 | Alfred |  |
SCENE I.
SCENE a rural Prospect, with the Cottage of Corin and Emma.Emma
Sings.
I.
If those who live in shepherd's bower,Press not the rich and stately bed:
The new-mown hay and breathing flower,
A softer couch beneath them spread.
II.
If those who sit at shepherd's board,Sooth not their taste by wanton art;
They take what nature's gifts afford,
And take it with a chearful heart.
2
comming forward.
Corin! Corin! 'tis he. Against yon aged oak,
Pensive and lost in thought, he leans his head.
Corin.
Soft: let us not disturb him. Gentle Emma,
Poor tho he be, unfriended and unknown,
My pity waits with reverence on his fortune.
Modest of carriage, and of speech most gracious,
As if some saint or angel in disguise
Had grac'd our lowly cottage with his presence,
He steals, I know not how, into the heart,
And makes it part to serve him. Trust me, Emma,
He is no common man.
Emma.
Some lord, perhaps,
Or valiant chief, that from our deadly foe,
The haughty, cruel, unbelieving Dane,
Seeks shelter here.
Corin.
And shelter he shall find:
Who loves his country, is my friend and brother.
Behold him well. Fair manhood in its prime,
Even thro the homely russet that conceals him,
Shines forths and proves him noble.
Emma,
'Tis most like,
He is not what his present fortunes speak him.
But, ah! th'inhuman foe is all around us;
We dare not keep him here.
3
Thou hast not weigh'd
This island's force the deep defence of woods,
Nature's own hand hath planted strong around;
The rough encumbrance of perplexing thorns,
Of intertwining brakes that rise between,
And choak up every inlet from abroad.
Yet more; thou know'st, beyond this woody verge
Two rivers broad and rapid hem us in;
Along whose border spreads the gulphy pool,
And trembling quagmire to betray the foot
Its treacherous greensword tempts. One path alone
Winds to this plain, so difficult and so strait,
My single arm, against a band of foes,
Could long, perhaps, defend it.
Emma.
Yet, my Corin,
Revolve the stern decree of that fierce tyrant,
The Danish king: “Who harbours, or relieves
“An English captain, dies the death of traitors:
“But who their haunts discovers, shall be safe,
“And high rewarded.”
Corin.
Now, just heaven forbid,
An Englishman should ever count for gain
What villainy must earn. No: are we poor?
Be honesty our riches. Are we mean,
And humbly born? The true heart makes us noble.
These hands can toil; can sow the ground and reap
For thee and thy sweet babes. Our daily labour
Is daily wealth: it finds us bread and raiment.
Could Danish gold give more?
4
I.
Though to a desart isle confin'd,In humble poverty we live,
The honest heart, the virtuous mind,
Are riches, splendor cannot give.
II.
These hands inur'd to daily toil,Can sow the ground, can plough and reap,
And shall improve the gen'rous soil,
Thee and thy lovely babes to keep.
Emma.
Alas the while!
That loyal faith is fled from hall and bower,
To dwell with village swains,
Corin.
Ah look! behold,
Where Edith, all-abandon'd to despair,
Hangs weeping o'er the brook.
Edith
approaches slowly to soft music.
She sings.
I.
A youth adorn'd with every art,To warm and win the coldest heart,
In secret mine possest;
The morning bud that fairest blows,
The vernal oak that straitest grows,
His face and shape exprest.
5
II.
In moving sounds he told his tale;Soft as the sighings of the gale,
That wakes the flowery year:
What wonder he cou'd charm with ease!
Whom happy nature form'd to please,
Whom love had made sincere.
III.
At morn he left me;—fought, and fell;The fatal evening heard his knell,
And saw the tears I shed;
Tears that must ever, ever fall;
For ah! no sighs the past recall,
No cries awake the dead!
Corin.
Unhappy maid! yet not alone in woe;
For look, where our sad guest, like some fair tree
Torn from the root by winter's cruel blast,
Lies on the ground o'erthrown.
Emma.
I weep, to see it!
Corin.
Thou hast a heart sweet pity loves to dwell in:
But, dry thy tears, and lean on this just hope—
If yet to do away his country's shame,
To serve her bravely on some blest occasion;
If for these ends this stranger sought our cottage,
The heavenly hosts are hovering here unseen,
To watch and to protect him.—But oh! when
(My heart burns for it) shall I see the hour
Of vengeance on these Danish infidels,
That war with heaven and us?
6
Alas, my love!
These passions are not for the poor man's state,
To heaven and to the rulers of the land
Leave such ambitious thoughts; be warned, my Corin;
And think our little all depends on thee.
O Peace! the fairest child of heaven,
To whom the sylvan reign was given;
The vale, the fountain and the grove,
With every softer scene of love:
To whom the sylvan reign was given;
The vale, the fountain and the grove,
With every softer scene of love:
Return, sweet Peace! to chear the weeping swain,
Return, with Ease and Pleasure in thy train.
Return, with Ease and Pleasure in thy train.
Corin.
Hush! cease thy song—for see our mournful guest
Has raised his head, and lo! who comes to greet him;
His friend, the woodman of the neighbouring dale,
Whom late, as yester-evening star arose,
At his request I found, and hither brought:
Let us retire and leave them to confer.
[Exeunt.
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