guess, Lies in the words of that tongue-doughty scold. Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 195 Enter Edric. EDIUC. This fellow here again ! Why y no man soon Will dare approach the King without his leave. Art thou chief warder of the royal chamber ? GODWIN. Art thou chief executioner, and com'st With bloody hand to tell the King thou hast done Thine office featly on some hapless wretch, 'Neath court displeasure fallen ? EDRIC. Destruction crush Thy very bones to dust ! And yet must I, To pluck the secret of his lineage forth, Soothe him with artful words of kind regard. [Aside. Brave son of Wulfnoth, how comes this, that thou Wilt ever cast on me such fierce contempt. Disdaining kin with Mercians Duke to claim ? GODWIN. Who told thee, fool, that I was Wulfnoth's son ? Claim kin to thee ! No, sooner would I claim Relationship with helFs dark master-fiend. Ere I would own thee of my blood, Yd call A scurvy dog my brother. EDRIC (aside.) I'll make thee howl for this. Enter Canute, Turkeetul, Rolf Iric, Guards and Attendants. CANUTE. Emma of Normandy shall be our Queen, And quickly change her weeds of widowhood To bridal robes of state. o2 196 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act IV. EDRIC. My lord, I come CANUTE. Out-crafting all my foes, her Norman brother Fast to my will I'll bind, when for the shores Of Norway we our hostile war-ships steer ; While he no more shall threat this isle t 1 invade, And set the banished line of Ethelred On our imperial seat. EDIIIC. Now, good my liege CANUTE. And joy will be in English hearts to see The mother of their native princes sit, As our loved consort, on the Saxon throne. EDRIC. So please my lord, I come to claim the lands And Thanedorn of that Athelburg, who slew Edwin the king of peasants ; for which deed His head bowed to the block. Was it not well By me contrived? [Aside to the King. CANUTE. Turkeetul, send Forthwith ambassadors, a splendid train, To Normandy ; and bid them for us win The hand of Lady Emma. EDRIC. Good my lord, Will not your Highness with those promised gifts Endow me ? CANUTE. Why comest thou at such an hour ? Some other time. Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 197 EDRIC. Some other time, my lord ? Thou didst not bid me come some other time When I in battle-day, deserting Edmund, Thy banner joined with Mercians gallant host, And won for thee half England's mighty throne : Thou didst not bid me come some other time When I the death of Edmund planned ; nor when I told thee I had slain him, arid by that Bold deed the cloven diadem of England United on thy brows. And have I done, For thee done all these offices, and dipt My hands in kingly blood, now to be scorned ? Bid, like a base and needy groom, to wait And come some other time for those rewards So justly mine ? which, when bestowed, will leave Thee a deep debtor to my faithful service. CANUTE. Slave ! if thy words be true, thy fit reward Is instant death. Silence confirms thy guilt. Thou self-condemned, thou murderer of him Who both by treaty and by friendship was Our royal brother, on thy head shall rest His life-blood and thine own, for thy base hand , The Lord's anointed hath destroyed. Guards ! seize The audacious, guilty Edric. EDRIC. I too late Have found, that no true brotherhood unites The sons of crime. My services, false king, Thou dost no longer need ; and now am I Cast off, like th' useless fragment of a wreck. 198 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act IV. On which the sea-boy through the tempest surge Hath safely reached the shore. CANUTE. No ; like a cloud That long hath hung betwixt me and my people, Hiding the sunlight from them of my love, And with its shadow darkening all the land. EDRIC. Hell-plagues fall on thee ! I was but thy tool, The bloody instrument which thou didst use To hew down all that CANUTE. Drag the traitor hence ! See instant execution on him done, And cast his headless carcass in the river. ( 2 ^) [The Guards sei%e Edric, and Canute retires. GODWIN. Thy race of treason, rapine, fraud, and blood At length is ended : and cut off art thou From honours, wealth, and life, to be no more Bowed to and worshipped. O, there never came Requital more deservedly, than now On thee hath fallen. EDRIC. Well, be it so ; at least IVe had my day, and those I leave behind Can have but theirs ; which when, like mine, it ends, Like mine it will be nothing. Though brief my day and stormy, it hath been, Like the loud thunder, full of power and glory. My path with victims hath been thickly strown, And 'tis my sole regret that thou, proud kinsman, SurviVst my hate. On thee light my last curse ! Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 199 GODWIN. Fool ! on thy own base soul that curse shall fall. Thine shall not be the gallant soldier's death, His burial, nor his grave. No weeping friends With martial pomp, nor war-horse, helm, nor plume, Nor spear, nor banner trailing in the dust, Shall follow thee to a last peaceful home : Nor holy priest nor solemn dirge wail forth The warrior's funeral hymn. Thy death shall, like Thy life, be foul and bloody ; and thy tomb The unblest wave, that on its shores shall fling Thy mangled carcass to the scoffing world, And scorn to give so base a thing a last Dark hiding-place to rot in. [Exit Edric, guarded and followed by Godwin. CANUTE (coming forward.) Now shall my reign, The struggling tempests of its winter past, Be like the spring-sun in its golden light, Making the green earth rich in fruits and flowers ; While peaceful music, breathing through the land, Shall fill all hearts with gladness. Enter Elgitha. ELGITHA. Deign, mighty prince, to hear a wretcn's prayei . CANUTE. Rise, and speak freely. ELGITHA. O, there is a ta^e So fearful, wild, and ruthless, that it hangs In terror on my pale and quivering lips 200 THE DEVOTED ONE [Act IV. CANUTE. What story harrows thus thy frighted mind ? ELGITHA. Thou know'st, great King, the captain of thy guards Hath a young son, a moody, wayward youth, But of most gentle manners, with a heart Wherein all good things dwell. His form is such As few, in my weak judgment, equal, save Your noble glory ; (26) and his face, though oft Shaded with sadness, like the untiring sun Through April clouds, beams sweetly, making all Who look upon him happy. CANUTE. Ay, could they Behold him with thine eyes. Spare those deep blushes; They are redolent of beauty and of love. Proceed, Elgitha, with thy mystic tale. ELGITHA. The mother of the ill-fated Waldimar, A wild and cruel pagan, ere his birth Devoted him to her infernal gods ; And, doomed to sacrifice himself, he dies, Ay, soul and body dies, this very night, Unless thy power prevent the horrid deed. CANUTE. And can it be there lives within our realms A mother, who would doom her only son A sacrifice to fiends ? By blessed Cuthbert Enter Officer. OFFICER. My sovereign liege, ambassadors are come From Norway Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 201 CANUTE. Sent by whom ? OFFICER. The insurgent chiefs And nobles of the land, inviting thee To claim that Northern crown. Olave they hate, And are resolved, if thou their cause wilt aid, To drive him from the kingdom. CANUTE. They shall have The strength of Denmark, and the bravest men That England holds. Prepare, my worthy Earls. Here 's news to set a warrior's heart on fire ! To Norway's coast three hundred ships shall waft us. ELGITHA. O lend to me, my lord, a gracious ear. Have pity on the son of Zandagast. Save one so worthy of thy princely care From that dread condemnation which awaits him. CANUTE. He shall be saved. But certes he will not Madly perform his mother's hell-bound oath ? ELGITHA. Alas ! my lord, by her hath he been taught From reason's dawn that death-vow to revere, Which on his morn of life in darkness hung, Like storms that rest upon the mountain's brow. O, he hath been as one who in a land Of night and shadows wandereth, and his mind Hath not been of this world ; yet through the gloom His virtues shine, as on the evening clouds The rainbow sheds its beauty. But, dread sire. Such reverence doth he to his mother pay, 202 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act IV. /-That nothing can forefend him, save thy power, From the dire purpose of her fatal oath. OFFICER. The ambassadors CANUTE. Receive them courteously. Give ample largess. Norway ! she is mine By right of birth. My father conquered all Her ocean kings, and o'er the turbulent north His sceptre-sword outstretched. ELGITHA. O yet, my liege, Amid the anxious cares of regal state, Remember mercy to poor Waldimar. No tongue hath he in his own cause to plead ; No voice, save mine, intreats that he may live ; And bashfulness had made me with him die In everlasting silence, had not love Broke through all forms, enforcing me to sue, In the deep agony of wild despair, For mercy at thy footstool. Those who should be the first for him to plead, Have with the flowers of death enwreathed his brows ; Those who should be the first to save and bless him, His murderers are, and glory in the guilt That dooms him dead. O, then, be thou his friend, And rescue him from the demon's frightful grasp, Who on the midnight steep of Odinswold Waits to receive his victim. CANUTE. Ay, the north All the wide north, to eastern deserts stretched. Shall now be mine. O, for a thousand ships Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 203 To cover the deep seas ! Denmark and England, Norway added too ! Why Sweden soon must fall ELGITHA. My lord, my lord ! Speak, ere it be too late. Shall he be saved r CANUTE. My word is past. Take thou this royal signet, And with a band of guards go to the abode Of Zandagast ; bid him, with all his house, Attend us here. I know 'twill please thee well To be thyself the saviour of that youth. ELGITHA. Glory and fame rest on thy gallant arms, And angels be thy guard in battle hour ! I fly on wings of joy to do thy bidding. [Exit. CANUTE. Chieftains ! the fields of bright renown outspread Far to the north before us. If we put Our ready sickles in, we shall not fail To reap a golden harvest. O how brief A time have we in which to gather fame ! Our infancy with sleep and ignorance lies Nursed in the lap of softness, and weak boyhood, Dreaming of joy, with idle folly plays ; While, if we count the years doled out to man, Comes on us hoary age, barren and cold As winter's frosty eve, and steals away Our energy and fire, till we become The feeble shadows of our former selves, Living despised and useless. Let us, then, Eternal fame achieve, while yet our bright But fleeting summer in its splendour shines. 204 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act IV O, who would live, that hath one spark of honour, A few short years, and, like an ill-told tale, Perish from all men's memories ! Or like some, Who waste in foamy wrath their little hour Without one noble act, and are at last But as a wintry torrent, mountain-born, Which swells in thunder o'er its barrier rocks, And when the summer comes is heard no more, Leaving its naked channel dry and dusty ! Such shall not be my course, for I will do Imperial actions, which the tuneful Scalds Who throng my court shall to the end of time Transmit with glory. ( 27 ) [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Hall in the House of Zandagast. Enter Zandagast, Ermingild, and Waldimar. ZANDAGAST. The hour is come, my son, that we must part. These tears gush forth so fast, they misbeseem A true Sclavonian soldier. Thou hast been, Through thy few years, all dutiful and good ; Yet now, wert thou to die a warlike death, Die by the sword of man upon thy foe, I would not with a tear thy grave bedew. But to behold thee, with that noble form, Led forth to be a victim, self-destroyed, Tempts me to curse thy mother's fatal vow. ERMINGILD. Speak not like an apostate from thy faith. With all a mother's fond, unbounded love, With all the reverence of deep worship paid Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 205 To powers that are above, I on thee look, My noble son, without one tear of weakness. O, thou art all nay more, far more, than all To which a parent's proudest wish aspires, And I have to this state of glory brought thee. WALDIMAR (aside.) Perish the night, and may it be accurst, Which said my mother hath brought forth a son ! Ah ! would her vow had been, on the red pile To cast me in the hour that I was born ; Then had she been most kind, and rescued me From the brain-maddening horrors of this night. ERMINGILD. Now let me gaze, brave Waldimar, my last On that loved brow. Methinks it beams already With a celestial beauty ! Let me take, With awful homage take a last embrace, For I embrace a god ! Farewell, bright child of heaven ! compared with whom The first-born of a monarch is a beggar. Star of the morn, brief will our parting be. Pass a few months, or years, and we again Shall meet in full assembly of the gods. ZANDAGAST. When thine abode is on the stormy cloud, Remember oft thy sire ; and to the battle Come in the lightning and the thunder's power, And shake thy gleamy terrors o'er his foes, That he may win the victory. But what will victory henceforth be to me, Who have no heir to inherit my renown, Or unto other times transmit mine honours ? But O, my son, that shouldst to me have been 206 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act IV. The hope and staff of my declining years, A loving father's prayers shall oft invoke The shadow of thy presence. ( 28 ) WALDIMAR. Dearest parents ! Where'er my disembodied spirit roam, If to the regions of the golden sun, Where night nor shadow yet hath found a home, And in their undecaying beauty bloom The flowers of paradise ; if doomed to ride The struggling whirlwind with eternal darkness, Still shall I think of you with filial love. With honour and due reverence. Heaven protect And bless you, bless you both ! A thousand thoughts Rush to my dying heart, but not a word Gives to them utterance. Then farewell for ever ! [Exit. ERMINGILD. He nobly will become that lofty station The gods have destined for him. Rouse thyself. Come, be not so cast down. We shall, ere long, Behold him in his glory. ZANDAGAST. Ah ! no more Shall I behold my boy, my gallant boy ! My soul can not endure eternal parting With one so dear in this un warlike guise. I'll call him back. Ho, Waldimar ! Return To thy sad father's arms ! I'll hold thee fast, Fast to my heart, nor earth nor heaven shall part us ! ERMINGILD, Forbear, Lord Zandagast. If thou persist In this unmanly weakness, all the gods Will rain down curses on thee. Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 207 ZANDAGAST. Let them : I Am curst already to the lowest depths ! My son, my son ! O, let me for thee die ! My life, ye gods, my life for his accept : Spare his young years Alas ! my prayers are vain : I know his resolution. Would thou hadst Been dumb for ever, ere thy lips pronounced That vow which robs me of an only son ! ERMINGILD. Rob thee ? Why thou wouldst rob the eternal gods ! Great as thy love, 'twill not endure with mine, Thou man of slender faith, to be compared. To save him from a meaner death, I'd joy To spill this heart's best blood, die, and re-die, With countless agonies, to make him blest ! ( 2 9) Imagine, Zandagast, we only send him To a far brighter land of endless pleasure, That we shall both soon follow, there to meet His spirit clad in ever-living pomp. Then peace and joy will to thy heart return, And death be welcome though it come to-night. 'Tis this which to my soul its courage gives, Which all the anguish for a mother's loss In the pure flames of faith and hope dissolves, Making these eyelids tearless. Enter Elgitha and Guards. ELGITHA. We are come To lead thee and thy household, by my lord The King's command, into his Highness' presence. Behold the royal signet. 208 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act IV. ZANDAGAST. We are here, And ready to obey. ELGITHA. Call Waldimar. ERMINGILD. He is beyond the call of earthly kings : He hath received a call to meet the gods ! Exalted far above all mortal power, The mandate of the proudest shall he scorn. ELGITHA. Mercy of Heaven enshield me ! Hast thou sent, Already sent him forth to self-destruction ; To meet the powers of darkness, and become That which I quake to think on ? ERMINGILD. Woman, we Have sent him forth to join those mighty ones, W r ho on their golden thrones, i' th 1 midnight sky, Rule o'er all worlds by Siva's matchless power. ELGITHA. O, thou wild wolf of heathenness ! a mischief, Fraught with all plagues, light on thee ! Ruthless parents ! Ye, who had no compassion on his youth, Have done a deed to make Ay, hear ye not A wailing in the heavens ? Do ye not feel The earth with horror to its centre tremble ? Hark to those thunders ! 'Tis the demon shout Of Hell exulting through her dark domains. May the red-burning ague wither all Your mortal strength ! May palsies blight your forms, And beggary cast you forth to pine and perish, Tended by famine, with no garb to clothe Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 209 Your frozen limbs, save winter's chilling snow ! May keen remorse, that worm which never dies, Feed on your heart-strings ; and when ye find death, Find no reprieve from torments ! O, despair, Unutterable despair, doth madden me ! ZANDAGAST. Her dreadful words do make my knees to smite Against each other. Wild and frantic maid ! What interest hath she in this son of ours ? ERMINGILD. O, well know I the interest which she claims ; And how her love-spells and her witching charms, Like a malignant planet's influence, fell On his young mind. But he hath 'scaped her snares, And now is with ELGITHA. The fiends ! the yelling fiends ! But I will fly and seek him ere too late. I'll snatch him from their power, though the dark clouds Cast forth their deepest thunders, though the howl Of countless demons rend the skies, and Hell Enwrap me with its hottest, fiercest flames ! This amulet, this blessed Cross, wherein Relics miraculous lie hidden, shall shield us ; ( 30 ) Or if we perish, waft our joyous souls On angel wings to heaven. [Exit. ERMINGILD. Maniac Christian, It is my comfort thou wilt be too late. The guards attend impatient. ZANDAGAST. Lead me on. I reck not if this hour it be to death. p 210 THE DEVOTED ONE. lAct IV. ERMINGILD. Up, Zandagast, and mail thee, like a man, In fortitude and zeal. Guards, do your office. Let come what may, I in this holy deed Will glory, till life's last, faint sigh hath fled : And these oppressing Christians shall be taught That I can die a martyr to my faith, Right bravely as the bravest of their saints. ZANDAGAST. Thou dost inspire me, loved, heroic wife, With thine exalted spirit. Yes, these Christians, Who have, for their devotion to the gods, So many of our warlike tribes destroyed, Shall find that I will not disgrace the blood Which fills these veins, the true Sclavonian blood ! ERMINGILD. There spoke the dauntless warrior of the Wends. Honour be ever on thy head, and scorn Attend our foes ! I see thou art resolved. Now thy brave virtues once more rise, my lord, In all their former strength, as mighty streams, That hide their waters in the darksome earth, Burst forth far off, and onward flow again, Glittering in all their fulness. Be but thus, And we shall fail not o'er our foes to triumph. [Exeunt. END OF THE FOURTH ACT. Act V.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 211 ACT V. SCENE I. A deep and rocky gorge in a wild Forest. In the back ground, a rugged and lofty Rock, tower- ing above the rest. Afire, blazing in the centre, par- tially illuminates the otherwise dark and savage appearance of the Scene. Enter several Witches from different openings among the rocks. FIRST WITCH. SISTEE, say, whence comest thou ? SECOND WITCH. I came upon the rushing hurricane, Whose wings are plumed with lightning, from those isles That lie, unknown to other worlds, beyond The vast and desert ocean of the West, Which never venturous seaman's keel hath ploughed. There, with a red and savage race, amongst The palmy groves and myrtle shades I sat At bloody banquet on the flesh of men ; At which the midnight moon turned pale, as far The woods re-echoed to the wolfish howl Of those grim cannibals. Here is the skull Of kingly warrior, from whose brim they quaffed Brain-maddening draughts ; and this the scalp of one, ( 31 ) Who murdered his own mother in a fit Of drunken rage, as she sat feasting on The carcass of a priest. These now I cast p 2 212 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act V. On this enchanted fire, and from afar The spirits of witchcraft shall the vapour scent, And to our meeting flock. THIRD WITCH. I from the vast and burning desert come, In which no mortal dwells. Across it passed The caravan, in all its long array Of many dyes and forms. The winds awoke, When far and near those hot and lifeless plains Their sandy billows rolled, as rolls the fierce And tempest-troubled sea ; and, darkening heaven, In crimson pillars like to fire uprose. Then came in wrath the spirit of those wilds, Who ever dwells with noiseless solitude, And breathed upon that thirsty-fainting train Of many pilgrim tribes. Silence and Death Were there alone ! I from my cloudy car Descended, and have here the heart of one Whose bones lie whitening on that wilderness, And in the flame, as incense to the powers Whom we obey, I cast it. FOURTH WITCH. I come from where The plague-fiend o'er the city spread his wings, And darkness was upon it. Then were heard Loud wailing, and deep groans, and bitter cries Of dying agony, mixt with the din Of reckless drunkenness and maddened riot. The dead were every where ! and fainter came Those sounds of mingled wassailry and woe, Till all were silent. Not a living form Along the green streets wandered. Here are dews I from the cold brows brushed of one, who fell Scene I.J THE DEVOTED ONE. Beside his daughter's death-bed, whom all else Had left to perish. Cast them on the fire. FIFTH WITCH. I came from where that dull-eyed demon reigns, Grim Bigotry, o'er all a saintly land Of furious priests. There by the pile I stood Of one, who to a pillar hung in chains, Begirt with living fire : a Jew was he Who would not yield the faith his fathers taught, And a new creed embrace. In tortures long He writhing lingered, and as o'er the coals He grinned a blackened cinder, still there came A dismal hollow voice from that dark mass, Cursing the fell tormentors. From the ashes I raked the fragments of his flame-bleached bones, And, with a Christian infant's yet warm blood Baptizing them, I on our May-fire cast The magic relics. CHORUS OF WITCHES AROUND THE FIRE. On it fling all charms of might, 'Tis the witches' holy night. Haste, ye spirits, from the flood, From the war-field dyed in blood ; From the caves that lie below, Where the fires eternal glow ; From the place where Murder stands Smiling, with his gory hands, On his victim ; from the waves Where the eddying whirlpool raves, Closing o'er the sea-boy's head, As he sinks to th' ocean dead ; THE DEVOTED ONE. [ActV. From the earthquake's sulphury womb, A proud city's sudden tomb, Crumbled in its pomp and lust By the clashing rocks to dust ; From the river's hidden fountains, Where no mortal step intrudes, ( 32 ) Where with gold are filled the mountains Of those wealthy solitudes ; From that burning throne of light, Whose dread glories o'er the night, When the stars their pale watch keep, In red surges flash and sweep, Where the polar spirit reigns, Binding fast in icy chains Ocean, who, struck dumb, no more Howls along his silent shore ; From the lightning's secret home, Come, ye potent spirits, come ! Empty be the shades of hell Of her demons, dark and fell ; Hither flock ye to our call, Come, ye potent spirits all, To the sacrifice of death Hark ! unbidden steps advance : Soft ! break off the magic dance. Enter Godwin. FIRST WITCH. Rash fool ! dost thou not fear t' approach this place, Where we perform our mysteries ? GODWIN. No ! for I Can nothing fear that wears a human shape ; Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 215 Though, sooth to say, ye bear but slight resemblance To any earthly thing. SECOND WITCH. Why com'st thou hither ? GODWIN. To learn my future destiny, ta see The shadows of those substances which shall Oppose my coming course ; and, seeing, shun The rocks and shoals of fortune. FIRST WITCH. Back ! nor seek With daring hand to draw that veil which hides The dark unknown. GODWIN. If wealth be your desire, Ye fearful Evocators of the dead, Demand and have it FIRST WITCH. Thou hast no wealth for us, Who know full surely all that earth contains Unransacked in its bosom. Know we, too, That greatness is thy aim. Thou shalt be great. SECOND WITCH. Ay, but not happy. FIRST WITCH. Now depart, or dread The awful sight of those, whose presence would Thy marrow freeze to ice, and mar thy brain With cureless frenzy. GODWIN. Seek ye to affright me ? More will I know, though on me ye let loose The banded fiends below ! Let the pale lightning [ Thunder. 216 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act V. Singe these full locks, and thunders shake yon cliffs From their foundations ; let the yawning earth Open beneath my feet, I'll bravely dare Your utmost power, howe'er ye have obtained it, And will search deeper yet ; for now I feel My soul wrought up ay, to the highest pitch Of a resistless courage. SECOND WITCH. This is no common mortal. FIRST WITCH. Then shalt thou, If that bold courage fail not, learn thy doom. Sound yonder magic horn, which hangs beneath Those beetling rocks. GODWIN. No horn do I behold. FIRST WITCH. Turn to the north while thus I wave my wand, And breathe the Runic spell, ( 33 ) which must not fall On mortal ear, or death would be his lot. If unbaptized, with magic rites, in blood. [ The Witch utters inaudibly the spell, and a gigan- tic handy encircled with flames, is thrust forth from the rocks, holding a horn suspended by chains of fire. Godwin starts back appalled; but recovering his fortitude, he seizes the horn, which he sounds, and its strange and dismal tones are reverberated from rock to rock. The hand of fire is slowly withdrawn, and the rocks yawn asunder with a terrific noise, discovering a wide cavern filled with purple flames, wherein appear many awful and hideous figures, which beckon Godwin to advance. Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 217 FIRST WITCH. Now, earth-born child of dust, If thou wilt dare to rush amid yon flames And with those deathless beings hold communion, They shall, at our command, to thee reveal All thy hereafter actions, for to them The past is as the present, and the future But as the past. GODWIN. Their aspect and their shape Are terrible ; and what their power may be, By stretch of mortal thought can not be measured. Yet pant I on futurity to gaze With such intense desire, that I those flames Will enter reckless, though mortality Should perish in this daring ! [Rushes wildly into the cavern, which closes on him with a tremendous crash. CHORUS OF WITCHES. Show him what his deeds shall be, Falsehood, blood, and tyranny ! Man of ever-boundless pride, Joy with thee shall not abide. Mightiest noble thou shalt stand Of the mighty in the land ; Yet an outlaw shalt thou roam, Cursed and scorned, without a home ! Thine shall be a stormy life, All thy days shall pass in strife ; Then, when thy last toils are done, And thy proudest honours won, Thou shalt to the grave descend, Fated to an evil end. 218 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act V. Torn from England's regal heir, England's crown thy son shall wear ; But its pomp shall seal his doom, Leading to a blood-stained tomb. Like the meteor, like the wind, Leaving not a trace behind, Shall thy line, thy glory fade In oblivion's deepest shade ; Nor from thee shall mortal claim Title, lineage, rank, or name. [ The rocks open again, and Godwin enters from the cavern. FIRST WITCH. And hast thou seen GODWIN. Too much, too much, ye hags ! Am I a wolf, a fang-armed beast of prey, To act such savage deeds ? May this right hand Be palsied, withered, and refuse to lift A sword or spear ; may all the plagues A VOICE FROM THE CLOUDS. Forbear ! A VOICE FROM EITHER SIDE OF THE ROCKS. Forbear ! A VOICE BENEATH THE GROUND. Forbear ! FIRST WITCH. Why, doubting fool ! since thou wert bent to know What should betide thee in succeeding years, If we have power, more shalt thou yet behold. Ye visions of the future, show this man The end of his ambition. [Thunder. Scene 1.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 219 [ The rocks burst open, and discover a royal banquet, crowded with shadowy guests. A figure, repre- senting Godwin, but in years, stands before a king, appealing to Heaven. A Priest offers him the corsened bread ( 34 ) on a salver, which he swal- lows, and is instantly thrown into convulsions, and falls on the ground. Solemn music is heard, till the rocks close with deep thunder, pausing while the Witch speaks. FIRST WITCH. Behold thyself, in years which are to come, And gaze upon the mighty Godwins doom, The end of all his proud aspiring dreams, The dismal close of many long years spent In turbulence and struggles after greatness ! Behold the fate of perjury and murder : For with the blood of England's royal line Shall thy dark soul be stained, and thou shalt die, Die with a falsehood on thy lips to Heaven, And so be aye accursed ! GODWIN. Foul hags, avaunt ! The pride and hope of Hell ! May on your heads Plagues measureless be hurled ! May those grim fiends Who are your vassals, henceforth be and ever Your fell tormentors ! [Exit. FIRST WITCH. Light as the summer dew on mountain rock His curses fall on us. But hark ! they come : Those deep and solemn tones proclaim th' approach Of that half-maniac youth, who yields himself A sacrifice to the wild spirits of wrath. Away ! and mount yon summit's lofty top : 220 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act V. There perch, like cormorants watching for their prey, To see the death -leap of this frantic fool ; Then, as he falls, with flocking fiends and spectres We'll shout and chaunt his dirge-song. [Witches vanish, and the fire disappears. Music solemn and plaintive. Enter a procession of pa- gan Priests some bearing torches, others branches of trees, garlands, and musical instruments ; the High-Priest in the centre, leading Waldimar, clad in white garments, and crowned with flowers. CHORUS OF THE MICKLI, OR SCLAVONIAN PRIESTS. Gods of earth, and sea, and air, To our awful rites repair. From Almainia's haunted woods, From her hallowed founts and floods. Hasten to these isles, and shed Glory on the victim's head. From those eastern climes where flowers, Bright as gems, emboss the bowers ; Where the virgin daffodil O'er the gentle-speaking rill Hangs its bells of golden dyes, Weeping till the sun doth rise, And its crimson wreath the rose Flings o'er Indian maid's repose ; Where the orange breathes perfume, And the plantain yields its bloom, With its fragrant fruit and wine Richer than the grapy vine, Mid whose leaves the impurpled dove Tells her tale of endless love ; Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 221 Where the date-tree's colonnade O'er the water casts its shade. Which, in silence as it flows, Seems the spirit of repose, And, as falls the chequered gleam On the blue and glassy stream, Sleeps the image of that grove, Like Beauty in the lap of Love ; Where the sun-palm towers on high, And rich gems, like night-stars, lie Mid the river's golden sands, Whence came all our warlike bands, And that bird of gorgeous wing, Sun-set splendours rivalling, Gilds the twilight of the grove, Laden with the spicy clove ; From the pathless forest's shade, And the fig-tree's dim arcade, Where the Indian hunter's yell Rouses up the leopard fell, And the giant serpent holds Th' fierce elk struggling in its folds, While the frighted tiger flies From the fire-glance of its eyes ; Where that fiend-like creature wild, Whose grim visage never smiled, Dwells amid the leafy waste, Savage thing, nor man nor beast ; Where doth roam the lion free In his power and majesty, Forests trembling at the roar Of that hunter, steeped in gore ; From the Ganges' sacred flood, 222 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act V. From thy caves and rocks of blood, Mighty SIVA ! hither come ; Take thy willing victim home To thy ruby halls of light, With immortal glory bright. Hark i the rustling forest rings With the sound of many wings. See the lightnings, how they dash O'er the skies with surge and flash ; While the wrestling thunders roll Onward, onward to the pole ! Lo ! the steeds which from afar Draw the mighty SIVA'S car ; With its bright wheels fiercely driven Down the crashing steep of heaven ! [Dark clouds, emitting streams of fire, with deep thunder, descend, and cover the loftiest part of the rocks ; through the clouds are faintly seen strange and awful forms. GRAND CHORUS. He comes, he comes in clouds of flame ! Hail to mighty SIVA'S name ! Ascend, thou child of dust, and be Heir of immortality ! WALDIMAR (aside.) O this is terrible, for mortal flesh To meet yon dreadful god ! I feel it now, For, on the dark and shadowy verge of death, All the wild frenzy of my brain is fled, And, like to one who wakes from troubled dreams And finds himself and home involved in flames, Scene I.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 223 I feel reality more dreadful far Than all my former visions ! HIGH-PRIEST. Linger not. Music shall sound to cheer thy upward steps, Give thee full courage, and a hymn of triumph Peal forth, as on thy watery bier thou sink'st To rise again in glory. WALDIMAR. Strike ! strike all Your instruments of melody, and let These woods resound with shoutings that may fling A burning frenzy on my soul, as thus I rush to meet my doom ! [Shouts and loud music. Waldimar wildly ascends the rocks ; as he approaches the cloud, Enter Elgitha ; the music suddenly ceases, she shrieks, and rushes to the foot of the rocks. ELGITHA. Hold, Waldimar, hold, for the love of Christ ! This Cross, the emblem of his death, shall chase The fiends of blood and darkness from these shades, And send them howling [Terrific and appalling sounds are heard, and the whole Scene appears wrapped in ghastly flames. Waldimar leaves a last adieu to Elgitha, and leaps from the rock. The music again strikes up softly mournful, with wild and distant voices in the clouds. Elgitha advances into the centre of the groupes which stand on either side, and attempts to speak; but overpowered, she sinks convulsively on the ground, and expires. 224 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act V. SCENE II. The grand Hall in the Palace. Enter Canute and Attendants. CANUTE. Bring forth the prisoners. Enter Zandagast and Ermingild, guarded. Did we rightly hear That ye had doomed your son to self-destruction, A victim to your bloody gods ? ZANDAGAST. Thou didst : And he, ere this, his mother's holy vow Hath, like a true-born son of our brave race, Nobly performed. CANUTE. So hasty in your guilt ! The deeper be your punishment. We look With horror on you both. Ye Ve done a deed So fearfully inhuman, that to us Like ruthless fiends ye seem who have assumed A mortal shape, that ye might on our realms Bring down a heavy curse. ERMIXGILD. A blessing rather. CANUTE. Thou monster in the form of woman, peace ! ERMINGTLD. Why should I hold my peace, when I have done Nought, save what well behoved me ? Paid the gods A debt of grateful honour, long their due, And conquering all a mother's fondness, given Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 225 An only son, in yonder skies to be Their bright companion. CANUTE. Thou that son hast given Dark fellowship to hold with damned fiends ! And of the greatest crime art self-accused, That woman can commit. ERMINGILD. Crime ! lofty King ? If in thine eyes a crime it be, then learn I glory in the deed ! and were I now With mine own people, I should hear their shouts Proclaiming me the first of Wendish mothers, The harps of minstrels with my fame would ring, And a great nation's homage on me wait. And shall I hang my head in shame, because Thy ignorance brands me for an act which I Count as my highest glory ? No, bring forth Thy Christian tortures ; I will brave them all, And tell thee 'tis my last, my greatest pride, To die a martyr for Sclavonia's faith. ZANDAGAST. Our lives, O King, are in thy power, but we Heed not the threatening of thy stormy wrath. The faith our fathers died in, and the gods They served, are ours ; and never shall this knee In homage bow to him, the crucified, Whom for your God ye worship. CANUTE (stabbing Zandagast.) Die thou, then, Blaspheming homicide, fanatic rebel To God and to our laws! Q 226 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act V. ZANDAGAST. A joyful death. My son ! my son ! wait on thy midnight cloud For me, thy father. See ! his shadowy form In brightness comes. Give me, give me thy hand Dear Ermingild, thou wilt not stay behind ? I've lost thee now, sweet Waldimar, and all Is utter darkness [Dies. ERMINGILD. Tarry behind ? No, blessed martyr, thus I bravely follow thee. [Attempts to stab herself. CANUTE. Disarm her quick ! Too much of blood hath been already spilt, And I repent my fury spared him not. [The Guards wrest the dagger from Ermingild. ERMINGILD. A fair reward, most Christian king, for all His long-tried valour, never wanting found His faithful services in field and council ! Mark ye, who there behold yon soldier lie Welt 1 ring in his warm life-blood, this ay, this Is Christian gratitude and Christian meekness, Ye who, with bloody zeal and murder, boast A creed all love, all mercy, all forgiveness To the most deadly foe ! Now, tyrant, call Thy fell tormentors in : I long to die, And since, beyond a certain point, frail nature Must cease to endure, the more severe my pangs The speedier my release. CANUTE. No : thou shalt find That we, in cooler moments, can perform Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 22? A Christian's brightest duties. We to Heaven Leave thy just punishment, but will ourselves Before the judgment-seat of truth arraign For this rash deed of blood, and pay a mulct Meeted to our high titles and offence. ERMINGILD. I reck not aught thou dost, yet would I crave A simple boon. It is, thy leave to raise A funeral pile, bright as the immortal fame Of Zandagast, that I to him may pay All those last noble rites, with which my nation Honour the brave who for their country die. CANUTE. All, save the inhuman sacrifice of slaves. Soldiers, bear hence yon warrior on your shields, And needfully obey her will. [ The Guards bear off the body of Zandagast. ERMINGILD. Enough. One sacrifice to my departed lord, At least, shall not be in thy power to let. A lofty pyre 111 raise, and on it fling Spices and fragrant oils, with shield and helm, Banner and trophy, and those stores of wealth We in this land have gathered ; then amidst The sheeted flames I'll cast myself, and clasp Thy corse, my Zandagast, in these glad arms, Die, as I've ever lived, thy faithful wife. And meet thee, with my son, in fadeless glory. [Exit. CANUTE. Call hither all my officers and guards. 228 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act V. Enter Rolf Iric, Turkeetul, Ulfmando, Earls, and the Thinga-manna. ( 35 ) Soldiers and Thanes, in me you now behold A criminal, who his own laws hath broken ; For, drunk with passion, I have rashly stabbed A brave man and a friend, a warrior who Had gloried in my service to have died, Whose obstinate belief in the strange gods Of his forefathers was his only fault ; A venial error, for be well informed (Too late in my remembrance) that, till taught, Divinely taught, man must believe those lessons Which he from education early learns, However false her creed.- Now ye, my lords, ascend yon judgment-seat. Of you, do we our punishment demand ; And 'tis our will that ye as freely speak, As if the lowest serf before you stood, While on the ground in penitence we kneel, Hoping for Heaven's forgiveness, but not yours. ULFMAXDO. O rise, thou lord of many kingdoms, rise. ROLF IRIC. He was thy vassal, and the lives of all That owe thee homage CANUTE. By the laws of God And of the sovereign must be sacred held. Who shall the laws respect, if we that are Their maker break them ? ROLF IRIC. But if one so great In passionate mood Scene IL] THE DEVOTED ONE. 229 CANUTE. No flattery now. That judge Who fawns upon a culprit, or in aught Seeks to extenuate his rank offence, Because he stands pre-eminent in power, Is most unworthy of the judgment-seat, And basely mars his office. I demand Your sentence on my crime. [The Chiefs ascend the tribunal, and confer with each other. O, this foul deed Bedims my glory. All men's eyes will turn To gaze upon my darkness, as they look In fear and wonder on the noon-day sun, When o'er his splendour shadows deep and strange Fall, till his beams expire, till earth and heaven Seem with him sinking to eternal night. But from this gloom my onward course I'll win, And yet again break forth in cloudless lustre. ULFMANDO. My royal lord, it is our will that thou Pass sentence on thyself. CANUTE. Ye know the law : He who hath slain another, is amerced In forty golden talents. In our judgment, The mightier he who dares the law offend, The deeper his offence ; and, since it is Your will that from our lips the sentence fall, We, as the crowned head of all the land, Who have transgressed, amerce ourselves in twice Two hundred talents of the purest gold. 230 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act V. THE SOLDIERS. Noble Canute ! Long live Canute the Great ! ULFMANDO. The spousal rites Of your new favourite, Godwin, with my sister, Wait for the honoured presence of your Highness. CANUTE. We are unmindful in our many cares. A cause thou wot'st not of, requires that we Their bridal should attend. Come, let us meet them. [Exeunt King, Earls, $c. TURKEETUL. What self-deceivers are the wisest of us ! The King condemns himself for having slain In moody passion one brave man, and wins By such remorse a host of good opinions ; Yet, in cold blood, prepares t' unsheathe his sword That he may slaughter thousands, and commit Unnumbered robberies ! Then, when he hath done These bloody feats, where will be his remorse ? O, he will glory in it, and expect The world's applause and worship. Would this King Laugh, as I do, at care the night^away O'er jovial wine-cups, he would shortly be A better man, and spend an easy life, Gay as the summer lark's, nor ever feel Ambition's endless plagues. But out upon 't ! W T ho is there will not follow the strong bent Of his own passions, though they lead to ruin ? Not I, for one. A brimming cup's the thing That makes a beggar happier than a king. [Exit. Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 231 SCENE III. The Interior of Winchester Cathedral, splendidly illuminated. The Bishop is discovered, surrounded by his clerical officers, standing near the high-altar, which is richly ornamented with gold and silver plate, wax tapers, images, 4*c. Sprightly mu- sic, Organ. Enter, on one side, Godwin, leading Celtina, followed by Ulfmando and the bridal train in long procession. Enter, on the other side, Canute, leading Edith, dressed in royal robes and veiled, Pages supporting her train, followed by Evora, and Ladies of the court, Rolf Trie, Turkeetul, Attendants, and Guards, closing the pro- cessional crowd. BISHOP. Bring forth the bridal crowns. [Crowns brought, enwreathed withjlowers. CANUTE. Godwin, bethink thee, ere those vows are made Which may not be recalled, if on thee hang The shackles of no former plighted faith To some forsaken maid, whose once-loved beauty Woke passion in thy bosom. GODWIN (confused.) I my lord I know not one who hath a claim a right To hinder or forbid EDITH (flinging aside her veil.) What ! not poor Edith ? GODWIN. Ha ! some unearthly being hath assumed That form to blast me ! 232 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act V. EDITH. And hast thou so soon, Amid the noisy stir and pomp of courts. Remembrance lost of that wild orphan maid, Thy playmate of the desert ? she who wandered With thee, when grown to manhood, in the shades Of Coitmaur's forest, ( 36 ) where thy young heart breathed Such ardent vows of everlasting fondness, Wishing all evil things on thee might fall If thou didst her forsake ? And am not I That forest-maid, that Edith, whom thou once Didst love, or feigned to love, so very dearly ? GODWIN. But thus attended, thus in regal state ! My senses are bewildered ! This indeed Must be some dream, more wild than any yet My fancy hath imagined, For real it cannot be. Full surely thou With fairy spirits dost communion hold, And they have o'er thee cast this bright illusion. EDITH. 'Tis real all, and though my dreams were not, Like thine, of courtly splendours, yet am I No more a peasant-maid, but play the part To which by princely birth I am entitled. Said I not, Godwin, we once more should meet, And deep regret be thine ? Yes, we have met, And here I come in bridal robes to claim A spouse, whom I this happy night will wed Before the assembled court. GODWIN. I own, indeed Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 233 CANUTE. What dost thou own, proud slave ? That thou hast dared To seek this lady's love, to plight thy troth, And win her fond affection ? Then, when raised From abject drudgery by our smiles, to cast In scorn her beauty from thee? We have flung Nobility on a desertless clod, Like sunbeams on a dunghill. GODWIN. Good my lord, I scorned her not CANUTE. Base, lying earthworm ! thou Hast on her virtue cast disgracious insult ; Refused that maid of beauty, whom even kings Might fondly sigh for, and be proud to win : Ay, peasant-groom, refused the hand of Edith, Our well-beloved cousin. GODWIN (aside.) Witchcraft and fiends, It cannot be ! and yet the rosy light Shines not more clearly from the morning's eyelids. O, what an irreple viable dull ass, A brainless, moonstruck idiot have I been ! ULFMANDO. The saints forbid thou, faithless man, shouldst be My sister's bridegroom. Let my lord the King Forefend the marriage rites. EVORA. O, I shall die If I speak not. Now, save thy worship's reverence, My lord of Selwood hogs, said I aright, When I foretold thee what a glorious fool 234 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act V. Thy scornful pride would make thee, in despite Thy devilish craft ? Ay, marry, did I, As to thy cost thou find'st. GODWIN (aside.) How I could curse thee ! Yet still more bitterly revile myself. EVORA. Th' illustrious swineherd might not stoop, forsooth. To wed the humble Edith, who could boast No higher lineage than the King's own blood ; Counting her worth and beauty, weighed i' th' scale With his most noble person and deserts, Light as a feather poised 'gainst Dunmore hill ! A peasant and a princess are no match All must allow ; so meet it were they part. How we have crucified, vain-glorious dolt, Thy base and beggarly pride ! and now, in sooth, My mirth is measureless as thy disgrace. EDITH. Shame ! shame ! Evora ; take not on thee thus To insult the greatly fallen. I do perceive In thy sad face true sorrow and remorse, For thy unfeeling cruelty to one Who gave thee all her heart, who on thy smiles Hung like the flower that gazes on the sun, And weeps when he departeth, one who felt At thy unkindness all the soul below Can feel of hopeless misery, felt how changed Her state, full sudden, from an Eden filled With blooming roses of delight and love. As by an earthquake, to a scene where all Is death and desolation ! But 'tis past : And now this world hath not for me a flower, Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 235 Or gleam of happy sunlight. I mark well Thy deep contrition, and forgive thee ay, Forgive thee freely ; for 'tis meet, since I Shall never more on earth thy face behold, That we part not in anger. GODWIN. At thy feet Thus low I fall, overwhelmed with shame and grief; For I a vile apostate from the faith I owe to thee have been, while thy forgiveness, Which I could neither ask nor hope to win, Sinks me far deeper in my own contempt Than could thy proudest scorn. O, if thine eye Might on me with its former brightness shine But I have sinned against all hope that thou Canst love me yet again. EDITH. Take, the last time, This hand, as an assurance of my pardon. Light lie reproach hereafter on thee, Godwin, For thy disdain of me. Speak not of love : My love hath perished like an early flower Beneath the breath of winter ; from its grave It cannot spring again. And yet the hour Is come, in which I must be made a bride And wear a crown, but not of earthly gems. GODWIN. Be who he may that shall this hand receive, Which, were I worthy, I would not again For kingdoms barter, may he ever love As I did love thee in my better days, Ere curst Ambition o'er my virtue cowered, Like a dark giant incubus of hell, THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act V. Blasting its energies ! O, may all blessings, Bright as those eyes and heavenly as thy beauty, Be on thy head ! EDITH. His love, whose bride this night I shall be made, will never change like thine ; And if I faithful prove, I must be blest Beyond all mortal joy. GODWIN. I dare not stay To see thy beauty to another given : That beauty which was mine in those blest days, When we through Coitmaur's music-breathing groves Together roamed, where all was peace and love. O, could those happy hours once more return, And I again be Selwood's forest-boy ! If here I longer tarry, I shall curse Thy splendid spousals, call the fiends to wrap In sheeted flames But who is he shall dare To pluck thee from these arms ? I'll rend the heart From out the proudest bosom that beats here, Ere I will yield thee up. EDITH. For mercy, cease, Or thou, alas ! wilt on thy soul bring down The death of deaths ! Nay, Godwin, be thou calm. GODWIN. That voice could once the wildest tempest calm Of my fierce spirit ; but to know that I No more must listen to its gentle tones, That on some rival's ear its blessed music Shall unregarded fall, doth make me feel Scene III.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 23? The torments of the damned, when they behold The blissful bowers of heaven for ever lost ! EDITH. Mistaken youth ! the bridegroom I have chosen Is not of earth, for I this night shall be The veiled spouse of Christ. Take, ere I go, My last kind counsel. Cherish those fair virtues Which in thy heart a struggling lustre shed Amid the dark cold shade of stormy passions, Like wandering sunbeams in the forest lost. Hope flings her rainbow light of gladness through The long-drawn vista of succeeding years, Which false ambition fills with scenes of pomp. But mark me, and beware ! If once thou tread That star-bright track of glory, at its close Darkness and horrid shadows thou shalt meet ! Remember my last words, and peace be with thee ! Now, then, farewell to all ! Farewell, vain world, Heaven in its distant splendour on me dawns ! [A solemn Offertorie on the organ. .Enter a train of Nuns from the aisles of the cathedral, led by the Lady Abbess; who takes the hand of Edith, and conducts her during the chorus to the altar. God- win follows a few steps, and then falls, overpowered by his feelings, on the ground. GRAND CHORUS. Lovely votress, child of Heaven, All thy sins are now forgiven. Safely hast thou reached the shore Of that happy land of rest, Where the storms of life no more Shall thy sacred peace molest. 238 THE DEVOTED ONE. Not the proudest regal maid, In transcendent pomp arrayed, By her kingly bridegroom led To his golden-curtained bed, May in glory rival thee, Made the bride of Deity ! Earth no more shall thee betray, Its proud pageants fade away In Religion's purer light, As the stars that die with night. Youth in all its charms expires, Love dies in its own desires ; But the fervour of our hearts Burns more bright as life departs, And angel visions all divine, On our broken slumbers shine. Safely hast thou reached the shore Of that happy land of rest, Where the storms of life no more Shall thy sacred peace molest. NOTES. (1) /'// put two straws To-night across the threshold p. 119. "Straws dissolve enchantments." The Havamaal, or the Sublime Discourse of Odin. ( 2 ) A queen shall be thy daughter, England's gueen. . . . More seek not thou to know. Mysterious words ! p. 119. Wonderful instances are recorded of the truth of the predic- tions of the Haruspices among the Romans, who consulted the entrails of the victims offered in sacrifice. Vide Livy, Sallust, Jus., Tacit., Luct., Galb., Suet., Caes., Dio., and others. Apollonius Thyaneus, a Pythagorean philosopher, well skil- led in the secret arts of magic, as he was one day haranguing the populace of Ephesus, suddenly exclaimed, " Strike the tyrant ! strike him ! The blow is given, he is wounded, he is fallen !" At that very moment, the Emperor Domitian was stabbed at Rome. Seneca prophesied of the discovery of America. There will come a time, says he, in future ages, when the immense ocean will relax his boundaries, and the mighty earth will lie open $ when Typhis (Columbus?) shall discover a NEW WORLD, and Thule shall no longer be accounted the end of the earth. " An astrologer at Paris, long before the Restoration, foretold King Charles that he should enter London on the 29th of May, 1660." Burnefs Hist, of his own Times. Solomon Eagle predicted the plague in 1665, as a judgment, running about the streets of London stark naked day and night, and crying, "O the great and the dreadful God !" "An unknown person," says Bishop Burnet, " put a paper in the old Princess's hands, (the mother of King William III.) which she took from him, thinking it was a petition when she looked into it, she found it was her son's nativity, together with the fortunes of his life, and a full deduction of many acci- dents, which followed very punctually, as they were predicted." "Prince Poniatowski, a few years previous to his death, when on a visit to a relation in Moravia, and while sauntering in the park of the Chateau with some ladies, was suddenly 240 NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. accosted by a gipsy, who offered to predict the fate of every one present. Poniatowski held out his hand to the sybil, who took it, and, examining it with a scrutinizing glance, said in a hollow voice, "Prince, an Elster will be thy death!" Now Elster, in German, means a magpie. The prediction, therefore, elicited a burst of merriment from the whole party, who little dreamt, at the time, how truly this gipsy prophecy would be one day realized. The gallant Pole sunk with his steed, and hundreds of the flying French, in the waters of the Elster." Month. Mag. ( 3 ) Art thou the brother of a Duke? ... p. 129. Godwin, the father of Harold, the last of the Anglo-Saxon kings, was brought up a herdsman. Mr. Sharon Turner, from the Knytlinga, gives the story nearly similar to what may be found in the text. The Danish chieftain whom he preserved, in gratitude gave him his sister in marriage. " Godwin," says the above author, "possessed a power little less than sovereign for three reigns. That he was the son of a herdsman, is a fact recorded in the MS. Chronicle of Radulphus Niger." That Wulfnoth, the father of Godwin, was at one period a chieftain, is stated by the above authority, for he is called Childe of Sussex. The infamous Edric seems to have been his uncle, but we have made him to be his brother. ( 4 ) The mystic name .... Is on my forehead, and it must not be Effaced till Death's pale hand shall wash it thence, p. 138. "This word was O.M., or A. U. M. in its triliteral form, (vide Asiat. Res. v. i., p. 285.) It represented the creative, the pre- serving, and destroying power of the Omnipotent, personified in Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva." Wilkins Bhagvat Geeta. "All the rites ordained in the Vedas, the sacrifices to the fire, and all other solemn purifications, shall pass away ; but that which shall never pass away is the word O. M., for it is the symbol of the Lord of all things." Abbe Du Bois. "An intelligent Brahmin, who had come from Hydrabad, informed me that the temple of Visvacarma was dedicated to the Supreme Being and, on pronouncing the mystical triliteral word of A.U. M. in silence, he made three low reverences, with a cloth over his mouth. I afterwards showed these mystical characters to him, and he admitted they were the sacred syllable he had used, but on no account would he repeat them aloud. Each letter mystically signifies the Creator, Preserver, and Destroyer." Wonders of Flora. NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. 241 " The audible pronunciation of this awful word was believed to cause the earth to tremble, and all the inhabitants of heaven to quake with fear." History of Initiation. "Nor print any mark upon you." It was a custom amongst some idolatrous nations, when solemnly devoting themselves to the service of any deity, to be initiated into it by receiving some marks in their flesh which might never wear out. Burder's Orient. Cust. " Subscribe with the hand." This is an allusion to the marks which were made by punctures, rendered indelible by fire, or by staining upon the hand or some other part of the body, signifying the state or character of the person, and to whom he belonged. The slave was marked with the name of his master 5 the sol- dier with that of his commander j the idolater with the name or sign of his god. And the Christians seem to have imitated this practice, by what Procopius says upon this passage of Isaiah: " Many marked their wrists or their arms with the sign of the Cross, or with the name of Christ." Lowth. The sign of the Cross has ever been a sacred symbol among heathens as well as Christians. There has lately been opened near Wareham, in Dorsetshire, a tumulus, or barrow, containing from twenty to thirty urns, all of which are rudely formed, and of high antiquity. On the bottom of one of these urns, in our possession, is the form of a Cross, partly grooved and partly raised. This is the first urn that has ever been found with this religious emblem marked upon it in England, or, we believe, in any other country. This symbol, found in the gorgeous temples of India, and on a rude urn in the simple tomb of a British chief, must have been originally derived from that eastern fountain of knowledge, of which Plato, in his divine philosophy, drank so deeply 5 who says, in his Timaits, that the Son of God was displayed on the universe in the form of an X. Just. Mar. sec. Ixxvii. In the splendid saloon at the British Museum, appropriated to the antiquities of Egypt, may be seen numerous figures holding in their hands cruces ansatas, or crosses with rings, the emblem of, and the passport to, eternal life. We will instance No. 41, a statue of Diana Bubastes, on which are sculptured the lunar boat, the serpent, and the lotus, all of which are emblems of the Yavana, the Yoni, or Pith ; which proves, beyond contradiction, that the ancient Indo- Egyptians were, in their worship, Pish-de-danaans -, that Diana Bubastes is the Indian Padma-devi, or the goddess sitting on the lotus ; and that the great pyramid of Egypt, as the Brah- mins told Wilford, was a temple dedicated to the worship of Padma-devi. R 242 NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. The Padma-mandira, or town of Byblos, in Egypt, on the banks of the Cale, or Nile, (see Asiatic Researches,} was a pyra- mid of earth precisely resembling Selbury Mount, at Abury. The temple at Abury, we are now convinced, is of the very highest antiquity, and must have been erected previous to the bloody dissension which took place so many ages ago between the two sects, the Pish-de-danaans and the Tuath-de-danaans, respecting the male and female organs of primogenitiveuess : the Tuath-de-danaans being the votaries of the former, and the Pish-de-danaans of the latter. We say previous to this dissen- sion, because the form of Abury embraces both principles, and was dedicated to Budha, Toth, or Lingam, one and the same in emblem and identity, personified in its lofty obelisk erected in the centre of one of its inner circles, the very Lingam of India in the Yoni, Pith, or Pish ; and also to Devi, the Goddess of Desire, or, allegorically, the power of God exerted in creating, preserving, and renovating the universe, (see Sir William Jones,) personified in its serpentine form, the symbol of the Pith, and in Selbury Mount, or the Padma-mandira, with its neighbouring lake of water, that element being always used in the mysteries of this worship. We have not room to enlarge on this subject further than to observe, that the religion of both these sects, once united, and as ancient as the creation of man, was far from tending to any thing lascivious, for it embraced the grand fundamental doctrines of Christianity : namely, that a divine Redeemer should be born of a Virgin, restore mankind to eternal life, and die the death of the Cross for the sins of the world. These were the leading truths exhi- bited by ^scenic representations in the ancient Mysteries, as we shall prove in a Note or Dissertation affixed to the last of these Tragedies in the present volume. The Cross, then, being in all ages an emblem of eternal life, what sign or symbol could be more beautiful and appropriate with which to mark the urn that contained the ashes of the once-mighty warrior, the crumbling and dusty relics of him who for battle-deeds was long remembered in the inspiring war-songs of the bards, in the hall of shields, at the banquet of the brave ? clearly pointing out that his spirit should survive beyond the ruins' of the tomb, and dwell, according to the Celtic belief, in "the islands of the brave and virtuous/' where Paradise was renewed in all its primitive beauty and splendour, and where its inhabitants, amid bowers of unfading verdure and bloom, were blest with eternal joy and never-dying youth. The Cross on the urn fully proves that the Druids did, according to ancient authors, believe in a state of hereafter rewards and punishments, as well as in the future dissolution of this world by fire, and in the resurrection of the dead. NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. 243 (5) By the Pelibogc, Our gods of brightness p. 143. Hofprediger Mascb asserts, that among the Slavi, Velibogc was the name applied to the beneficent, or white divinities whom they worshipped. ( 6 ) Of whom a troop will fly before the lance Of one Sclavonian soldier p. 143. Lupus, an Anglo-Saxon bishop cotemporary with Ethelred the Unready, says, in one of his Sermons, speaking of the Danes, "Two or three will always drive a troop of captive Christians through the country, from sea to sea. This also clearly intimates, that the Danes at this period still remained pagans, at least the greatest portion of them. ( 7 ) When, in merry mood, Thou liffst the wine-cup in the hall of shields, Drink deep to Christ and all the blessed saints. . p. 143. Malmesbury says, that the Anglo-Saxons and Danes were addicted to excessive drinking, spending whole days and nights in riot and debauchery ; and that they used to swallow large draughts to Christ, the Virgin Mary, the Apostles, and the Saints. That the custom of drinking healths is of high antiquity among the northern and eastern nations, may be easily proved. When the ambassadors of Theodosius visited the camp of Attila, " Maximin and his colleagues were stopped on the threshold, till they had made a devout libation to the health and prosperity of the King of the Huns The barbarian monarch received from his cup-bearer a goblet filled with wine, and courteously drank to the health of the most distinguished guest, who rose from his seat, and expressed, in the same manner, his loyal and respectful vows. This ceremony was performed for all, or at least for the illustrious persons of the assembly/ 1 How nearly are allied the manners of our public meetings in the present day, to those of the wild Huns of Tartary in the fifth century ! ( 8 ) He delegates the rule of all below To his celestial offspring p. 144. The German historians assert, and Procopius confirms it, that the Sclavonic tribes, although they worshipped inferior gods, believed in the existence of one supreme Deity. Hol- moldus, in his Chronica Sclavorum, published at Lubeck in 1702, says, " Among the various deities whom they believed to 244 NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. preside over fields and woods, over pleasure and pain, they acknowledged one Almighty God, who dwelt in heaven and ruled over all, employing himself only in heavenly things. The other gods they believed had separate offices j they were the offspring of the Almighty, and the nearer they approached to the God of gods, the more were they to be revered." (9) We to these gods, high councillors of splendour. . p. 144. One of the names of the Sclavonic god Radegast, was Sla- varadge, which is said, in the Windish language, to signify a councillor of glory. ( 10 ) For I would have my Danish subjects Christians. . p. 144. "Though the generality of the Danes, at this period, were either pagans, or only a kind of half Christians, their king, Canute, who became also King of England in 1017, was a zea- lous Christian, according to the mode of the age in which he lived." Dr. Henry's Hist, of Great Brit. In Canute's ecclesiastical laws is the following ordinance: " We strictly prohibit all heathenism : the worship of idols, the sun, the moon, fire, rivers, fountains, rocks, trees of any kind, and the practice of witchcraft, or committing murder by magic, or firebrands, or any other infernal devices." Spel. Condi. To what did the murder by firebrands allude ? Had it not a similarity to an Indian superstition ? When a Hindoo is determined to seek a deadly but private revenge on an enemy, he seizes the half-burnt stake to which a widow has been fas- tened on the funeral pile of her husband : conveying it home, he sets it up and strikes it with some weapon, pronouncing the name of his foe, who from that moment is supposed gra- dually to perish. ( n ) Not all the Christian priests that own thy power, Shall win me to forsake my father's gods. . p. 144. According to Jornandes, the Venedi, the Slavi, and the Antes, were tribes of the same people, who joined the Goths at their first irruption from the Ukraine into Dacia and Msesia. So great, at one period, were the conquests of the Sclavonians, that their language has been even extended from the Adriatic to the confines of Japan. Such was the obstinacy with which these Sclavonic tribes adhered to their superstitions, that the arms of the Teutonic knights were for a long time employed in the attempt to exterminate idolatry. The ancient customs of the Slavi, together with their national independence, were pre- NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. 245 served to a later period in Mecklenburg than in any other part of Germany ; and it is said that country derives its present name from the Mickli, an order of priests among the idolatrous Wends. In some districts of Lunenburg, remains of the Obo- trites, another tribe of the Sclavoni, were preserved till a late period. * Even so late as the year 1306, in the woods of Lune- burg, some wild people of the Vined race (the Winedae of the Sclavonians, no doubt) were allowed to bury alive their infirm and useless parents." Gibbon. The Aborigines of America dispatch, as they imagine in mercy, the old and infirm among their tribes. See Dr. Robertsons Hist. Amer. ( 12 ) But much I marvel pious bishops should Make nobles drunk, to cheat them of their wealth, Whereby i 'enrich themselves. . . p. 145. " In the reign of Canute,^Etheric, a bishop of Dorchester, made a Danish nobleman drunk, and then won him over to sell a fine estate, which the bishop purchased with a very trifling sum of money. For this dexterous trick he is lauded to the skies by monkish writers, having made a present of the estate to the Abbey of Ramsey.*' Hist. Ellens, p. 458. ( 13 ) He is, my lord, as thou wouldst have him be, A lifeless piece of clay . . . p. 146. " Dr. Henry says that Edmund was murdered a few days after the division of the kingdom between him and Canute. The Knytlinga Saga and Saxo carry up the crime as high as Canute. They expressly state that Edric was corrupted by Canute to assassinate Edmund." Anglo-Saxons, vol. ii. p. 492. ( 14 ) By my war-bracelet! I protest my heart Goes not with these dark doings. . . p. 148. An oath of purgation among the Danes. ( 15 ) To Czerneboch, the Black and Evil One, King of the land of Darkness. . . p. 158. " Well known as this god is in the history of the Wends," says Masch in his description of the discovery of the Sclavonian gods near the town of Prilwitz, in Mecklenburg, on the north side of a mountain on the shores of the lake ot Tollentz, by a village pastor, near the close of the seventeenth century, when digging away a part of a bank in his garden for the purpose of 246 NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. planting trees, " yet no description of his figure was found be- fore the discovery of these antiquities." His name is differ- ently written Czernebouck, Czernbog, Czerneboch, Tschene- bogc, all of them signifying the black or evil principle. The figure represents a furious lion, with his name on his back, " who goeth about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour." Zernebog, or Zernebogus, was the black or evil spi- rit among the Saxon tribes. ( l6 ) Thou, to the death-song of our priests, shouldst cast Thyself from Sivas rock amid the waves Of the deep-rolling Ister. . . p. 159. It may be startling to many readers to meet, on English ground, the horrible Indian superstition of devoting children from their birth to Siva or Maha Deo. We have, in the notes to the Dragon- King, (first series of these Tragedies,) shown that our forefathers, the Saxons, had among them the Indian cus- tom of the widows of chiefs burning themselves on the funeral pile of their deceased husbands, who considered a plurality of wives as a mark of distinction.* It cannot, therefore, be greatly wondered at, if we find other eastern rites among the Sclavonians, the third barbarian inundation which poured into Europe having penetrated so far into Germany, even in the sixth century, as to enter into a war with Clothaire, king of the Franks, according to the Chronicle of Fredegarius Scho- lasticus, who flourished in 64O. It is allowed, that the Sclavonian language bears a striking resemblance to the Sanscrit : this is one proof of their eastern origin, and of the truth of the theory of Higgins in his Celtic Druids. It is proved by Gatterer, that these Sclavonians ob- tained possession of Bohemia, Moravia, Saxony, andThuringia, in 534 3 and of Stiria and Pomerania between 569 and 588. Being such near neighbours to the Danes, it certainly is not overstepping the bounds of probability in supposing that a re- nowned warrior of the Sclavonian tribes might enter the service of Swein, or Canute, and thus pass with either of them into England j particularly as some of the Danish kings, even after their conversion to Christianity, are known to have sent pre- sents to the heathen temples of the Wendic tribes. We have spoken in the previous Note of the singular discovery of the Sclavonian gods, an account of which has been published by several German authors. According to their relation, these gods are cast rudely in brass, with their names engraven on * As a proof of this, Charlemagne had three or four wives, and many concubines. NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. them in Runic characters. The chief figure seems to be Rade- gast, of which there are in the collection five. He is repre- sented with a human body and the head of a lion, and has the head of a bull or ox on his breast. He has also the figure of what is supposed to be a goose on his head. We rather believe this goose to be the swan of Brahma, with which he is attended in the sculptures of Elephanta, and certainly the head of the bull speaks its Indian origin. Among several others which we shall pass over, is the figure of Sieba, which Helmoldus, and other Germans, call SIVA. On the head of this figure is an ape or monkey : this seems, beyond contradiction, to prove its connexion with the Brahminical mythology. This deity had its principal temple among the Wends of Mecklenburg and Holstein. As another proof of these Sclavonian gods being of Indian origin, it is now generally believed that the real Odin of the Scandinavians is the Buddha of the East; and among the figures discovered at Prilwitz, is the god Vodha, a name much nearer in sound to the Indian, than that of the Saxon and Danish god. It appears that Siva, or Jiva, in the Sclavonic language, as it does in the Sanscrit, means life, one of the attributes of the Destroyer. Patterson (Asiat. Res. v. 8. p. 48.) says, that the creative power was given by the different sects of religion to Brahma, Vishnou, and to Siva. The grand Triad of the Creator, the Preserver, and the Destroyer, pervades the whole system of every heathen mythology, from China to Peru. Procopius says, that the Sclavonians worship One God, the maker of lightning, the sole ruler of the universe. When they are under the fear of immediate death, either by disease or from wounds received in battle, they utter vows of sacrifice to the deity for the preservation of their lives. If they survive, these vows are faithfully performed, believing their restoration has been the consequence of their votive offerings. Vide Procop. Ctesar de Bello Goth. 1.3. c. 4. " Maha Deo, or Siva, like Saturn, delights in human sacri- fices." Wonders of Elora. " Their Prono (speaking of the Sclavonians) in the middle of a thousand idols, with two or three faces, and their goddess Seva, both adorned with human sacrifices, seem of Hindu ori- gin. All these idols look very much like the progeny of some of the old Asiatic superstitions." Turner's Mid. Ages. The Tauric Diana, to whom human sacrifices were offered, was called Saeva Diana. ( J 7) Art thou prepared thy mother's solemn oath Manfully to fulfil ? . . p. 160. In Malwa, once a powerful kingdom of India, a mother, to 248 NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. the present day, often devotes her unborn child to the hideous imagination of Ong Kar Mundattah ; and when the appointed hour arrives, the devoted one precipitates himself from the sa- crificial rock Bheereallah, in the sacred island of Mundattah. " It was also a principle of the Druids, according to Caesar, that, for the redemption of the life of man, nothing but the life of man could be accepted by the gods. The consequence of this was, that those who implored safety from the dangers of war, or the most desperate distempers, either immediately sacrificed some human creature, or made a vow to do so soon after." Borlase. " They held, that the souls of those who suffered as victims to their gods in this life were deified, or at least translated into heaven, there to be happy j and the remains of those who died in sacrifice were accounted most holy, and honoured before any other dead bodies." Rel. de Gaulis, v. ii. p. 226. Acosta says, that the Peruvians, notwithstanding their mild- ness, did sacrifice virgins and sometimes a son would be sacri- ficed for the life of a father." Hist. Ind. p. 380. " The ancient inhabitants of the north believed that the term of a man's life might be prolonged, if any one would put him- self in his place, and die in his stead. This was often prac- tised, when a prince or illustrious warrior was ready to perish by some accident." North. Antiq. " At this time there lived in the island of Lefooga a female, who for many years had been afflicted with insanity. She had become insane in consequence of excessive grief, partly occa- sioned by the death of a near relation, but principally by her child having been taken from her to be strangled, as an offer- ing to the gods for the recovery of his sick father." Tonga Islands. That many of the ancient priests who offered human sacri- fices were cannibals, there can be little or no doubt j for in the Psalms it is said, " And they ate of the sacrifices of the dead." That this is the true meaning of the passage is clearly evident, from the following verses in the Wisdom of Solomon : " Whom thou hatest for doing most odious works of witchcraft and wicked sacrifices. " And also those merciless murderers of children, and de- vourers of men s flesh, and the feasts of blood, with them out of the midst of their idolatrous crew, and the parents that killed with their own hands souls destitute of help." " So late as the funeral of Rollo, founder of the Norman dukedom in France, the gifts to monasteries for the repose of his soul were accompanied by the sacrifice of one hundred cap- tives." Gibbon. NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. 249 ( 18 ) And round the May-pole, with its flower-sheaves crowned, Maidens and youths will dance in frolic glee. . . p. 161. This festival (Asiatic Researches, v. 11.) is celebrated in India on the first of May, in honour of Bhavani. A May-pole is erec- ted hung with garlands, around which the young people dance precisely the same as in England. " On May-day Eve, the Druids made prodigious fires on these cairns, which, being every one in sight of each other, could not but afford a glorious show over the whole nation." Toland's Hist. Dru. " Round these fires choral dances were performed The festival was phallic, in honour of the Sun, the great source of generation, and consisted in the elevation of phalli, or long poles, decorated with crowns of gold and flowers, under which both sexes performed certain mysterious revolutions." History of Initiation. (!9) High festival to hold on Vadhas rock, In Rimmon s gloomy woods p. 161. We have said before, that Vodah, Buddha, Boodh, and the god (not the warrior) Odin, were one and the same j and Davies, in his Mythology of the Druids, says the great God was considered by the Welch as the dispenser of good, and is also called Buddwas. " The probability is, that the world has been peopled or conquered by nations of the North of Asia, who have extended themselves into all parts, east, west, and south. (Baillies Let. to Voltaire.) This is perfectly just, and is the only mode by which the wonderful similarity between the Druids and the oriental nations can be satisfactorily accounted for." Celtic Druids. In the Isle of Purbeck, still rich in druidical remains, are two places called Remp-stone or Rem-stone. That this is also an abbreviation of Rimmon's-stone, we have no hesitation in asserting. At the Remp-stone, on the western side of the Isle of Purbeck, was a druidical circle, three or four of the rock pillars of which remaining on the spot till within a few years past. One still remains as the post of a gate, deeply impressed with the marks- of its high antiquity j the others have been bar- barously broken up, for the purpose of making a small bridge. That this was a temple, is evident from the barrows which still surround the once-venerated spot, it being the custom of the Britons to bury, at least their great men, within sight of their sacred enclosures; from which has been derived our interments in church-yards, both connected with the divine belief of the immortality of the soul. St. Stephen, in his argument with 250 NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. the Jews, speaks of the god Rimmon : " Yea, ye took up the ta- bernacle of Moloch, and the star of your god Remphan ; figures which ye made to worship them ;" alluding to the tabernacle of the sun and the planets. Moloch, in Irish, is fire, a type of the sun, as the sun was a visible type of the invisible God, and Remphan, or Rimmon, signified the inferior planets. Again, this Remphan is called Chiun by Amos, (c. v. v. 26,) " Ye have borne the tabernacle of your Moloch and Chiun your images, the star of your god, which ye made to yourselves." Rimmon was the Syrian name, and Chiun the name given by the Moabites to the same deities. I have therefore no doubt, that the circle of Rempstone, in Purbeck, was dedicated to the stars, or Rimmon. In the same island, is Aggie-stone, an immense rock, erected on a mount or high-place : this was the stone of the sun, a lithos, sometimes called a cromleach, which Toland explains from the Irish crow, to adore, and leac, stone stone of adoration. Borlase says, that in the Western Isles some remains of adoration are still paid to such stones: "As it seems to me, they call them bowing- stones, from the reverence shown them : for the Even Maschith, which the Jews were forbidden to worship, signifies really a bowing-stone, and was doubtless so called because worshipped by the Canaanites." Round these stones many of the Gaelic islanders still perform the Deisol, as they also do round holy wells and fountains. ( 20 ) Immortal fame on earth ? The earth forbids it, For daily she to dissolution tends. ... p. 172. This knowledge of the expected dissolution of the earth, might have come to the Saxons from the legends of their pagan forefathers, for it is to be found in the Edda, the greater portion of which bears internal evidence of its eastern origin, and perfectly accords with the philosophy of India and Egypt; the reflection of which may be found in Lucretius, Lucan, and Ovid. In Scipio's dream, the old man, showing his nephew the globe from the clouds, tells him, that however great or for- tunate our actions may be, there can be no lasting glory in this world - f seeing that, after a certain period, it must be destroyed, either by water or fire, which would sweep away all human records. Indeed, the expectation of the dissolution of the earth was so great about the middle of the tenth century, and which still continued to the commencement of the Crusades, that the churches and other edifices were suffered to fall into utter decay. Jerusalem, it was supposed, would be the spot of our Saviour's re-appearance on earth j and multitudes of all ranks, NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. 251 and both sexes, as the period predicted more nearly approach- ed, resorted thither in order to await the final consummation. Vaisette, in L'Histoire de Languedoc, has preserved a French charter, which begins with " Appropinquante mundi ter- mino," &c. Houses and lands were given up, as of little or no value, and the whole of Christendom appeared running mad. The Princess Anna Comnena might well say, "All Europe, torn up from its foundations, seemed ready to precipitate itself on Asia in one united mass." In the History of the Middle Ages may be found v. v. p. 125, an analysis of La Nobla Leyczon, a poem of the Vaudois, written in 1100; and it begins with stating, that the end of the world was then approaching. ( 21 ) I'll have thy tongue cut out. Such is the law For false and slanderous railers. . . . p. 175. Leges Sax. This old law was confirmed by Canute. ( 22 ) This joyous night, Gay Summer's festival, the woods will ring With harp and timbrel p. 186. Of the long continuance of these Baal-fires, and May-day sports, we shall give a few extracts. Stow says, " In the month of May, the citizens of London of all estates, generally in every parish, and in some instances two or three parishes joining together, had their several Mayings, and did fetch their May-poles with divers warlike shows ; with good archers, morrice-dances, and other devices for pastime, all day long; and towards evening they had stage-plays and bonfires in the streets. These great Mayings and May-games were made by the governors and masters of the city, together with the tri- umphant setting up of the great shaft, or principal May-pole, in Cornhill, before the parish church of Saint Andrew, which was thence called Saint Andrew Undershaft." Survey of London. The May-pole being set up near the church, sufficiently speaks its original connexion with religion. We remember to have been told, that in our native village the May-pole used to stand opposite the church-gate. Strutt says, in his Sports and Pastimes, " No doubt the May- games are of long standing, though the time of their institution cannot be traced." Strutt never dreamt of going to India for their origin. The May-pole, like the Round Tower of Ireland, was the Phallus of Greece, borne in her mystic processions, and the Lingham of India, the emblem of the procreative power, the 252 NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. Creator, in the universal Triad. The single upright unhewn pillar was another of these emblems, one of which is still to be found in the Island of Purbeck, among many others in this country. Stubbs tells us, in his Anatomie of Abuses, 1595, that " against May-day, every parish, town, or village, assemble themselves together, both men, women, and children 5 and either altogether, or dividing themselves into companies, they go some to the woods and groves, some to the hills and moun- tains, where they spend all the night in pleasant pastimes ; arid in the morning they return bringing with them birch boughs and branches of trees to deck their assemblies withal. But their chiefest jewel they bring from thence is the May-pole, which they bring home with great veneration." ( 23 ) and shadowy Death On his pale war-horse, followed by all hell. . p. 187. "The tenth Avatar of the Hindoos, yet to come, is expected to appear mounted, like the crowned conqueror in the Apoca- lypse, on a white horse, with a scimitar blazing like a comet, to mow down all incorrigible and impenitent offenders who shall then be on earth." Sir William Jones's Gods of Greece, Italy, and India. See Note to the J^r agon-King, first Series, on the White Horse. " To the White Horse of SUANTOVITE, which no one was permitted to groom but his priests, the Saxons sought for presages, and the future events of battle." Alyett Sammes. (24) Thou a mother ? Thou, savage woman of a savage race. ... p. 189. We have introduced a Sclavonian family into England, but we do not conceive that in this there is any approach to the improbable or the marvellous ; for in the Roman, Saxon, Danish, and Norman armies, either compelled, or as voluntary adventurers, many of every warlike tribe in Europe have visited the shores of Britain. What would have been said to us, had we, like Lewis in the Castle Spectre, introduced an African negro ; and yet there are proofs that black slaves were known in Europe, ay, and in England, in the eleventh century. Had Lewis been aware of this, he might have triumphed over those who laughed at his supposed anachronism. " In the year 1094, Ordericus introduces a dream of a priest, which displays some fancy, but which is more remarkable for showing that blacks were then known in Europe : he mentions a trunk carried by two -^Ethiops j and afterwards, mentioning NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. 253 an army quite black, calls it an Agmen JEthiopum, p. 694. But we learn the same curious fact from Domesday Book, where one is mentioned with the Servi in England. In the enume- ration of Glowecestercire, we have eight Servi et anus Afrus, p. 165. There is also a person called Matthus Mauritania, p, 170." Hist. Mid. Ag. ( 25 ) See instant execution on him done. And cast his headless carcass in the river. . . p. 198. " The circumstances of Edric's death are told differently, as usual. Florence admits that he was killed in the king's palace ; but one says that he was hanged, another that he was strangled, another that he was beheaded. Human testimony is charac- terized by these petty variations." Hist. Ang.-Sax. v. ii. p. 580. The glorious uncertainty of history as well as law ! (26) His form is such As few, in my weak judgment, equal, save Your noble glory p. 200. "Glory," a Saxon title of royalty. " The Northerns have transmitted to us the portrait of Canute : he was large in sta- ture, and very powerful j he was fair, and distinguished for his beauty ; his nose was thin, eminent, and aquiline 5 his hair was profuse j his eyes bright and fierce." Ibid. (27) the tuneful Scalds , Who throng my court shall to the end of time Transmit with glory p. 204. "Of the Scalds who attended him, the names and verses of many have survived to us. Sighvatr, Ottar the Swarthy, Thordr Kolbeinson, and Thorarin Loftunga, are among those whose historical poems or panegyrics have been much cited by Snorre in his Northern History." Ibid. " Every bold adventurer, when he set out on any piratical or military expedition, if he was not a great poet himself, which was frequently the case, never neglected to carry with him the best poets he could procure, to behold and celebrate his martial deeds. (Olai Wormii Literatura Danica.) We may be certain, therefore, that all the leaders of the several armies of Saxons, Angles, Jutes, and Danes, who formed set- tlements and erected kingdoms in this island, brought their poets with them, to sing their exploits and victories." Hist. Great Brit. 254 NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. ( 28 ) A loving father's prayers shall oft invoke The shadow of thy presence p. 206. Among the ancient Britons, the departed spirit had the power of animating any substance or body. In the poem of Cynddelw, addressed to Owen, Prince of Powis, we read " In the form of a vibrating shield before the rising tumult, borne aloft on the shoulder of the leader j in the form of a lion before the chief with the mighty wings ; in the form of a ter- rible spear with a glittering blade j in the form of a bright sword, spreading flame in the conflict, and overwhelming the levelled ranks ; in the form of a dragon (banner) before the sovereign of Britain j and in the form of a daring wolf, has Owen appeared." Davies's Druids. ( 2 9) To save him from a meaner death, I'd joy To spill this heart's best blood, die, and re-die, With countless agonies, to make him blest. . . p. 207. This is no exaggeration of maternal affection. Matilda, the wife of William the Conqueror, said to him of her son, " If Robert were in his grave, and could be revived by my blood, I would pour it all out to restore him." ( 30 ) This amulet, this blessed Cross, wherein Relics miraculous lie hidden, shall shield us. . . p. 209. " Gregory the Great, in the sixth century, carried on a ma- nufactory of gold crosses and keys, in which holy filings of the chains of St. Peter and St. Paul, and other relics, were incor- porated. These were sold and distributed over Britain, Gaul, Spain, Germany, Africa, Constantinople, and many parts of the East." (si) Here is the skull Of kingly warrior, from whose brim they quaffed Brain-maddening draughts ; and this the scalp of one. p. 21 1. The similarity of the Scythians to the Western Indians in certain ferocious customs, is remarkable. As the Scythians and Goths scalped those whom they slew, and displayed those scalps as trophies, like the Americans ; so the latter, like the Scandinavians, drank out of the skulls of their enemies. " I shall go to war to revenge the death of my brothers ! I shall kill, I shall exterminate, I shall burn my enemies ! I shall bring away slaves j I shall devour their heart, dry their flesh, drink their blood ! I shall tear off their scalps, and make NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. 255 cups of their skulls." Indian War Song. Bossus Travels through Louisiana. As the most glorious of all ornaments, the Huns fastened the scalps of their enemies, who had fallen by their hands, to the trappings of their horses. Vide Amme. Marcell. They are also said to have drank of the blood of the slain. The body of Oswald, King of Northumberland, who was slain fighting at Oswestree against Penda of Mercia, being found among the dead, the inhuman conqueror cut it into seve- ral pieces, and fixing them on stakes, erected them on the field of battle as trophies of his victory. Wonders were performed by his right hand, which Bede says was preserved in his time uncorrupted in the church of Peterborough. " Once in twelve years, it is said, the Zajah offers a solemn sacrifice of various living animals in pairs, and two men, the skulls of the latter being used as drinking-cups at the shrine." Asiatic Journal, 1826, p. 509. In the reign of Ethelred, Uhtred, Earl of Northumberland, defeated Malcolm, King of Scotland, at the siege of Durham. " After the victory he selected the most handsome of the slain, whose heads by his orders were cut off, washed in the river, and, with their long braided hair, fixed on stakes round the walls of the city. To reward this service, Ethelred appointed him Earl, and gave him his daughter Elfgiva in marriage." Lin- gar d's Hist, of Eng. So late as the reign of Henry VIII., during the administration of the Duke of Albany in Scotland, Sir David Hume of Wedder- burn, struck off the head of the Sieur de la Beaute, Warden of the Borders, and wore his hair, which was remarkably long and beautiful, as a trophy at his saddle-bow. What a modern Hun ! ( 32 ) Where no mortal step intrudes. . . p. 214. The sacred woods which overshadow the sources of the Gam- bia and the Rio Grande, are supposed by the African tribes to be inhabited by spirits : no axe is ever heard amid their solitudes, and death v/ould be the consequence should any one dare to penetrate them. ( 33 ) Turn to the north while thus I wave my wand, And breathe the Runic spell. . . p. 216. During many ceremonies of Northern witchcraft, it was deemed necessary to look toward the north. Hialmar and Ulpho, in the year 100O, contended for the daughter of the Ki ng of Norway " ; who, unwilling to lose either of those brave warriors, decided their rivalry by giving his 256 NOTES TO THE DEVOTED ONE. daughter portionless to Hialmar, and to Ulpho a horn of ines- timable value, on which the figures of Odin, Thor, and Friga were engraven. This horn, when consulted with proper cere- monies, yielded its magic tones without mortal breath, from which the knowledge of future great events might be divined. (34) A p r i es t offers him the corsened bread. . . p. 219. Corsened bread, Panis conjuratus a superstitious trial among the Saxons to purge themselves of any accusation, by taking a piece of barley-bread with solemn oaths and imprecations. The Saxon ordeal of hot water is practised by the Mandingo tribe in Africa. ( 35 ) and the Thinga-manna. . . p. 228. The Thinga-manna, or Thingmanna, was a chosen body of Danish soldiers, which formed the royal guards of Canute, amounting to three thousand men. They were also called Thinglitha, Thanemen, Sea-Thanes, and Huscarls. This body of troops was stationary in England during Swein's prosperity, and the reigns of his Danish successors, says Sharon Turner. Their commander, Heming, kept the conquered country in sub- jection to Canute. Two of their orders were, not to disperse rumours, and not to go beyond their city at night. ( 36 ) in the shades Of Coit-maur's forest. . . p. 232. The ancient British name of Selwood was Coit-mawr, the great wood. END OF THE DEVOTED ONE. THE VARANGIAN; OR, MASONIC HONOUR. A TRAGEDY. From east to west, from north to south, Far as the foaming billows roll, Faith, Hope, and silver-braided Truth, Shall stamp with worth the Mason's soul." DRAMATIS PERSONS. NORMANS. WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. ODO, Bishop of Bayeux, his uterine Brother. LANFRANC, Archbishop of Canterbury. OSMOND, Earl of Dorset. FITZ-ROLLO, his Friend. RALPH, Earl of Norfolk. ROGER, Earl of Hereford. Ivo DE TAILLEBOIS. ALMARIC, Merchant of Waltheof s Household. PALAMON, Page to Osmond. JUDITH, Countess of Northumberland. MATILDA, her chief Attendant. SAXONS. EDGAR THE ETHELING, Heir to the English Throne. HEREWARD DE WAKE, Lord of Brunne, a Varangian. WALTHEOF, Earl of Northumberland. FRITHERIG, Abbot of St. Albans. HAROLD. ELLA, a female Slave. BEN ZADOC, a Jewish Slave-merchant. TOBIAS, his Steward. HEXULPH, Chief of Ben Zadoc's Rovers. LAN IVAN, a Descendant of the Bards. ZALMIRA, a Greek Slave. TABITHA, Wife to Ben Zadoc. Guards, Slaves, Servants, Robbers, Officers, &c. ERA THE ELEVENTH CENTURY. THE VARANGIAN. ACT I. SCENE I. A Hall in the Palace at Winchester. Enter Osmond and Fitz-Rollo. FltZ-ROLLO. WHAT ! sigh for Normandy, when such a field Of plunder, honour, and dominion lies Yet half unwon before us ! Castles, lands, Titles, and baronies are, by the will Of our great master, showered on all deservers : And for these English dogs, their proudest chiefs Are abject slaves, who humbly kiss our feet In vassalage, right thankful if no stripes With our commands are given, to quicken them In doing us low service. OSMOND. I am weary, Fitz-Rollo, of this dull and savage isle, A land of vile barbarians. ( x ) Heavily pass The lagging hours. Even in the Conqueror's court, 'Tis still the question how my time t' employ, And where to find amusement which shall smooth The rugged plumes of Time to downy gold, 262 THE VARANGIAN. [Act I. And make him merrily his sands out-shake, Like music tuned to love. FITZ-ROLLO. Go, bid thy slaves Some Saxon fair one to thy chamber bring, ( 2 ) Famed for her beauty : be she maid or wife, It recks not aught, she will some hours amuse, And charm away thy languor. OSMOND. No, I hate Compulsive pleasures. Then their barbarous tongue Is harsh and grating, 'tis not framed for love ; And when these Saxon females are enraged, O, I would rather hear a chattering flock Of angry jays, the howl of forest wolves, Or shriek of midnight hags met on the heath To summon from the tomb its sheeted dead, And blast the land with witcheries ! O, it shocks me ! FITZ-ROLLO. I little heed what sounds are in their tongue, If but their faces please. When they grow loud, I always show my instrument of power, A good sharp sword, which makes them quickly mute, And melts their coyness into willing duty. OSMOND. Give me the sweet Provencal tongue for love : ( 3 ) Our Norman ladies have sweet voices, tuned Like lays of Troubadours. Fitz-Rollo, come, We'll hawk to-day. FITZ-ROLLO. Ay, with a willing heart ; Or hunt down Saxon slaves, right noble sport ! And though, when caught, we cannot on them feed, Scene I.] THE VARANGIAN. 263 They'll in the slave-mart yield a better price Than the most dainty bird. OSMOND. What, ho ! my page. Enter Palamon. Thou, Palamon, shalt one day be a squire, My body-squire, my banner-man, and give The watch-word in my battles. Thou dost learn Thine exercises aptly, child of honour. Thou mayst, in time, attain the envied rank Of sacred knighthood, win thy golden spurs, Thy belt and crimson mantle, and become Chief of a thousand lancemen. PALAMON. Why I can vault Already o'er your war-horse ; run a mile, Nor stop to gather breath, ay, and ascend A ladder set against the battlements, Nor touch it with my feet. Then I can climb The steepest rocks, and dash into the flood, Nor heed, however strong, the eddying current ; And for a trench, by the bright peacock bird And our blest Lady ! I can clear the moat, Which circles yon great keep- tower, at a bound ! ( 4 ) OSMOND. Thou dost improve betimes, my goodly child, In stature, strength, and grace. PALAMON. O how, my lord, I long to be a man ! that for the love Of ladies I may tilt it in the ring. Ah, well know I there is a lady, who 264 THE VARANGIAN. [Act I. Hath, bright eyes like the sunbeams, and a voice Sweet as the sky-bird's when those sunbeams kiss The silent rain-drops of the summer cloud : And know I too, as truly, that to win Her silken favours for your warlike crest, You would in listed field rejoice to meet The stoutest knight in Europe. Send you not Some letter, or sweet message, by your page To her ere night ? I love such errands well ; For she, one day, did give me FITZ-ROLLO. What, good boy ? PALAMON. ladies' favours must be ever secrets. FITZ-ROLLO. Tell me, young sprig of gallantry, her name. PALAMON. That would be breach of honour in a page. 1 never whisper love-tales, or could I Speak of a certain damsel who was found, One moonlight evening, with a nameless knight Beside yon river in the alder grove ; And how that knight the lady fondly kissed Beneath a Was it not a beechen tree, My Lord Fitz-Rollo ? FITZ-ROLLO. Peace ! you little knave. PALAMON. Little ! sir knight ? Why am I not grown tall, Ay, very tall, for one who is no more In debt to years than I am ? OSMOND. Forward child, Scene I.] THE VARANGIAN. 265 Thy thoughts do far outrun thy tender age. Go, bid the grooms prepare my hunting-steeds, And let those saddles with rich paintings decked Be for our use to-day ; ( 5 ) well burnished, too, The golden bridles : bid my falconers, In blue and scarlet, hood my noble birds, And fasten well their broidered bewits on, With all their silver bells. What shall I wear ? O, I've bethought me. Palamon ! FALAMON. My lord, Your gracious pleasure. OSMOND. Gentle page, command My chamber squires who on my wardrobe wait, That they lay out my new surcoat of bright Flesh-coloured silk, with emerald wreaths embossed And fringed with silver : it befits me well. And let me have my sapphire belt with clasps Of figured gold, and the blue mantle lined With snow-white ermine ; nor forget my cap Of crimson damask, with its blood-red plumes Brought from the coast of Afric. PALAMON. I shall well Remember, sir. [Exit Palamon. OSMOND. And yet, methinks, 'tis not A day for field-sports. No, Fitz-Rollo, no ! I will not hunt to-day. FITZ-ROLLO. Shall we then call The mimic players that follow still the court ? ( 6 ) THE VARANGIAN. [Act I. Their dances, minstrelsy, and merry tales May well amuse us, till the banquet hour To more substantial jollity invites Our willing presence; when the flowing cups, Filled with the vintages of sunny France, Will circle briskly, and clear off* the fogs Of this dull isle that mantle on our wit, Which then shall flash in joyous brightness forth. OSMOND. O lovely France ! thy name stirs in my soul A thousand joys, ten thousand fond regrets. O for thy splendid tournaments again ! In which so oft on thy proud fields have I Dashed onward to the trump's enlivening notes, The gayest of her knights. FITZ-ROLLO. Rather would I Rush to the plunder of some wealthy town Or castle of these hated Saxon lords, Than win a bootless prize in boy-like strife. OSMOND. So would not I. Give me thy listed fields, Bright France, again ! My spirit burns to view, Though but in fancy, those gay scenes of fame. Gold-bannered tents and curtained galleries spread Their rainbow dyes on every side, with kings And princes thronged in gorgeous majesty ; Where twice a thousand radiant beauties shone With bright gems splendid, and still brighter eyes, That formed a galaxy of mingled beams Circling the noisy barriers. Then what crowds Of war-like knights and steeds of noble breed, In polished arms and jewelled trappings clad, Scene 1. 1 THE VARANGIAN. 267 That dashed the sunlight off in vivid streams, Till far the shining plain seemed all on fire. In such an hour, how swelled my joyous heart As the loud trump rang forth its martial peal, And called me to the strife. From helm to spur Gleaming in gold and gems, I onward urged My war-horse like the fire-levin bolt of Jove ; While round the picture of my lady-love On my broad shield displayed, ( 7 ) that orb's bright marge Shot forth encircling splendours ! FITZ-ROLLO. Ha ! ha ! ha ! OSMOND. Why dost thou laugh, and interrupt my dream Of knightly glory ? FITZ-ROLLO. O, I laugh to think How oft the artist was employed to paint Fresh damsels on that shield, save it could change To Flattery's mirror by some wizard spell, Wherein whatever maid, to whom at each New tilt thou for the envied prize didst kneel, Might proudly glass her beauty. OSMOND. Thou dost grow, My knightly brother, somewhat too severe. FITZ-ROLLO. O, by St. Rimini ! I'd rather see The flames ascending from some city sacked, Than all the proud chevaunche of merry knights. Then, for a gallant prize, give me a herd Of lusty slaves fit for the public mart. They're worth a million of your love-devices, THE VARANGIAN. [Act I. And all the scraps of female gear that flutter, Like scare-crows, on the mail of lass-lorn knight. OSMOND. Our tastes run counter, though our hearts are one, Hast heard the latest news ? FITZ-ROLLO. Some fresh revolt ? Or a new inroad on the Cambrian borders ? I care not which ; they'll yield us equal sport, And rescue me from sloth. My Norman sword Will wjn me conquest, conquest give me slaves And a more wide dominion. Thou art fallen Into a goodly heritage ; the Earldom Of Dorset, given thee by his Highness, is A portion for a prince, and Sherborne towers A princely dwelling. ( 8 ) But the news, the news ! I grow impatient for some stirring times. OSMOND. I nothing know of any fresh revolt : But, as I hear, Lord Here ward de Wake Is from the East returned to Ely's isle ; Whence, like a bloated spider in his web, He still darts forth to plunder with his hordes, Bidding the King defiance. Fame is loud In her report of his right valiant deeds : He is the theme of every minstrel's song, (9) The pride of every Saxon ; they aver He never lost a battle. Then, for arts And stratagems in warfare, all allow He is without compeer. FITZ-ROLLO. By the holy rood, The better still for me, so could I find Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 269 This famed Sir Beelzebub. Come, let us hence : I'm eager more to learn. I'll seek him out. And, having made this demon knight my captive, Send him to France, a foot-slave for some lady. ( 10 ) [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Hall of Audience. Flourish of trumpets. King William discovered on the Throne, the Earl of Hereford, Earl of Norfolk, Lanfranc, Guards and Attendants. KING. It shall not be, this marriage I forbid. Thou, Earl of Hereford, and my Lord of Norfolk, On your allegiance think of it no more : Thou shalt not, Ralph, with Hereford's sister wed. NORFOLK. Your Highness must excuse me, when I dare To plead the strong affections of my heart, Bound to that lovely lady. KING. Must ! sir knight ? Dare not to breathe a word like that to us. Must, doth but ill become a vassal's lips. We are thy sovereign, and will be obeyed. NORFOLK. Far as in duty to your Highness bound, In all things will I yield : but where my heart And honour bind me to my lady-love, I say again, I must and will be free. KING. That means, thy service and obedience go So far as our commands may please thy fancy. Audacious Baron ! I shall curb thy pride ; THE VARANGIAN. [Act I, And if ye do not both my will obey, Ye from these English shores shall soon be driven, And banished Normandy. Thy bridal day, If, Norfolk, thou persist to wed, shall be An evil day to all : a long divorce Shall mar thy hoped-for joys ; and thy sad bride, Robed like a widow in the weeds of woe, Mid her lone bower thine absence long bewail. NORFOLK. Good Heaven amend thee, King ! What ! have I served Thy bold designs and purposes for this ? With sixty barques, manned by a well-armed train, Did I not furnish thee, when to this isle Thou cam'st to seek a kingdom ? Thou forget'st How I at Hastings fought, and hewed my way Through Harold's stalwart ranks ; how but it irks My very soul to speak of what I've done To make thy ducal seat a kingly throne. KING. Matchless effrontery ! Vain, proud-hearted Norfolk, And wouldst thou have me think I owe to thee The wreath bound on these brows ? Slave, 'twas this arm, With iron sinews nerved, this heart of steel, With the brave blood of northern Hollo filled, That won this island throne ; and thou shalt find, If to my power rebellious, this same arm Shall crush thee into dust ! NORFOLK (not heeding him.) By all the saints, My services a brave reward awaits, To have my brightest blossoms rudely shook From Hope's fair tree by the tempestuous blast Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. Of power unbridled ! What ! to be denied The meanest freeman's privilege, to choose Where his fond heart directs ? Let cowardice And shame tread on my heels, if I do not Fulfil my vows of love ! HEREFORD. Why this would teach Meekness to be a railer ! I am not Gifted with patience, therefore would I speak, Though the grim headsman with his gleaming axe Stood waiting for my blood. Know, thou proud King, A Norman Baron will be free to act, Within his own dominions, as the prince That sways a regal sceptre. KING. Ay, but he, I swear, shall to this throne that homage pay, His vassals pay to him. HEREFORD. Go trample thou On thy base Saxon slaves the coward English, Whose name it is a foul disgrace to bear ; ( n ) And bow their necks beneath thine iron yoke. But I and valiant Norfolk will assert The rights of free-born Normans. LANFRANC. Calm, my lords, Your wrath-enkindled spirits. Know ye not It is a liegeman's duty to bow down Submissively to his high will who reigns Your feudal sovereign, whose prerogatives Ye seek to abrogate ? THE VARANGIAN. [Act I. HEREFORD. Italian priest, Ne'er meddle thou with what concerns thee not : 'Tis dangerous, be assured. Let him first learn To bound the licence of his lawless power, That, like a whirlpool, seeks to engulph our freedom In its wide-circling eddies. KING. Hence, rash fools ! Your passion misbecomes you. Hereford, The love which I did bear thy gallant sire, Is a strong shield between my wrath and thee. Quit now my sight, ere it too fiercely burns To be endured; for, by the Resurrection ! My vengeance shall fall heavy on your heads, If ye persist to cross me. HEREFORD (as he turns from the King.) Norfolk, heed Thou not his threatenings. Be, like me, but firm, And from this marriage I'll occasion pluck For glorious deeds hereafter. [Exeunt. KING. Lanfranc, thou My bosom counsellor art. Is it not hard That I must ever wrestle with the storm ? Let but one sunny gleam of peace shine out, And doubly dark the howling tempest comes. But never quails my spirit, for my path From earliest years hath in the whirlwind been ; And Victory, like a handmaid, ever waits To strew the golden track my foot hath trod Along the course of Time, with laurels dipt Deep in the life-blood of my sternest foes. Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 273 LANFRANC. Were it not better, good my royal liege, To grant the boon these Earls so much desire ? KING. That, Lanfranc, were weak policy indeed. Their powerful houses, knit by marriage bonds, Would stir up endless strife, nay, I've decreed The Lady Isabelle of Hereford To Jaques of Normandy. Enter Odo. Bishop of Bayeux, I hear, of late, that in thy soaring hopes Thou, like the cedar, dost thy branches spread High in the heavens, deep-shadowing us and all Of humbler growth, whom thy transcendent pride Accounts as weeds and brambles of the forest ; That thy ambition swells like some full stream, Whose wintry billows sweep o'er rock and shore : But have a care, or 111 that flood embank, And make its turbulence to foam and fret In narrower bounds, o'er which it ne'er shall leap. ODO. I lack the skill such figures to divine, Or read their meaning. KING. Meaning ? Why, my lord, That bishoprics are but the humble steps By which thou aim'st t' ascend that lofty throne Whose footstool is above the seat of kings, And reign, by virtue of elective right, Sovereign o'er Christendom. T 274 THE VARANGIAN. [Act I ODO. Suppose, sir King, That in the high consistory at Rome I should be at the next election chosen : If such proud destiny the stars ordain, Am I to blame ? Thou rather shouldst rejoice To find th' un worthiness of thy poor brother Deemed meet to fill the throne of Christ on earth. If Heaven decree that on my head should fall Honour, dominion, wealth, and power divine. Must I in stubbornness such gifts refuse, And hide me in a hermit's desert cell, To feed on roots and wear a sackcloth vest ? KING. Small fear is there that thou thy head wilt hide, When pomp and titles fall from heaven in showers : As little fear thou wilt that head expose Uncovered to the sun-blaze and the storm ; Or in the weeds of sackcloth wrap thy limbs When a tiara, decked with star-bright gems And gorgeous vestments, thine acceptance wait. Thy stormy spirit knowing well, I deem Thee most unfit to reign enthroned on earth Above all thrones. ODO. Thou hast no right to sit In judgment on my meetness ; nor canst thou Change that which is foredoomed. KING. Thou art befooled By a star-gazing prophet's idle dreams : As if the orbs, in their wide rolling spheres, Busied themselves with what we do on earth, Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 275 Appointing who shall fill our vacant place When we pass off the stage ! I hear thou hast A splendid palace purchased at proud Rome, Where thy chief agents bribe the cardinals ;( 12 ) Nor lack I knowledge of thy deep design To quit the kingdom secretly, and waste Thine ill-got riches in Italian climes, Tempting our Barons from the British shores, To seek, by war, dominion o'er the South. But England no, nor Normandy, my lord, Shall thus be robbed, or my poor people fleeced To fill the coffers of intriguing priests, And batten all the saucy scum of Rome. ODO. Be better, King, informed. But grant it true, What right hast thou to meddle in this business ? KING. What right, saidst thou, to meddle in this business ? That right which every king by right enjoys. Placed like the sun amid the heavens, he sits The radiance and the tempered heat to shower Of honour and of justice on the worthy: That right by which he from the spoiler guards His people, as the shepherd keeps his flock From the devouring wolf, making the laws A terror unto those that evil do, And to the good a blessing. Thou shalt find That I have both the right and power to act As doth become a king. ODO. Thy duty goes No further, or thy power, than temporal rule : The rest to Heaven's vicegerency belong. T2 276 THE VARANGIAN. [Act I. KING. Much I revere the Apostolic See Of ancient Rome ; but never, as a king, An independent sovereign, will I bow In worldly homage to the proudest head That wears her diadem, ( 13 ) an earthly sign Of a dominion not of earth, but Heaven ; And were the mitre of all Christendom placed To-morrow in full conclave on thy brows, With trumpet-sounding peal, and loud acclaim Of gathered princes and Rome's noisy rabble, Thou, by the Resurrection ! o'er my realms, People, nor bishops, shouldst have any rule. ODO. That may be tried : and let my foot be placed Once on the steps which lead to Peter's throne, That foot shall fearless trample in the dust The boldest head, though circled with a crown, Which dares dispute my Heaven-descended rights ! Thou mayst, too soon perchance, be taught to learn How weak are carnal weapons, when opposed To an uplifted arm, empowered to wield Heaven's own terrific thunder ! KING. For Europe's peace, For England's weal, and for thy private good, I thee arrest. What, ho ! my guards, advance ! Convey the Bishop of Bayeux to prison. [The Soldiers hesitate. O.DO. Thou impious King, I am God's minister. No man on earth dares to arraign or judge His holy herald, his anointed bishop, Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. Save he the chief of bishops. At your peril Here and hereafter be it, if ye touch. Irreverently, but even my garment's hem. KING. Must I perform the office of my slaves ? Soldiers, on your allegiance do my bidding. Odo, 'tis not the bishop I arrest, But he whom I created Earl of Kent, The temporal chief, the governor of England, When we in Normandy our gay court held : Shall we not of his stewardship require A strict account ? Hence with the Earl to prison. [The Guards advance. ODO. Rome, subtle tyrant, shall avenge my wrongs. And must th' oppressor's axe lop off the branches Of my fair tree of promise, filled with flowers Fresh opening to the sunny beams of greatness, Wherein the fowls of heaven their nests did make, While the wild herds beneath its shade reposed ? Must I be left a thunder-blasted trunk, Withered and bare upon the desert heath, Nor put forth one fair leap ? the golden streams That fed my greenness all dried up and gone ? Death or distraction save me from such thoughts ! [Exit, guarded. LANFRANC. My royal master, let KING. Intreat me not. My kingdom, palace nay, my very household Are filled with pactions that confound my peace. Treason is every where. These English slaves THE VARANGIAN. [Act I. LANFRANC. Ah, kingly chief ! wouldst thou by gentle means And gracious kindness strive their hearts to win, Ruling the Saxon and the Norman race With equal laws, I feel full bold to say They would be faithful subjects to thy throne. KING. And did I not, when first this land I won, Good Lanfranc, seek by every gentle art To make its people happy ? Did I not Convene the states, that of their own free choice They on these brows the diadem might place, When it was mine by good King Edward's will, And doubly mine by conquest ? Have I not Still held in reverence due their ancient laws, And rendered mild the bondage of the slave ? LANFRANC. Yet think, your Highness, how these Norman lords, Like ruthless Huns, rule o'er their wretched serfs ; How many a gallant English chief, who dwelt In the bright circle of his tapestried halls, Now, driven for ever thence, doth naked roam The dreary woods, and in their winter caves Companion with the wolf. ( 14 ) KING. Have they, my lord, Not merited this rigour ? Think how oft My quiet they disturbed with endless plots ; How they in all the provinces stirred up The flames of civil strife, from the green banks And classic bowers of Isis to the Tweed ; From Kent's pale sea-cliffs to Dunheved's towers, The mountain-palace of Cornubian kings ; Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 279 Till insurrection, like a mighty flood, Rolled onward to the footstool of our throne, Threatening to sweep us from these hostile shores. LANFRANC. The day of awful retribution 's past. Awake no more the spirit of revenge, Nor harrow up the bosom of the land With ruin's gory ploughshare. Now is come The time to win thy people's hearts by love : All ranks, all factions, men of every tribe To thee, great King, for equal justice look, And, hushed to peace, in calm expectance wait. KING. Ay, like the ocean sleeping in the sun, Till maddened whirlwinds o'er his slumbers rush, And shake him into fury. Trust ? I've none In Saxon faith, or Saxon friendship, Lanfranc. LANFRANC. Banish suspicion from thy troubled mind, Which but too oft begets the thing it fears. Canute remember, thy great predecessor, How equal were his laws, how just his sway O'er Dane and Saxon, when the deadly strife Of those contending nations sank to peace. Then came the mildness of his after reign, Like evening sunshine in the broad, clear sky, Untroubled by the tempest, sea and shore Blessing the holy calm. Be thou to all A loving father ; and as the fierce blood Of Norman and of Saxon shall unite, Like two proud streams, sprung from one northern fount Though sundered long, into one mighty flood, Sweeping corruption's filth and scum away : 280 THE VARANGIAN. [Act I. Commerce shall on it spread her wealthy sail, And make fair England with her treasures blest : Arts, learning, and the sciences shall wake As from the tomb, and o'er thy kingdom shed Glory that fadeth not. The thunder of thy steps, when first thou trod'st This isle's pale shores, made her tall mountains tremble, And all her slumbering institutions shook At once to fragments, as the earthquake, when The dread volcano sets the heavens on fire, Shakes cloud-encompassed cities, and their towers Dismantles in the dust ! But henceforth rule With gentleness and mercy, and ere long This land shall be a paradise of beauty, As groves luxuriant to the summer winds Unfold their blossoms, and rich vine-bowers spread Their golden wealth, where erst the mountain-flame Outpoured its red destruction. KING. Lanfranc, yes : Let these stern islanders their King obey, And then in his protection they shall find A father's loving-kindness. But, my lord, I shrewdly do suspect them. Enter Ivo. JVO. Mighty prince What tidings bring'st thou, Ivo, from that nest Of robbers and of rebels, who maintain In Ely's fen-girt isle their daring treason ? Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 281 IVO. O, good my sovereign lord, I am a man Scant in my words KING. That may be, Ivo, when Thou soundly sleep'st. ivo. Now know I not, my lord, Where words to find sufficient for my tale Of stratagems and robberies, plots and battles, Of my escapes and dangers. Yet it skills Not me to speak of half which I have done : But, not to boast, which I could ne'er endure, I've been a whirlwind in my wrath against That bog-encircled isle a very whirlwind, Which sweeps down groves of oaks, and on its back Bears off whole villages ; then, fiercer still, Crumbles to fragments palaces and towers, And in their dust its nakedness arrays, Assuming visible shape ! such and so wild Has been my fury. KING. And yet still doubt we If Ely stands not where it did of yore, With all its reeds and willows firmly fixt, Ay, and its castle, by that rebel built Stout Hereward de Brunne, even in despite The whirlwind of thine anger. ivo. Good my liege, That pirate, may the foul fiend of the moor Blast him with leprosy ! is to this isle Returned, with many followers, from the East ; And now the Saxon outlaws of the woods, 282 THE VARANGIAN. [Act I. Slaves, cut-throats, vagabonds, and arrant thieves, In numbers to him flock. KING. Thou, Lanfranc, hear'st How these thy faithful Saxons merit grace. LANFRAXC. O, heed thou not, it only claims thy scorn ; For on the red plain lies Rebellion low, And these are but the last faint, feeble throbs Of its death-wounded heart, the murmuring swell And heavings of the surge when dark the storm Hath passed away, and all is hushed above. Restore the exile to his soul-loved home, And those fierce spirits of despair no more Shall wander forth for vengeance ; but repose In grateful peace, and all their future deeds The blessed fruits of sweet obedience yield ; As the deep-roaring cataracts many streams, When past their barrier rocks, forget to chafe, And onward in united calmness flow, Sweetly and silently reflecting heaven, Like the pure heart of virtue. ivo. I have yet Great news, which must be to your Highness told. KING. Brief be thou, then. ivo. Ay, good my royal sire. I hate the ways of many, who will load A tale, that should be uttered in a breath, With countless words, with pauses and loud hems, And repetitions endless. Tales should be Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 283 KING. What thine, them tonguesome babbler, never are, ivo. Pithy and brief. Why, I am deemed, my lord, As dexterous at a tale as at a sword, And am persuaded oft KING. Then be so now, To tell at once the tidings thou hast brought. ivo. As a fierce troop of hunger-bitten wolves Rush on the centre of th 1 unguarded flock, So, without circumambiency, I dash Headlong into my story. KING. Saints, for patience ! ivo. I'm never tedious. Hereward de Brunne, As goes the frightful legend far and near In secret whispers, is the wizard chief Of a strange brotherhood, whose dark intrigues And mysteries none can fathom, save themselves. Report, in fear, speaks of their unknown rites At dead of night performed. Some say they offer Children in sacrifice to spirits and fiends That haunt the lonely moor and forest wilds, And pledge each other to eternal friendship In skulls of human blood. KING. Glory of heaven ! Doth such a curst society exist Within my kingdom ? By what name are they Distinguished, Ivo ? 284 THE VARANGIAN. [Act I. ivo. They themselves do call " Free and accepted Masons," a poor craft Deem I for chiefs to follow. But, no doubt, That is some mystic cloak, beneath whose skirts They hide their fiendish doings. It is said That Satan on their forehead sets his mark, By which, though strangers, they each other know, Unknown to all besides ; that every brother A demon hath to wait upon his beck, And do him vassalage ; that they prepare Draughts yielding life immortal, and by spells Base metals turn to gold ; that they deny Allegiance to all earthly kings, and swear Homage to hell's grim master. KING. And their numbers ? ivo. O, none can count or, by my soulscot, tell, So deep their secrets, where they may be found. The dreadful confraternity, 'tis feared, Like blood-veins in the human body, spread Through all society. KING. The sword shall spill This tainted blood, nor leave a drop behind Within my kingdom's body. ivo. Then, I doubt, It will a stinking carcass soon become, And wolves be its sole masters. LANFRANC. Good my lord, Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 285 I credit not Suspicion's evil tongue. " Report, in fear, speaks of their unknown rites :" How can she speak of that she nothing knows ? He who their rites ne'er witnessed, cannot bring True witness of them ; nor from those who have, Can tortures wring the secret. I have heard From men of good report, and where, my lord, They dare not lie in strict confessional, That innocent and holy are the rites Of this Masonic craft. KING. Talk not to me Of innocence. Own they not for their liege The Devil himself ? Art thou, too, of this Order ? I wrong thee. Thou art constant to our throne, As to yon heavens the sun. Have I no friend To rid me of that bold brigand, that chief Of wizard-craft and blood ? ivo. I have done all, My gracious lord, that mortal man can do Against this corsair and his cursed isle, Which is so girt with fen, morass, and moat, Lake, bog, and stream KING. Thou hast done nothing yet. Nothing is done till Hereward be dragged In chains a captive hither. ivo. Ah, sir King, A terrible Varangian is that chief! KING. I'll have the rebel's head ! Varangian ! what 286 THE VARANGIAN. [Act T. New mystic title's that? (is) ivo. It is a name His wild crew give him, and it strikes mankind With dread and horror. When from England fled This doughty chief, he joined those savage bands That guard the eastern Emperor, and are called Varangian axe-men. 'Tis declared that they Devour the flesh of men ! But well bethought He, in despite of all the Norman knights Kept to defend the Abbot of Peterborough, Hath stormed the golden city. Long withstood The strong walls of the abbey, till he set Their gates on fire, and rushing through the flames, The sacrilegious thief with impious hands Bore off the holy vessels, crowns of gold, With silver shrines, copes, cups, and gem-wrought robes, And money-treasures which no man may count ! ( l6 ) KING. Hell-demon ! Thou hast set my soul on fire ! ivo. IVe fuel yet wherewith to feed the flame. Earl Guy, lord warden of the Lincoln marshes, By him is slain, with all his valiant bands. The fishermen who served his table, brought This Hereward and his gang concealed in boats With piles of straw, who, while amid their tents Our Normans feasted, rushed upon th' unarmed, And brained them with their axes to a man ! I deem my tales have been all deftly told, In words most aptly chosen ; and albeit They wear an ugly visage, yet their dress Hides their deformity, as goodly garments Scene II.l THE VARANGIAN. 287 Mend a bad face. And then for speed, how brief Hath been my phrase on such most weighty subjects ! O, by my soulscot, I do love to tell My stories with the haste I often count, At drowsy night, my paternoster belt. KING. Thrice-croaking raven, peace ! Long hath this isle Held out against my power. A Norman fleet Shall on the sea-side hem these rebels round. I'll have this wild Varangian, though I pawn My diadem to raise eternal fleets And armies for the war ! ivo. It is in vain : No mortal power can that freebooter quell, Or I had brought him down. But he doth wear Enchanted armour, and a hell-charmed life ; For he in infant blood hath been baptized By witches in their dark and unknown caves, The Devil standing sponsor. Why, my lord, His very name will make a legion flee ! I was the only man that firmly stood Among five hundred, when he last approached Our forest citadel ; and but for me No matter : I detest a boasting soldier. KING. Thou art a prodigy, so much thou lack'st Self-love, which others cherish. ivo. Nay, let not My lord the King o'ermete my poor deserts. 'Tis true, they say I wonders have performed ; Greater 1 yet may do. But let me counsel 288 THE VARANGIAN. [Act I. What shall be done to win this last strong-hold Of rebels in the kingdom, KING. Well, proceed. Yet, if thy words be true, what hope hast thou Where thy great valour failed ? ivo. O my good lord, 'Tis not in human strength. But, sire, there is A strange unearthly woman,, who hath long Dwelt lonely on the bleak and desert moor, ( 17 ) Two leagues from our war-station. None will dare Myself excepted when pale day expires, Her hut f approach beneath its blasted oaks, On which two devils, shaped like ravens, sit Hoarse croaking to the moon, while faint and far The shriek of spectres o'er the lone waste comes ; For she holds converse with invisible things, Making the dead to speak, fierce fiends obey Her warlock spells, and she can taint the flocks And herds with murrain, blast with racking pains And cloud-begotten fires all those on whom Her withering curses light. Let me but place The wonder-working hag amid our ranks, I'll pledge my life to vanquish, by her aid, That fell Varangian robber. KING. Ivo, thou Dost counsel well. Since honourable arms Of knighthood fail against that blood-baptized, That demon-child of evil, we will meet And make him quail beneath our arrows, winged With mightier spells than his. Speed, Ivo, hence, Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 289 And gather valiant men ; then let this witch Be led into the camp, that she may stand Amid our warlike van, and dash the fires Of hell on all our foes. LANFEANC. Good angels be Thy guard, my royal master ! I condemn The aid of evil spirits. Enter Messenger. KING. Now, the news ! MESSENGER. Fierce Denmark's sovereign, with ambition fired, Aided by Norway and the Earl of Flanders, Prepares a thousand vessels ; while the North Outpours her swarming bands for Britain's isle, Where they the inheritance of former years, And long-departed glory, pant to win. At Haitheby their fleet collected waits The mighty embarkation. ( 18 ) KING. Ho ! within ! Enter Officer. Send messengers, and from beyond the seas Call to my standard every hardy knight That seeks for fame in arms, till I have filled The land with harnessed steeds and mail-clad men, Till her bright shores with bristled lances gleam, Like distant billows when the weary sun Hasteneth to meet the ocean. Gathering fast, 290 THE VARANGIAN. [Act I. The dark clouds come, whereon the thunder lies Pointing his burning arrows. Boldly we Will through the tempest, like the eagle, dash, And in the day-beams of dominion hold Our course above the misty rack and storm : Established then shall be our throne, unmoved By stern opposers, and hereafter fame Crown us with glory : as the lofty cliff, Which hath for ages braved the ruffian winds And dashing of the sea- wave's noisy strife, Is left at last in peace, the sullen deep Far off retiring to return no more, While on its golden brows the evening sheds Her sun-departing splendours. END OF THE FIRST ACT. Act II.] THE VARANGIAN. 291 ACT II. SCENE I. A Hall in the Palace of the Earl of Northumberland, at Winchester. Enter Zalmira and Ella. ZALMIRA. MISERY is every where ! No change of place To me brings joy, tranquillity, or hope. ELLA. May I inquire the story of thy woes ? I am but a poor slave, slave from my birth ; But thou, I ween, a better state hast known. Forgive my humble pity. ZALMIRA. Thou art kind, And we are equals, gentle Ella, here. The daughter of a noble house was I In the bright golden city of the East. What am I now ? A wretched outcast, slave To fierce barbarians in a land unknown. Love, thou woe worth thee for it ! on my fate Hast flung this last disgrace. ELLA. Ah ! I have heard But never known, for I, alack ! have but A sorry face, that love brings many cares. Yet there are pleasures even for us poor slaves When comes a holiday, and we can run About the flowery fields u2 292 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. ZALMIRA. There is no tree, No flower grows here, in this cold, dreary isle, That can remind me, lovely Greece, of thee. Land of my birth, the Muses 1 blessed home, Thy deep-blue sunny skies, thy moonlight seas, Soothed with the voice of lover's lute and lay ; Thy palm-groves bending o'er the ruined fane, With colonnade and portal grey in years ; Thy vine-empurpled hills, and myrtle bowers Blent with the rich geranium's rainbow dyes ; Thy mountains, too, whose echoes seem the voice Of ages past, when heroes and bright forms, Clad in immortal beauty, haunted all Thy shades and streams, O, ye are ever nigh To my sad heart and memory ! Nor less dear My friends, my home, where all that splendour yields A Moslem paradise around me shed. Yet what the loss of these, to losing him Who was the pleasure of all pleasant things ! ELLA. Sweet soul ! Heaven mind her wits, for they are crazed. goodness save me ! Yonder comes our master, The merchant of the household. ( J 9) If found here, 1 shall be huffed and buffeted amain. [Exit. [Zalmira retires. Enter Almaric, followed by Slaves of both sexes. ALMABIC. Come, be alert, ye lazy, hungry hounds, Ye idle neifs and wenches, who for nought Will briskly stir, save in your own sweet pastimes. Go to, ye losel knaves, log-bearing louts ; Scene I.] THE VARANGIAN. 293 Ye snatch-crust trencher knights be quick, and bring Fresh rushes, with sweet flowers and scented herbs, Chamber and hall to strew. Go to the mill For meal of oats ; and you, sir Wizleface, see Three bullocks slain to-day, and five fat sheep, With two stalled calves ; and when they smite, take heed Thy own calPs head be safe. FIRST SLAVE. I would it were From your hard blows. ALMARIC. No murmu rings or complaints When I am present ; those must be reserved T" amuse your idle hours. SECOND SLAVE. Then certain 'tis " We never shall be grumblers in this house, While you are merchant here. ALMARIC. Take thou good heed To thy free tongue; 'tis an unruly member. SECOND SLAVE. How should his tongue be free, who may not call One limb his own ? Or how should he have rule O'er that which is another's ? ALMARIC. Aptly questioned. And as 'tis I who have the sovereign power, I'll curb that saucy member, or make all Its fellow-members suffer for its folly. Soft-swearing rudesby, 'tis thy place to light The fire in the great oven. Look to it well, My man of small-beer wit ; for I protest 294 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. If thou the wheaten cakes and manchets burn, Or if the simnel wafers be not sweet And rich in taste, thou to the whipping-post Shalt be tied up, and twice ten stripes receive. No muttering, sulky varlet. Where I reign The merchant of the household, all shall do Unmurmuringly their duty, or be sold Beyond the seas. As for your own coarse bread Of buckwheat, horsebeans, barley-bran, and rye, ( 20 ) It claims not my regard. Now mark me : if Ye loiter in your tasks, I'll cut you short In my purveyance of your daily fare, And nail you by the ear t' th' buttery-hatch, Till hunger mend your sloth. Away ! ye moths. Sluts, lobcocks, sluggards ! [Exeunt Slaves. Ha ! Zalmira here ? Come hither. Why so sad ? Thou art of all Our captive maids the fairest in the household. Good things have I in store for thee, if thou Meet my fond wishes. ZALMIRA. There is nothing good This world can yield me now, for I am past All hope, all consolation. Earth no more Can stir the passions in this frozen heart. I am like one if ever such there were Who breathless, motionless, and voiceless lies With marbled limbs entranced, and yet awake To all the scenes of sadness or of joy Around him passing. ALMARIC. By the Host, thou talk'st In lofty riddles; but thy gentle voice Scene I.] THE VARANGIAN. 295 Is like the music of a minstrel's song Heard in a foreign land, whose tones are sweet Although unknown his language. Comely slave, My love for thee is mighty. Marvel'st not That I, a man of worship, condescend Thus low and long to woo, who can command So many fair and yielding maids that doat On my desired person ? ZALMIRA. O, in compassion To such desiring fools, on them bestow The gift of thy perfections, nor to me, So thankless for a favour I would shun, Proffer what others covet, thy sweet person ; Which seems, in my poor judgment, formed of all That in thy sex is hateful. ALMARIC. Poor ingrate ! But I must teach thee better. Thou remember'st When the slave-merchant, that old, bearded Jew, Who with his human cattle up and down The country travels, brought thee to this city ? I saw thee in the slave-mart and, well pleased With thy soft beauty, purchased thee, albeit There was no lack of maidens in this house ; No, nor of comely ones, well skilled in all Th' accomplishments and graces of thy sex. In pity to that delicate form, did I Not take thee from the bondage of a wretch Who knew no mercy ? Yet, ungrateful, thou Art coy and cold, and ever weeping tears Like a November cloud. 296 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II, ZALMIRA. Ay? for thine own Vile purposes thou took'st me, not in pity To my affliction. But I was not born To be the abject slave of thy desires. Fallen as I am, my spirit soars beyond The darkness of my doom, as upward mounts The tuneful sky-bird to the gates of morn, Ere earth and night have parted. ALMARIC. Am I not Merchant and ruler of a princely household, In which the female slaves all envy thee My kind regard, my condescending love ? ZALMIRA. As the ghost-haunted yew-tree darkly towers, Rooting itself in dead men's graves, so thou Dost, mid corruption's foul and putrid soil, Clad in thy scant and borrowed power, put forth Thy branches proudly, poisonous dews distilling On all beneath, where lurk the envenomed toad, And speckled adders coil their slimy folds. ALMARIC. Is this meet language to a man like me ? And yet I love thee still. ZALMIRA. Thy love is like The fondness of those creeping plants that kill The noble tree to which they closely cling. Vain dotard ! all antipathies shall meet In cordial union, thunder and lone silence, Sunshine and deepest night together dwell, Scene I.] THE VARANGIAN. 297 And summer on pale winter's snowy brow Her roseate garlands bind, ere love shall join Our hearts in unison. ALMARIC. Nay, pretty fool, How canst thou to thyself so cruel prove ? If with my tender wishes thou comply, Light shall thy service be, nor wilt thou feel The common lot of slaves. Thou shalt be clothed In costly robes of freedom, ay, and wear Chains too of gold ; nor shall some sparkling gems Be wanting to adorn those raven locks, Which, in despite of slavery's law, have I Saved yet from being shorn. ZALMIRA. Must I endure This insolence to honour and to virtue ? Thou base and scurvy groom, avaunt ! nor dare, Slave though I am, t* insult me with thy presence. ALMARIC. What silly airs are these ? I marvel much. This proud reserve will nought avail with me. There stands no lord 'twixt thy unwillingness And my full power [Seizing her hand. ZALMIRA. Vile slave, thou liest ! A lord There is who stands betwixt thy brutal power And my unsullied virtue, even He The Lord of lords, whose might the creeping worm, And all those worlds that flash through midnight skies, Guards with an equal care. On Him I call : Help ! help me, Heaven ! I have no friend but Thee. 298 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. Enter Hereward, in the habit of a slave. ALMARIC. Why, who art thou ? HEREWARD. A man ! bound by the laws Of manhood to protect a woman, when Base-hearted power insults her. ZALMIRA (shrieking.) Ha ! it is His voice ! his face ! It is my long-lost [Faints in the arms of Hereward. HEREWARD. Mother of God ! what blessed vision cheers My wondering sight ? Can this I see and feel Be real life ? Is it not shadow all ? No, it hath substance. Yes, kind Heaven, it is My own beloved Zalmira ! ALMARIC. Hence, base dog ! Who sold'st thyself to be my household slave, My drudge, but yesterday ; or I shall so Chastise thy insolence, that thou wilt find 'Twere better to have thrust thy naked hand Into the lion's mouth, than thwart my will. HEREWARD. Go and chastise thy base unruly passions, And to my keeping this fair maid resign ; Or on thy carcass shall this hand alight So heavily, that thou wilt, in thy fear, Think it the lion's paw. ALMARIC. Thou dunghill grub ! This damsel is my money-boughten slave, Scene I.] THE VARANGIAN. 299 As thou art, foul-mouth, with thy wolfish leer. Then dare not, at the peril of thy life, To interpose between us. Yield her up. [Seizing Zalmira. HEREWARD. Proud villainy, avaunt ! Then take thou that ! [Striking Almaric. ALMARIC. Renowned St. Dransius save me ! ( 21 ) What, a blow ! Scarce have I breath to speak. A lion's paw This fellow hath indeed ! A bond-slave strike A freeman ! one who in a prince's house High office holds ! This shall to thee be death. Had I my sword, I would not wait for law. HEREWARD. Nor, had I mine, should justice wait for thee. ALMARIC. The debt I owe thee soon shall be discharged, And no complaint will ever pass thy lips That thou hast not received its full amount. [Exit. ZALMIRA. Alas ! my lord HEREWARD. Fear not, for I am safe From the poor impotence of his revenge. But tell me, dear one, how comes it that I Behold thee in this far-off isle o' th' west A wretched slave, to insult and to toil Unfriendedly exposed ? I, who believed Thou still wert in thy father's gorgeous halls, The worship of all eyes which on thee gazed, Awaiting that glad hour of promised bliss 300 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. When I should to the Emperor's court return, And claim thee for my bride. ZALMIRA. When thou, a chief In the Varangian guards, the Emperor's leave Didst gain to visit these thy native shores, A princely lover sought my hand, and won My sire's consent. No hope was left for me But in a speedy flight ; and I, disguised, Embarked on board a vessel bound for France. On the wild seas a pirate took our ship, And happily to this famed island bore us. Where I was to a Hebrew merchant sold Who deals in slaves ; and being hither brought, Became the bondmaid of that wretch, from whom Thy timely presence saved me. HEREWARD. Blest be Heaven ! For in Despair's dark, shadow-haunted vale We gather the bright flowers of hope and joy. My dearest one, my own Ionian maid, All now shall soon be well. ZALMIRA. O, I am like The dungeon captive, who at early dawn Comes forth to liberty, and once more looks On the rich splendours of the morning skies, Which, filled with music, shed a dazzling flood Of glory on his long-beclouded sight, While Eden round him blooms. But now I gaze On thee again, how is it I behold My brave Varangian in these peasant weeds Of slavery clad ? Alas ! how canst thou save Scene I.] THE VARANGIAN. 301 Zalmira from pollution, or the tomb. Who art thyself a bondman ? HEREWARD. Be at peace. I hither came in this attire to seek My dear-loved brother, Morcar, Earl of Mercia, Whom the stern Norman bastard, with false wiles, Allured into his power. I sold myself A slave, that under such disguise I might Discover in the tyrant's court where now, A chain-bound captive, in some dungeon lies That foe to Norman rule. But fear thou not, For there are those in Waltheof s household who Are friends to our good cause ; and a stout band Awaits my signal-horn in yonder woods. But, till we quit this city, let my name Escape not thy sweet lips. Enter Almaric, with armed Slaves. ALMARIC. There stands the dog, The saucy bond-slave, who dared lift his hand Against his master. Drag him to a dungeon. At eventide he hangs. [ The slaves seize Hereward. HEREWARD. City and court Shall perish first in flames ! ALMARIC. Thafs treason. Mark, He uttereth treason ! ZALMIRA. I will with thee go 302 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II, To prison and to death. Would I had died, Ere thou beheld'st these crime-polluted halls. HEREWARD. Be calmly firm, my loved Ionian maid. No supplication here. Full well know I Thy Grecian spirit bravely will protect Thy person from that foul insulter's touch. Receive this dagger, which I did forget, Or in my passion I had with it stabbed Yon villain coward. An Ionian girl Knows how to use it in bright honours cause. Farewell but some brief hours, and then we meet To part no more. Lead on, base, menial herd, Driven by a baser Norman, menial cur. If thou a finger lift to wrong that maid, Thy blood shall pay the forfeit of thy daring. \Exit) guarded. ALMARIC. Pshaw ! Surly shag-eared bear, within twelve hours The hungry ravens shall o^er thy carcass croak. You now, my weeping lady -bird, may mark The punishment of those who dare insult Me, the intendant of this princely household. Hadst thou not better, ere it be too late, Consent more pleasingly ? 'Tis true, I feel (Seeing the love by thee to others shown) A kind of non-regardance in my heart ; Yet I, perchance, may for a time ZALMIRA. Grim fiend, Avoid my sight ! I fear no more thy power. Barbarian, think'st thou I, in whose veins flow The blood of princes, e'er could stoop to thee ? Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 303 A Grecian maid ! whose native land resounds Throughout the world for science, arts, and arms, Conquest and freedom, on whose laurelled brows The glory of a thousand ages shine, Won by the deeds of her immortal sons ! And shall the daughter of a land so famed Be made a foul reproach by losel grooms ? Insult my spotless honour once again, And thou shalt find that in this bosom burns The heroic fire of that illustrious race, The pride of ancient Greece, from which I sprang ; And ere in me thou shalt disgrace my country, This poniard will I bury in thy heart ! [Exit. ALMARIC. The Saints defend us ! what a walking engine, Charged with Greek Jire, goes there ! A precious pair of slaves are these which I Did purchase in the mart ! A bitter loss ! Let me bethink. The villain cost ay, what ? The value of three falcons, for he rated His bones and muscles at a swinging price. Pshaw for the price ! revenge is dearer far. Yes, one I'll to that lofty station raise His merits claim ; the other sink so low By toil and sufferance, that her fire shall fail To yield the glimmering of a glow-worm's tail. [Exit. SCENE II. The Chamber of the Countess of North- umberland. A Sideboard of four degrees, ascending one above the other, and crowned with a tester of cloth and gold ; each degree being Jilled with valu- able ornaments and dishes, cups and vases of silver and gold. 304 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. Judith discovered, and Matilda, at a distance, examining a wardrobe. JUDITH (rising.) I cannot long endure this mental strife ; It maddens me ! O, I must quench this fire, Which Love hath from the eyes of Dorset's Earl, The gallant Osmond, lighted in my heart ; Or honour and fair fame, like martyr-saints, Will perish in the flames. An evil hour Was that in which the Norman conqueror gave My hand reluctant to Northumberland ; The homely, witless, dull, plain-spoken man, I hate him ! Many causes for this hate Torment my bosom. First, he is a Saxon : Then he is rude, devoid the courtly grace Of our gay youth of Gaul, gigantic shaped, And scurvily ill-favoured, heinous faults In a fair lady's eye ; and, worse than all, He is my husband ! Can there be no way Found out to rid me of this living plague ? Honour hath chained me to a rugged rock, While passion, like a vulture, drinks my blood, And battens on my vitals ! What art thou So busied with, good wench ? MATILDA. Lady, I seek That splendid coronet and robe in which You won so many proud admirers, when The King gave to the embassy of Fran ce His most magnificent banquet. JUDITH. Why should I To-day be thus arrayed ? Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 305 MATILDA. Expect not you The noble Osmond, Dorset's graceful Earl, Your husband being absent ? JUDITH. Ah, Matilda, Thou know'st my weakness: feed not thou the flame Which burns to madness here. MATILDA. 'Tis Dorset's love Must do that happy office. I, your handmaid, Can only trim the alabaster lamp Which holds the flame, and keep its brilliant light Hid from the vulgar gaze. JUDITH. It cannot long, I fear, be hidden from my rude husband's eye : Then comes the storm all light and hope to quench. Northumberland, good easy? shallow man, Pillowed on love's connubial couch, dreams on Of happiness, with all the sober pleasures That home and a tame, fond, obedient wife Can yield his simple heart. But let the snakes Of jealousy once plant their venomed sting In his dull brain, he, like the lion roused From hungry sleep, would roar his vengeance forth, And mangle without mercy. All the court Would ring with my disgrace, and on this head The stern wrath of my kingly uncle fall ! Yet passion drags me on, though thy dark gulph, Perdition, yawns before me ! I'll go no further. Lay that robe aside : I'll Osmond see no more. x 306 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. MATILDA. How long will you Continue in that humour ? Had you heard, Like me, the night gone by, those praises which He lavished on your charms, comparing all That's beautiful in Nature with your beauty ; And then protesting that you beggared quite His poor imagination, surely you Would see him once again, if but to hear The music of his love-inspired tongue ; For when he of my mistress speaks, his voice Sounds like a rich-toned harp. JUDITH. And did he speak So fondly of me ? MATILDA. Did he, lady ? Ay. I cannot talk in his bewitching phrase, Or you would bid me stand from morn to night His fondness to repeat. I never heard Your gruff-voiced, huge, unmannered husband yet Pay your rare beauty one brief compliment. He stands before you ever, in my thoughts, Like one, born blind, placed on a mountain top, Unconscious of the lovely scene outspread In vain around him, with its pomp of woods, Valleys, and lakes, and streams, and glittering towers. Is he then fit to husband such a lady, The rose of Normandy, the Conqueror's niece ? What is he but a bearded Saxon born ? ( 22 ) An Englishman ? a name that honour scorns And brands with infamy. Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 307 JUDITH. Too sadly true ! But how may I fling off this load of shame ? MATILDA. O, there are many ways. JUDITH. Name them. MATILDA. The best And speediest I have knowledge of, is death. JUDITH. What ! must I die? MATILDA. No, lady, Heaven forefend. JUDITH. What then import thy words ? Thou canst not mean My husband's murder ? MATILDA. Whch of Norman race Accounts it murder to dispatch a Saxon ? These English slaves, though deemed of gentle line, Driven for rebellion from their flame-scathed halls, Make the green woods their home ; and, lady, now Among our lords 'tis fashionable sport To hunt them down with blood-hounds. JUDITH. Yet his death, If wrought by me, I fear would on myself Destruction bring ; for though a Saxon born, He in the royal favour of the King The foremost Baron stands. MATILDA. Are there not means 308 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. And instruments by which this deed of justice, Justice to your deserts and injured beauty, Might be accomplished, and th' unconscious world Account you innocent ? JUDITH. Art thou not bribed, Bribed by this Osmond ? MATILDA. By the heart of truth I answer, no ! My love for one so wronged Is my sole motive ; and my aim is only To see you happy, which can never be While Waltheof lives. JUDITH. In that, at least, thou speak'st A fatal truth. MATILDA. An instrument there is, Or greatly do I err, who would with joy Complete your wishes. I have marked him well. JUDITH. Whom dost thou mean ? MATILDA. Cardoc, a British slave Bought by Almaric, merchant of your household. A well-proportioned, sturdy loon is he, And on his gloomy brow lurks dark revenge, Some bloody deed to act. Full well know you That all of his wild race the Saxons hate, And thirst to take their lives. JUDITH. Why surely thou Wast born above the rank of those who serve. Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 309 MATILDA. Yes ; but would serve my royal mistress ever. It was my fate to be a captive slave To Tosti, brother of the late King Harold, In his wild, pirate wanderings on the coast Of Normandy. My brother and my sire, Who bravely fought, the caitiff rover slew When made his prisoners. Have I not full cause To hate the name of Saxon ? But your thoughts Are absent from my tale. JUDITH. They are indeed. MATILDA. Say, shall I to your presence bring this slave ? For hither I can lead him unobserved, If so it be your will. Northumberland Is with his hounds to the New Forest gone : How easy, on a swift steed, for this slave To follow him ; and, in some bower concealed, A steel-bow straining to the arrow's head The fleet shaft on its bloody errand send, As Waltheof, chasing the wild stag, shall pass Unheedful by. Who then shall dare suspect You ever did him wrong ? JUDITH. Why what a head For precious mischief hast thou, to devise With ease and quickness such a fearful deed ! In thy captivity, for I did mark Somewhat the tenour of thy hapless tale, Thou must have learnt the soldier's blood-stained craft. MATILDA. O, most assuredly ; I've witnessed scenes, 310 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. Many and oft, would turn e'en courage pale. Women have been, in days gone by, renowned For warlike deeds, and in their country's cause Have struck a tyrant dead. In honest truth, Ourselves are dearer to us than our country ; And he who tramples with the foot of power On our desires and hopes, barring the way To love and happiness, deserves to die A traitor's death. Reck not how it be done, So done it be. JUDITH. My spirit kindles with Thy daring words. MATILDA. It shall be all on fire, Ere I have ended. Lady, you've been made A most unwilling tool of kingly craft, A bond of state, given to the man your heart Scorns and abhors, to bind him sure and fast To the great Conqueror's interest. Out upon him ! This Waltheof is the Saxons' worshipped god, And at his altar you, the victim crowned With flowers and pomp, hath the o'er weening King Heartlessly sacrificed. I see she yields. Now is the time to bring this British slave. Revenge and interest prompt me to the deed, For Dorset's Earl hath promised gifts might tempt A queen, if by my aid he win the Countess. [Aside, and Exit. JUDITH. Stay, stay Matilda. Ah ! how shall I act In this dark business ? She hath spoken truth : I am the victim to this horrid idol Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 311 Of Saxon worship. O, that wounds my heart Like a fell serpent's fang! Then let him die ! The far-adventuring merchant trusts his all To seas, and winds, and storms : should tempests rise And loud the billows roar, his trembling heart A thousand fears assail ; but when he views His wealthy ship, through ocean's trackless depths With her brave freight safe to the haven returned, His terrors are forgotten. So will I On murder's red and dangerous sea launch forth, Fame, life, and honour venturing for my love : If I outride the tempest and the surge, Rich shall I be in all that time can yield Worth our acceptance : should my frail barque founder Well, be it so ; I too shall with it sink, And then comes dark oblivion ! better far To perish from remembrance, than to live Disclaimed by hope and honour. Enter Matilda and Hereward. MATILDA (aside to the Countess.) The slave hath dared To strike your merchant, for some fancied wrong Done to a bondmaid, whom, it seems, he loves. I've led him from his dungeon, where he lay Waiting the hangman's halter. Promise freedom And her he doats on, there's no peril which, In his sad need, he will not risk to win Such gracious favours, madam. JUDITH. This is no common slave. I see the pride Of nobleness imprinted on his brow, That suits not his low state ; and in that eye 312 THE VARANGIAtf. [Act II. The fire of great desert shines, tempered with The beams of modesty. I blush to speak. MATILDA. Bow to the princess ; and if thou obey Her bidding promptly, bright rewards will fall Upon thee measureless. JUDITH. Thou art a slave. HERE WARD. Lady, I am. JUDITH. That is a wretched state To those who better days have known, and lived Esteemedly with merit ; and, if I Err not, there was a time when fair renown Flung on thee her rich beams, and thou didst walk In honour's sunshine, with thy head erect A man among thy fellows. HEREWARD. Ay, and will Do ever so. JUDITH. I must believe thee. But To hold acquaintance with contempt and scorn ; To rank below the beggar, wait on meanness, Do worthless, servile offices for those Who others serve for bread ; to be cast out From the communion of all freeborn men Though lowest in degree, thy master's dog Caressed when thou art spurned ; to be worse fed, Less cared for than the basest hound that howls The winter night without the bolted gate Of that stern master, yet not dare to lift Thy voice against oppression ; subject still Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 313 To the vile lash of every fool above thee, Unmulct though he in spleenful mood should plunge His dagger in thy heart, canst thou endure A life like this ? HEREWARD. No, gentle lady ; I Would rather give this flesh to be the food Of hungry wolves. JUDITH. That breathes a manly spirit. I'll not suspect thee, nor believe that thou Dost vaunt misseemingly. There is, perhaps, Some maiden of thy choice ; one whom thy love Would shield from every danger, and her path Through life's dark pilgrimage bestrew with flowers ; One whom thy burning passion holds more dear Than the red tide which circles through thy veins : Have I not guessed aright ? HEREWAED. Indeed thou hast. JUDITH. And she must brook the insults of thy state, A sorrow-stricken bond-slave. What wouldst thou Enact to win her freedom ? HEREWARD. Barter gladly My life-blood for her ransom. JUDITH. Bravely spoken. What wouldst thou do, were I that life to save Thy rashness hath endangered, and to both Give freedom, give thee honour, wealth, and place, Where thy deservings, like a goodly tree 314 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. Beside the gentle waters, might bring forth Fruits goldenly ? HEREWARD. Princess, I would do all Which in thy goodness thou couldst of me claim. MATILDA (aside to the Countess.) The very fellow, madam, to our wish. I judged him rightly. Fear you not to give Full meaning to the brave design in hand. JUDITH. I have a foe a deadly foe, that lies Coiled like a serpent here ; he poisons all My peace of mind, and on this hearfs warm blood Doth hourly feed. Thy skilful hand must draw The monster forth : his death will be my life. HEREWARD. The cause of one so beautiful and good, Must be the cause of justice and of truth. Make me thy knight, and I will find a sword Shall dauntlessly in combat smite this foe, Though on his helm as haught a crest he wears, And on his shield a heraldry as proud As the most lofty Baron in the court. MATILDA (aside to the Countess.) I knew he was a hero for our purpose. I had a right discernment when I chose This ready instrument. JUDITH. Be well advised. Thou canst not meet him in the listed field, Amid the concourse of mail-gleaming knights And living splendour of fair ladies' eyes, The champion of a lady. No ; his power Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 315 And lofty rank a nameless slave would scorn, Even as the kingly mountain-bird disdains To combat with the simple-singing wren. HEREWARD. The days have been, that in the embattled field Victory her banner o'er my knightly crest To shout of armies waved ; and though my fame Behind the heavy clouds of bondage lie, 111 dash those clouds aside, and make the world Start at its sudden glory ! Who is this chieftain of baronial pride ? And what the name he bears ? JUDITH. Must I pronounce it ? MATILDA (aside to the Countess. ) That he will falter be not you afraid. O, I can to his heart-core pierce, and read Undaunted resolution written there In characters of blood, plain as I see The fires of his dark eye. Mark, how they flash, Like summer lightning from the clouds of eve Along the dim horizon. We shall hear The thunder rolling shortly. JUDITH. Yes, I must His hated name pronounce, or, Cardoc, thou Wouldst in thy guessings, like a blind man, err, Nor ever find the pathway to revenge ; For, as thou art a Briton, he must be Thy foe as well as mine. It is my husband HEREWARD ( aside. ) Thy husband ? Heaven confound thy dark intents, Thou base, and bloody-minded Norman wife ! 316 THE VARANGIAN. [Act It. JUDITH. Northumberland the Saxon ! he who holds Thee in vile bondage, he for whom thou toiPst Slave of his meanest slaves. Thy arm must strike In secrecy ; in ambush thou must wing Thine arrows to his heart. HEREWARD. A thousand curses on thee fall for this ! Ten thousand fall on me, if I uplift A hand to do him harm ! JUDITH. Ha ! what said'st thou ? MATILDA. Dogs gnaw his heart-strings ! Have I been deceived ? Outwitted by a slave ? HEREWARD. Misdeem'st thou me So base, because a bondman's badge I wear, That 1 must be a miscreant cut-throat ruffian ? Dost thou not know that many a gallant heart, All worthiness and honour, beats beneath The weeds of bondage ? while the jewelled vest, The golden spur, and coronal of pomp Are oft like flowers, that hide beneath their bloom The spotted toad and adder ? MATILDA. Here's a knave ! A dunghill reeking with the fumes of honour ! A swine pranked with a jewel in his snout ! A kennel-raker in a bishop's cope, Reading a homily ! Out and away With the foul ditch-dog ! Let a gallows cord The snatch-crust strangle ! Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 317 HEREWARD. O, it cannot be That thou shouldst seek thy noble husband's death, Whom all men love. Thou dost but try my truth. JUDITH. Base lack-brain fool ! I cannot deign to pour In thy dull ear the hopes, the rage, the pangs That rack this heart. I wish him dead ! and thou A fitting tool wert deemed, or we had not Stooped thus to honour thee. HEREWARD. I scorn the office. Let such abhorred distinctions be conferred On those thou better than thy husband lov'st. They merit such high service. JUDITH. Saucy groom ! How far have we o'ermeasured thy deserts. MATILDA. Measure them, madam, by the hangman's rope, That lifts him to the highest forest tree ; Where, swinging to and fro i' th' tainted winds, The hungry ravens will croak his merits forth As they pick clean his bones. Mad could I run So to be cozened by a swinish slave ! HEREWARD. These are your Norman women ! Ye are both A glorious sample of your hell-black tribe, Your nation's infamy and England's curse ! JUDITH. Disserviceable, courageless, mean cur. That lick'st the foot which spurns thee, and the rod Which thy lack-linen back makes red with stripes ! 318 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. No fire hast thou in thy tame, lukewarm blood, Nor art thou with ambition's metal steeled ; But like a sleepy, ice-bound river, which Suffers all burdens unresistingly Its still, cold waves to cross, not like the sea When stirred to wrath by the rebellious winds, Dashing the navy on its shores a wreck That dared to ride its billows. Well becomes That badge of slavery thy submissive neck. Boaster, thou hast no spirit ! HEREWARD. Yes, false dame, I feel a thousand spirits burning here, Burning C avenge, but not destroy thy lord. What ! be a blood-dog, and at thy fell cry Hunt down the noblest Saxon whom these Normans Have spared to bless my country ? Let me pine A dungeon slave where morning never came, Water my drink and herbs my only food, Where I may never view that brighter day, The sunlight of her eyes who is on earth The fairest type of angel blessedness, Rather than sink to that vile, loathsome thing Which thou wouldst make me ! Freedom ? No : Emancipation on thy terms, would be The bondage of the damned ; and I should feel, Though free to wander as the mountain winds, Fettered with chains of fire. MATILDA (aside.) I cannot stay To hear the saintly whining of this dog : It is a satire on my skill to read Th 1 insidious heart of man. My mistress now Scene Il/| THE VARANGIAN. 319 Must with him brave it out the best she may ; And if she do not find some means to bend, Or silence him for ever, she's no woman. [Exit. JUDITH. O, I am deep in malice with myself, That I should listen to that wench's tale, And make this stubborn fool my confidant, Gulled by her silly judgment. [Aside. Slave ! how darest Thou on me with such bold amazement look? HEREWARD. Can I but wonder to behold that form Which breathes divinity, those eyes that dart The lightning of the soul, that lovely face, Rosy and bright as if the god of day Had on young morn begot thee, and yet know That in such beauty fiends can find a home And turn it to a hell ? Murder thy lord ! Art thou not bound by every holy tie To honour and obey him ? O, thy sex Is ever in extremes. Women, when good, Are mild and beautiful as angel forms, And o'er man's darkened path shine like the moon On winter's chilling storms yet guiltless still Of her inconstancy, guiding his steps To the sweet home of all that makes life blest ; But when the shades of hell eclipse their light, They taint us like a plague-spot ! JUDITH. Poison of asps Blister thy tongue ! Patience herself would turn A maniac fury, to be taunted thus By such a losel slave, whose every breath 320 THE VARANGIAN. [Act U. Hangs on my will. ( 23 ) Hence ! to a dungeon sink ! Companion there the vapour-bloated toad, Starve, and rot inch by inch ! [Flourish within. By heaven, 'tis Waltheof s horn ! Vengeance befriend me ! (shrieks.) Ha ! off, villain, off ! Defile me not with thy polluted touch ! Unhand me ! Ho ! within there to my rescue ! [She flings her scarf across Here ward, who stands in mute astonishment, disorders her hair, and runs to meet the Earl. Am I become the sport of menial slaves ? Enter Northumberland and Huntsmen, whom he motions to retire. O, good my lord, defend me ! WALTHEOF. I did hear Cries of distress. What means this strange disorder ? JUDITH. Heaven sent thee hither to preserve my honour, Insulted by yon base-begotten slave ; Who with unmatched effrontery dared intrude His hated presence here, and blast my ears With a forbidden passion. WALTHEOF. What ! a slave Attempt the honour of my virtuous wife ? A noble lady, born of royal line ? JUDITH. Ay, see you not my scarf still hanging on him Torn from me, and these locks disordered thus With my wild struggles in his horrid grasp ? Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 321 HEREWARD (aside.) Deep shame be on thee, crafty Norman witch ! I'm caught at last within the Norman toils, And by a woman, if that name she merits. JUDITH. Call in thy train, and bid them lead him forth To instant death. I faint, I die to look On his detested visage. WALTHEOF. Nay, for that, His visage may be looked on, and endured : There's many a damsel on his eye would gaze With pleasure, to behold her beauty there Reflected in love's mirror. Can it be That such audacious infamy should lurk Beneath that countenance ? Such baseness must In one, whose form so nobly doth surpass His low estate, be rare and far to seek. JUDITH. Am I then doubted ? O, thou lukewarm chief, How calm thou art, when thou shouldst be all fire ! Storming for instant vengeance on the wretch Who in my person hath dishonoured thee, Even where true honour feels the slightest scathe Wound like the mad dog's fang ! Have I this hand, Which princes sought in vain, on thee bestowed To be insulted by thy lowest slaves And not revenged ? Nay, doubted, as it seems ! WALTHEOF. Doubt thee ? I doubt thee not ; yet do I stand Lost in amazement at the daring crime In one who looks all nobleness and truth. A Saxon, too! Were he a Norman born, Y 322 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. And thou of Saxon line, it had not thus Overwhelmed me with surprise. JUDITH. Trust not to looks. The base deceiver pardon feigned to crave, For stirring up contention in the household : I little weened, when he approached me here, To find him what he is. HEREWARD ( 'aside. ) Little, indeed. Thy lying lips at last have uttered truth, Though artfully disguised. WALTHEOF. I've ever been, In love and hate, plain spoken, and my aim Is to be just to all. I have not deemed Even the most censured guilty, till their crimes Clear as the sun were proved ; therefore to me It seems impossible he could insult Thy lofty virtue, which above him shines High as the stars in heaven, did I not know 'Twere more impossible that thou shouldst lie, And falsely him accuse. HEREWARD. My gracious lord, Thou art by every Englishman adored That loves his country, and thy spotless name Not even thy deepest, deadliest foe can taint. Alas, that such should in thy house be found ! Noble Northumberland, it is in vain To tell thee wherefore I was hither brought. I could accuse, but thou couldst not believe. Armed in my innocence, I am content Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 323 T' abide thine utmost wrath ; and when thou bidd'st The deaths-man on me do his fatal office, I shall forgive thee with my latest breath, And pray for blessings on thine honoured head. My doom is fixed : but heed thou my last words, Beware thy Norman wife ! She knows no mercy, For harder is she than the nether rock, And her base heart swells like th' envenomed toad Found hidden in its centre. JUDITH. Mark you this ? Unmannered ruffian ! may all evil things, All curses human nature e'er endured, Light on thee, and thy death the prelude be To fiercer plagues hereafter ! WALTHEOF. Peace, dear wife : Descend not to such wrath. Who waits within ? Enter Attendants. Hence to a dungeon lead this guilty man. A crime hath he committed, which demands His death at early dawn. [Exit Hereward, guarded. JUDITH. Why not to-day ? why not this very hour ? WALTHEOF. Be thou less eager, lady, for his blood. To him who sought my life, I'd not deny A fitting time to make his peace with Heaven, JUDITH. Life ! what is life Compared, my lord, with honour, whose deep wounds Y2 324 THE VAEANGIAN. [Act II. Can never heal ? He who purloins my fame Takes more than life, he takes my life's whole wealth, And leaves me a poor bankrupt beggar, starving On cold Suspicion's alms. But how earnest thou So timely from the forest sports ? 'Tis not Thy wonted hour. WALTHEOF. Base chastisement and shame Be on those Norman Barons ! who this day, Amid yon forest, hunted down like beasts My guiltless countrymen, and to the flames Gave their loved homes, embosomed with the dove's, Where the tall shades o'er Stour's bright waters bend. And now they hither to the slave-mart drive Their hapless captives, who, borne o'er the seas, Shall ne'er again their native land behold. With rage and sorrow stung I fled the chase, Fled hawk and hound, and in his freedom left The lusty stag to roam. JUDITH. Thou thankless man, Ungrateful to thy friends. Art thou not made Earl of Northumberland, and, by thy marriage, The kinsman of the King ? But Saxons claim Thy sole regard : the insults cast on me, By a foul-spoken slave, thou count'st as nought To the brief wailings of a herd of serfs, When they exchange their masters. WALTHEOF. Wrong me not : I mourn the insult deeply, marvelling much How such strange things should be. [Retires. Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 325 Enter Matilda. MATILDA. Ha, Waltheofhere? Earl Osmond, madam, comes JUDITH. Out on thee for a fool ! a very fool ! A fitting instrument thy wisdom found. MATILDA. I was indeed JUDITH. Peace, shallow-minded wench ! Had I lacked skill like thee, we had ere this Been all undone. The Earl of Dorset here ? I cannot see him. Plead thou my excuse, I am disordered, ruffled Ha ! he comes. Enter Osmond. OSMOND. A happy morning to Northumberland And his fair Countess. Most unlucky day To me, I wot, in finding this dull fool Fast by the side of his all-beauteous wife, When I did hope How comes it thus, to find Thy Saxon husband here ? [ Aside to Judith. JUDITH. O, ask me not. The time, the scene ill fits me to explain. My lord of Dorset, I must pardon crave; Nor think me rude, since my perturbed mind Some rest requires, that I awhile withdraw. [Exeunt Countess and Matilda. OSMOND. Expected heaven to purgatory turned ! 326 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. What sins have I committed, thus to be Severely punished ? Brave Northumberland, You look disturbed and tristful. I intrude. WALTHEOF. Not so, my lord of Dorset. I did feel Somewhat concerned to see how little truth, Honour, or honesty, is to be found In this dark, iron age. I deem the world Grows every day more base. OSMOND. So thought our sires : But from the few traditions I have gleaned Of other times, the world progresses still In all that renders it a goodly place For man's abode, at least, I count it so. Nor has it reached that period when 'tis doomed, If such a doom there be, to sink in years, And totter with the feebleness of age. WALTHEOF. I speak of men OSMOND, If all were good, one half mankind must starve, Lacking employment. The whole priesthood live By Sin and Death, and soon their craft would cease But for old Beelzebub ; yet do they still Ungratefully revile him, heaping all Man's villainy on his o'erladen back, And our first parents' disobedience mourn, Although that evil was the cause which gave Their wealthy office being. The judge on the tribunal, let him smite The criminal, or won by bribery, set The guilty free, still doth he thrive by crime. Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 32? The physic-monger and the leech subsist By sickness, wounds, and all the agonies To which poor man is heir ; While those cause-pleading clerks who throng the courts, ( 24 ) From malice, envy, and injustice reap A golden harvest : even the King would be Amerced of half his revenue, were there not Offences in his subjects. ( 25 ) Thus, 'tis plain, That evil is a necessary good, That virtue ever must companion vice As yonder sun its shadow, or for aye Lose its bright name and being. WALTHEOF. But, of late, The stormy clouds of vice so dark and fast Each other follow, that pure virtue's sun Feebly, and far between, her faint light sheds. OSMOND. Men will be men, long as within their breasts Those passions they were born with hold a seat : Were it not so, this world would be indeed A strange dull world to look on, quite unfit For me to struggle in. WALTHEOF. But when on man The passions were bestowed, it was designed He should, by that pure light which shines within, Keep hourly watch and ward, with purpose firm Their violence to restrain. OSMOND. I scorn to boast Of victory o'er the passions : those who do, 328 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. I count as fools or knaves. How many vaunt Of merits which they never yet possessed : All inclination lacking to indulge In certain habits, blindly they mistake Mere non-desire for stern resisting virtue, Then loudly boast how they in goodness shine. On life's wild sea, through sunlight and through storm, I to the ruling passion of the hour Yield up the helm to steer where'er it lists Reckless of rock and shoal my gallant bark. WALTHEOF. A slave, then, art thou to the worst of masters. If such are all your Norman knights, no marvel Those blood-storms so unsparingly are poured On my poor countrymen. OSMOND. Thy countrymen Merit but little grace, I ween, from those Who are their masters. WALTHEOF. Ha ! what right have ye To treat the Saxons as your abject slaves, Who high in wealth and honour, power and fame, Your equals stood ? to thrust them from their homes Till they with misery perish ? OSMOND. Right, my lord, That right which conquest o'er the conquered gives. WALTHEOF. Never was merry England conquered yet ! OSMOND. How marvellous is it, then, our chiefs should dare Do that which moves so sadly thy complaints. Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 329 WALTHEOF. They dare do all that is most vile and base : Oppression, rapine, lust, and flames, and blood, Are ever their attendants. I proclaim Proudly, that England ne'er was conquered yet By all your Norman hordes, who hither flocked Like eagles to the banquet of the slain. William, our sovereign, he to whom I owe A faithful liegeman's homage, whose just rights God and my sword defend, by the free choice And will of England was enthroned her King, When on his head the sacred balm she poured, By her great chiefs, with pealing trump and shou t. Yet then did ye your murderous work begin, And Norman swords were dyed in Saxon blood. That day is long since past : yet some there are Who never will that fatal day forget. But Normans now one King o'er all should meet The English as kind brothers. OSMOND. True : as thou Didst like a loving brother meet the Normans With all thine armed Saxon hordes at York. Talk'st thou of brotherhood ? Where was it when Ye made the streets of that proud city flow With streams of Norman blood ? not sparing one Of all there found, thy sovereign's bravest friends. Talk'st thou of loyalty ? Where was thy faith When thou didst join the invading host of Denmark, And all the north to insurrection stirred, Proclaiming for thy king the Etheling Edgar ? Till on the banks of Tees the Conqueror met Thy rebel bands ; who fled, and left thee crouching For mercy at the generous victor's feet ? 330 THE VARANGIAN. [Act II. WALTHEOF. Taunt me not with the patriot deeds Fve done : It chafes my blood. For my loved country's peace I to King William bowed, and sheathed my sword. Free did he grant me OSMOND. Pardon. Yes, I know 'Twas granted thee, and honours too, as proud As any faithful Norman Earl hath won. Northumberland beware ! Thou art the last Great chief of Saxon line, and soon thy light, Son of the morn, exalted high to lead A starry host, may be in blood put out. Clouds of mistrust will ever darkly hang On a king-pardoned rebel's brightest deeds. [Exit. WALTHEOF. I am the last, the more sad for my country. Suspected, haughty Norman ? called a rebel ? Thou liest ! I was no rebel, for I had riot sworn Allegiance to King William, am no rebel, In act, or word, or thought, And yet mistrusted I Well, if doomed to perish Like all my gallant friends, O grant, kind Heaven ! My country by my death may rise to glory. Sweet England ! if my blood could yield thee peace, This heart would gladly all its veins outpour, And the last sigh these lips breathed forth should be, God bless thee, noble England ! END OF THE SECOND ACT. Act III.] THE VARANGIAN. 331 ACT III. SCENE I. A Forest by moonlight. A small Encamp- ment at a distance. Enter Ben-Zadoc and Tobias, meeting. BEN-ZADOC. TOBIAS, faithful steward of my household, Have not those barbasons, old Satan's imps, Brought in yet any slaves ? TOBIAS. All in good time, My lord and master. Those blood-tigers, whom Thou hast allured from the adventuring bands That seek this sea-girt isle for battle spoil, ( 26 ) To drive, in night excursions, biped flocks Into our slave-fold, are a desperate crew. They glean and gather, as we wander on From place to place, full many a lusty hind, And useful artisan, and damsel fair. Thou wilt replenish half the mariners'* ships Of Bristow's crowded mart, and her rich merchants, Who traffic in the sale of human flesh, Will count their gold bezants to fill thy purse. ( 2 ?) BEX-ZADOC. By Shiloh ! who shall yet on David's throne Reign o'er the Gentile, I have struggled long, Like Jacob with the angel, for a blessing, And it is come at last. Driven out from Spain 332 THE VARANGIAN. [Act III. By Christian dogs, \ve to these isles o' th' sea For refuge fled, where now th 1 all-wasting sword Reapeth its harvest ; for these Gentile tribes Make war upon each other, and they lie In wait amid the woods, and caves, and rocks, With slaughter- weapons in their hands to smite, And fill the land with blood. TOBIAS. And thou, too, reap^st A plenteous harvest. BEN-ZADOC. Ay, Tobias, ay. Many a brave reprisal do I win, For all the sad despoiling Fve endured. As pleasant to my heart is it to hear The groans and wailings of those Christian slaves By us to bondage led, as "'tis to list The clink of gold dropped in my money-bags. I loathe the Gentiles, who with bitter scoffs, Fines and imprisonment, and foul robbery vex The holy seed of Abraham. These wild bands, Who for men-stealers I have hired, know not Remorse or pity. And in this I act As Moses bids, who all the heathen gave, Wherever found, in city or in field, To be by us and by our children held From age to age in thraldom. ( 28 ) By the horn Of royal David TOBIAS. Nay, my lord and master, Swear not by that, for David's horns, thou know'st, Were scurvy gifts which Michal his first wife, And Absalom his son, on him bestowed. The first stout pair the King wore willingly ; Scene I.] THE VARANGIAN. 333 The second, far more odious, he flung off, Making his ten poor concubines ail widows. BEN-ZADOC. I mean his horn of power ( 2 9) TOBIAS. What, that with which He gored to death the Hittite, brave Uriah, Having first made him horned like himself ? BEN-ZADOC. Speak thou not thus irreverently, Tobias. But I would say, how it doth make me glad That those who fall at night-time in the nets Of our far-roaming prowlers TOBIAS. O, my lordj Believe me, we have tarried here too long. The village which last night they burnt to ashes, The flames whereof glared redly o'er these woods, May lead to a discovery. BEN-ZADOC. Heed thou not : To-morrow will we journey to the west. Trouble encompasseth this land, where Death Steeps his white ribs in blood. Then let who may Become our spoil, suspicion ever falls On Norman or on Saxon, each believing His hidden foe hath unawares surprised And cut the captive off; whilst we pass on Unnoticed and unscathed. TOBIAS. Abraham protect His injured race ! Let any who are caught But once escape, or from their stubborn necks 334 THE VARANGIAN. [Act III. Those iron collars slip, our necks will soon With such strong gyves be galled, as shall uplift Us to a pitch far higher than my aims. My poor ambition seeketh not acquaintance With soaring crows and ravens. BEN-ZADOC. Should those base slaves Our valiant men of war gone forth to prowl Through the dark wilderness themselves arouse To battle for their freedom, we must draw The sword of slaughter, as great Joshua did, Nor one o' th 1 unclean and Christian Gentiles spare. Men, maidens, wives, and children, all shall yield Their throats to our keen knives. Hark ! hear'st thou not The distant tramp of numbers ? TOBIAS. Jacob's angel Be near to save us ! 'tis, no doubt, our foes. These Christians may the curse of Mezroe blight them ! Have our retreat discovered. BEN-ZADOC. Nay, thy fears Deceive thee. Be of courage, man, nor quake ; But gird thy loins up, like a valiant son Of Israel's chosen race, and laugh to see Thy brand made red, red to the very hilt In Christian blood. The Lord of Hosts for us Will fight, if peradventure there be need, As in the days of old. TOBIAS. I am a man Of feeble loins, and little strength for war ; Yet if I had a host of fighting knaves, Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 335 With buckler and with spear, about me placed, I should, by Judah's lion ! feel as bold As David, when he slew the great Philistine. BEN-ZADOC. Those sounds, I deem, are but the homeward steps Of some wild band of ours. I trust they have brought back a goodly store Of living moneys ( 30 ) and of Gentile coin, With gold and silver vessels to increase My hoards of merchandise. O, how I joy To make a spoil of these Egyptian dogs, Who still oppress and scoff us. [Exit. TOBIAS. Master of mine, I live in perilous dread that these bold deeds Of nightly plunder will, ere long, on all Our pates fall heavily. O, would I had That pilgrim-angel journeying by my side, Who guarded my old namesake when he went To wed a demon's bride in heathen lands, And magic heart of that strange monster-fish He in the Tigris caught ; that when approach The fierce Philistines of this island, I Might cast it on the fire, and with the smoke Those devils frighten from me. [Eaiit. SCENE II. Another part of the Forest-, the moon not visible* Enter Hereward and Zalmira, in rich habits. HEREWARD. Did I not bid thee be of courage, when I was to prison dragged ? and now, behold, 336 THE VARANGIAN. [Act III, We are in safety, far beyond the walls Of that strong Norman city. Yet I grieve To be compelled to fly, ere I could find Or learn in what dark dungeon lies my brother, The much-wronged Earl of Mercia. ZALMIRA.. I would fain Rest here awhile, overwearied with our flight. And tell me, as I on this bank recline, How from thy dungeon-chains thou didst escape, And who conducted us at evening hour Beyond the city gates. HEREWARD. Harold it was, A freeman of Northumberland's good Earl, A brother of our high Masonic Order, Who Normans doth abhor. It is to him For safety and these shining habits we Are, my Zalmira, debtors. Soon my band. That lurks amid this forest, he will join ; Nor have we far our tristing-place to reach, Where fiery-mettled steeds impatient wait To bear us onward for St. Albans' shrine. ZALMIilA. Never did I, O Liberty ! till now Thy blessings truly feel. HEREWARD. 'Tis ever thus : Pleasures are doubly pleasing bought with pain. The sun more glorious shines when from the storm His beams break forth in splendour, and the flowers A richer fragrance yield when morning winds Shake the cold dews of midnight from their leaves ; Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 33? While to the pilgrim who hath wandered long Amid the lonely desert's burning sands, When he, with weary step, the prospect wins Of some delightful land of groves and streams, Earth wears the face of heaven. ZALM1EA. 'Tis joy to hear The early hymn of forest birds when morn Comes in her freshness forth, and all the flowers Look up to her with gladness ; or the song Of summer's pilgrim-minstrel who the moon Doth nightly woo, though in the southern skies She coldly keeps, far off, her lonely way ; Or merry echoes of th' autumnal horn, Pealing through golden woods. But O, how far More spirit-stirring sounds thy mountain voice, Sun-glorious Liberty ! HEREWARD. Ay, and her voice, my own Ionian maid, Shall, like th' Archangel's last dread trumpet, ring Throughout the land, awakening from the grave Of foul oppression England's slumbering sons ; Who at the sound shall fling the death-like bonds Of slavery off, and from the east and west, The north and south be gathered, as one man, To the great battle of my country's freedom. ZALMJRA. O happy tidings, prove they but right true. HEREWARD. As shall the sun to-morrow's dawn arise To glad the nations, so the brighter day Of Liberty shall break, and o'er the storms And darkness of grim tyranny outpour 338 THE VARANGIAN. [Act III. Its full-tide glory. In the abbey halls Of famed St. Alban, noble spirits meet The gallant-bearing enterprise to plan ; Which shall from hence the Norman Bastard drive, And " England's Darling " seat on England's throne. Eager am I to meet them. ZALMIRA. Let us on : Rest hath revived me. I, a Grecian maid, Feel at the name of freedom every vein Throb with heroic joy. My soul, like thine, Longs for the glorious strife, longs to behold Thy country from barbarian bondage freed ; Nor will I shrink, in such a cause, with thee Bravely to fight, to conquer, or to die. ( 31 ) HEREWARD. Joy of my soul ! then onward will we go. ZALMIRA. See ! from her cloudy tabernacle comes The moon, as if in haste, like some kind friend To guide us weary-wandering pilgrims hence, The shadowy forest lighting up with pomp No kingly hall may rival. Dearly loved Art thou by him, sweet moon, who his guitar Beneath the woodbine-wreathed lattice strikes To her that breathless in her joy doth list His passionate melody, by those who dance To castanet and lute in myrtle groves The summer eve away ; but dearer still Art thou, fair Dian, to the sea-boy who Keeps lonely watch, upgazing on thy face With thoughts of home and days of early love, When thou didst smile on his wild frolic glee Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 339 Amid his native bowers ; and yet more dear Art thou to him who in the desert waste An exile wanders with fierce stranger bands, As o'er the voiceless hill and rocky peak Thou in thy fulness risest, Solitude, Paying thee silent worship, like an ^Ethiop Bowing before young beauty's radiant eye, Enrapt in adoration. Hark ! I heard A rustling in the forest. HEREWARD. Fear thou not : Nor wolf nor bear shall harm thee. Enter Hexulph, with a band of Ben-Zadoc's Rovers. HEXULPH. A prize ! ZALMIRA. Christ, for thy mercy ! what wild men are these ? Fierce savages that dwell in woods and caves ? O, yet for pity HEXULPH. With them hence ! Away ! No waste of time in wailing and entreaty. These somewhat may repair our loss to-night Of booty, taken from us by that gang Of rascal, plundering Saxons whom we met Crossing Stagwealtham moor. HEREWARD. Dogs ! robbers ! off ! HEXULPH. Away ! away ! [Hereward and Zalmira dragged off. These, if I guess aright, Will to Ben-Zadoc wealthy ransom yield. \Exeunt. z2 340 THE VARANGIAN. [Act III. SCENE III. The Interior o/Ben-Zadoc's Tent. Piles of rich Merchandise, <*c. Enter Ben-Zadoc and Tabitha. TABITHA. Talk not to me ! Pack up thine ill-got wealth, Thy merchandise, thy hoards of gold and gems, Or they will soon be scattered by the spoiler. Harness thy slaves for travel, strike thy tents ; Call in those sons of Belial, those wild fiends, Sent forth to kidnap, plunder, and destroy. The country will, ere long, be up in arms, And we shall be cut off: but pass not thou Through any city till we reach the gates Of ancient Bristow, mark me, "'twill be dangerous. Why how thou loiter'st ! Come, bestir thyself, For I do live in hourly terror here. BEN-ZADOC. Nay, good Tabitha, be advised : I swear By Jacob's pillar, there is nought to fear. TABITHA. Nought, didst thou say, to fear ? when shrieks, and cries, And wailings nightly through the forest ring Of wretches hither dragged ? when every part Of the round heavens I from my tent have seen Red as if morn were breaking, red with fires That told too plainly where thy bands had gathered To spoil the suffering Gentile? BEN-ZADOC. Surely thou Canst feel no pity for these outcast Gentiles, Who heap revilirigs, scorn, and bitter wrongs On all of Abraham's race ? Scene III.] THE VARANGIAN. 341 TABITHA. No; but I feel Some pity for myself, and would not fall A prey to their unmerciful revenge. I tell thee if, Ben-Zadoc, thou shouldst be Discovered by the dwellers of this land, We thall be hewn in pieces, and our limbs, Blood-dropping, hung o'er tower and city-gate, The jest and scoff of gazing Gentile crowds. Would we had never fled Iberia's clime ! But in some Moorish kingdom dwelt secure ( 32 ) Among the friendly Arabs, who, like us, Sprang from our holy father Abraham's loins. BEN-ZADOC. Then should I not have gathered such a store Of silver and of gold, nor driven these flocks Of human cattle to the mart, nor kept Such valiant bands to go forth armed for plunder. TABITHA. Thou simple one of Israel, say for whom Hast thou these riches gathered ? for the first Fierce horde that comes upon us, and the hour Which brings them here, Ben-Zadoc, I forecast, Is not far off; but thou, perverse and headstrong, Wilt not receive good counsel. Tarry, then, To thy undoing, but / hence will go : No power shall stay me. BEN-ZADOC. Nay, for one night more : For one last booty which I yet expect TABITHA. Not for the wealth, thou lucre-greedy man, Of Solomon's golden temple ! Ay, the last 342 THE VARANGIAN. [Act III. 'Twill be indeed the last ! Must I apprize thee That evil is approaching, and thou take No heed to mend thy ways? Then be it known, That gem oracular which hath been kept As a blest relic of the Aaronic breastplate, Kept by my priestly sires from age to age, And to my care intrusted when the last Of all my father's sons a martyr perished In flames 'mid proud Seville, that omened stone Prophetic warning gives me to be gone. ( 33 ) Behold and tremble ! [Taking a small Casket from her bosom, and opening it. See, how dim and clouded Is all its lustre. Mark me, and be wise : I can discern a host of Christian forms, With gleaming swords and spears See ! see ! they glide Between those clouds that shade the radiance which Burns with eye-blinding glory here, when Heaven Smiles prosperously upon our ancient house. Ha ! now a battle comes ; and o'er the mirror A blood-red lustre rushes. BEN-ZADOC. Gaze no more. My veins grow icy as I hear thee speak. I will remove this night. [Shouts without. Hark ! our wild bands ! There is the sound, Tabitha, of much spoil In those brave shouts. My blood flows warm again. Enter Hexulph. HEXULPH. We have to-night, old Jew, been roughly handled By some infernal Saxons, who, base dogs, With well-armed numbers, far out-numbering us, Scene III.] THE VARANGIAN. 343 Have villainously taken all the spoil Which, in our farewell forage, we had gleaned With honest industry. TABITHA. Mark that, Ben-Zadoc : Thy first mishap. An evil omen this Of what's foredoomed to follow. BEN-ZADOC. O, I swear By Esau's birthright, 'tis a grievous loss ! Sorely it chafeth me. But what are these ? HEXULPH. A little fruit we gathered in the woods, Whose shining husk, as thou mayst see, doth promise A wealthy core for ransom, if well peeled. BEN-ZADOC. We'll strip them of their gear ay, of their skin, And lay their quivering heart-core bare, if they Yield not a speedy and an ample ransom. Aha, fair damsel ! art thou mine again ? And without purchase, too ? Come, come ; there 's yet Some luck in store ay, Jacob's ten-fold luck ; For I once more shall make a goodly price Of those bright eyes and dainty blushes, which So well become that cheek. I'll double now Thy value in the mart, unless this chief Pay ransom like a king. What wealth hast thou Of field and flock, of gold and precious gems, Wherewith to purchase freedom for thyself, And this thy gay companion ? HEREWAUD. I have one, One only boon, a well-accustomed sword. 344 THE VARANGIAN. [Act III. BEN-ZADOC. That will avail thee nothing here, sir knight. Hexulph ! off with his weapon, and those bonds That bind him fast unloose ; then watch without, And still be near at hand. [Hexulph takes Hereward^s sword, unbinds his arms, arid exit with his followers. Ben-Zadoc goes towards the back part of the tent. Prepare within, My cherubs of the rack and fire, your sports To amuse a stubborn captive. 'Tis in vain To plead pretended poverty to me : Thy lofty bearing speaks thy lofty rank. If not about thy person, still must thou, Christian, have stores of wealth. HEREWARD. Ay, but not one Brass stica, Jew, to bless thy itching palm. BEN-ZADOC. The leprosy of Miriam blanch thy limbs ! A miser, and so young ? Dost thou not know That love of gold is love of bitter care ? That riches pass away, as o'er the deep The swift barque glides, leaving no track behind To tell where it hath been ? HEREWARD. What ! doth the Devil His darling vice condemn ? BEN-ZADOC. Then be informed, Thou Christian dog, none unredeemed go hence, Save to a living death, eternal thraldom. Proud-hearted captive ! we have many ways Scene III.] THE VARANGIAN. 345 To wring his treasures from the miser's grasp. Stripes, fire, and water ; irons heated red To blind the eye-sight ; flaying off the skin, And a salt bath that tickles the raw flesh Like a green couch of nettles. Ordeals strong, I own, the truth of those to prove who plead Guiltless of wealth. HEREWARD. Patience be kind, or I Shall choke with rage. Why, thou abhorred man-stealer ! Thou caitiff hell-dog Jew ! who, if thou hadst Thy just deservings, wouldst not 'scape unbrained Another hour to fright and blast mankind, Thy portion be with Judas in the land Of darkness and of wailing, and thy bones Moulder on some heath-gibbet ! I have heard Of thy foul fame, and wolf-like dost thou skulk Here in the fores't ; but stern vengeance soon Shall track thy blood-marked footsteps. BEN-ZADOC. Gentle Christian, I thank thee for thy blessings : they proceed Prom the kind feelings of a Christian heart. Elisha's curse, which on those children fell Who mocked his age, betide thee ! Come : thy gold, Thy gems ; disclose thy hoards HEREWARD. What right hast thou, Who UVst on sufferance in a Christian land, To claim redemption for a freeborn Saxon ? BEN-ZADOC. The right of retribution, hated fool ! All of thy faith, rejected by our God, 346 THE VARANGIAN. [Act III. Heap on our heads indignity and shame. There is no wrong, despite, or agony That man can feel, but 'tis your sport to make The children of the promised seed endure. Driven by the heathen, from our holy land We wander yet awhile, till Shiloh comes With his red garments dyed in Gentile blood ; Who all the nations shall beneath his feet Tread down like mire, and from our temple spread His sun-transcending splendours o'er the world, Making its proud kings tremble ! But I stray, Warmed with great Israel's glory. Still, where'er We tabernacle, ye with vile extortion, Robbery, and murder, from us wrest our thrift, Our little hard-earned all, for which we toil, Like wretched slaves, in obloquy and fear. And shall we not revenge on you these wrongs, When in our power ye fall ? Revenge is mine ! And I will quaff her blood-filled cup of joy, Ay, to the very lees. Thy gold, thy gold Deliver quickly, or on yonder fire Shalt thou be bound, till from those blackened limbs Thy boiling vein-drops ooze. Within, there ! Fling Those curtains back, and show this Gentile dog His doom, if he refuse. [ The back part of the tent is drawn up, and disco- vers an inner tent, with an iron chair and chains elevated over a fierce Jire in the centre ; execu- tioners, with various other instruments of tor- ture, standing on either side. z ALMIEA (kneeling. ) O, hear me speak Have pity on us ! We no treasures bear Scene III.] THE VARANGIAN. About our persons, for we are, like thee, Wayfaring strangers, far yea, far from home, And flying for our lives. Yet let us now Depart uninjured, and hereafter wealth Beyond thine avarice shall our ransom pay. Then mercy, mercy show ! BEN-ZADOC. When did a Christian Show any mercy to a helpless Jew ? I have no confidence in words of fear. There is no truth, integrity, or justice In any of your dealings with the seed Of holy Abraham. No : when far from hence I shall be scoffed, and mocked, and set at nought. Then where may ye be found ? Ay, where, indeed ? And e'en if found I dared my rights to claim, I should be spit on, buffeted, and led To torments and to death. Ye have concealed Your riches in the forest : tell me where, Or to yon fire ! Come forth, my men of war. HEREWARD. One thing have I, thou blood-fell Jew, which yet May work our ransom. [Rushes to the side-opening of the tent, and loudly sounds a horn, which he takes from his belt. TABITHA (who has been gazing on her casket. ) O forbear ! forbear ! Ben-Zadoc, let these stiff-necked Christians go. Wealthy or indigent, hence let them speed, For the prophetic gem gives fatal sign. Thrice hath a lurid stream of blood bedimmed Its sunbright surface, and thrice from it glared 348 THE VARANGIAN. [Act III. The crimson flash of wrath. O, let them fly ! A curse is falling on us. HEREWARD. Yet they come not. O my Zalmira ! 'tis for thee I feel The bitterness of death. To leave thee here, A slave again, in this vile robber's power ZALMIRA. Thy dagger shall release me from his bonds. BEN-ZADOC. Let omens threaten, treasures will I have. Ransom or death ! Enter Hexulph and Rovers. Lead onward to the fire ! [As Hexulph and his followers seize Here ward, they tear open his vest, and Ben-Zadoc observes on his bosom the symbols of his Masonic Order : he starts with astonishment, gives, unobserved by others, the sign, which Hereward returns. BEN-ZADOC. God of my father Abraham ! can it be ? As my soul liveth, 'tis a friend a brother ! [Ben-Zadoc rushes to embrace Hereward, who puts out his hand and prevents him. Safe art thou hence to go, and good speed wait thee ! Thou and the damsel both depart in peace, Uninjured and unransomed. [All the other Characters appear lost in astonishment. HEXULPH. Death and hell ! Why what new freak is this ? Scene III.] THE VARANGIAN. 349 BEN-ZADOC. It matters not To thee. Keep guard beyond the outer tents. HEXULPH. A brother ? Much more like a son, if age Might be a voucher for their kinsmanship. Nought then of profit will by him be won : Fool for my toil was I to bring him here ! [Exeunt Hexulph and Rovers. HEREWARD. Thy deeds are dark, and red thy hands with blood. Thou hast disgraced thine Order ! Still I see, Such is the power of our mysterious craft, It even thy tiger-heart can tame to mercy, And its mild influence on thy rugged nature Shows like the summer-flower that sweetly blooms In loneliness upon the desert rock ; While o'er that stormy brow its radiance darts Like a rich sunbeam flung in all its strength Athwart th' outdashing cataract's foamy wrath, Lighting Hope's rainbow, which faint promise gives Of better deeds to come. Who then shall dare, Save superstitious Ignorance, to gainsay Our blessed Order ! Brightest gift of Heaven ! Whose glory hath, even from the earliest years, Along the dark and blood-stained course of time Shone like those beauteous streams of golden light Which, o'er the sun forsaken wilds that stretch Far round the Pole, in gorgeous lustre flash, Gazed at with awe and wonder, but whose source Lies hidden where no mortal may approach. ( 3