University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

To them Goodwin.
Goodwin.
Hail, valiant Harold! This great Day shall shine
In Denmark's Annals. Gothmund sends thee greeting;
With the glad News of England's Overthrow.
Himself shall soon arrive.

Harold.
Brave Goodwin, welcome:
More welcome for thy Tidings. London then,
England's chief Boast, is fall'n.—

Goodwin.
Ev'n now it burns.
See yon ascending Clouds. Yon pillar'd Smoke,
That hides the Welkin, is it's last Remain.
The English Pow'rs have left the bleeding Ramparts;
The wide Breach choak'd with Heaps of Slain, on which
We mounted to the Storm.

Harold.
How went the Day?
Where fought our Gen'ral Gothmund?

Goodwin.
On the Thames.
Soon as the Signal of Assault was given,
The Danish Fleet came on. Our Standard then,
The Raven, hov'ring on his Wing, appear'd
With ominous Glare; and seem'd to croak Destruction.
Then furious Gothmund, from the crowded Decks
Follow'd by shouting Thousands, leapt to Shore
With ruinous Assault:

Harold.
What? no Resistance?

Goodwin.
Yes; bloody was the Fray: The Scale of War
Hung doubtful; till the mighty Athelstan,
Mercia's brave Duke, to Denmark's aid came on;
Spur'd by a keen Revenge more strong than Glory,
Led his revolted Mercians up the Breach,
And mingled in the Storm.

Harold.
What next ensu'd?

Goodwin.
Confusion and wild Rout. For England's Pow'r,
Dreading the vengeful Sword of Athelstan,
Shrunk from his Rage: then Denmark's Star prevail'd:
The Britons fled: and now, by Right of War,
The City's Wealth, it's captive Youth and Virgins,
Are fall'n the Soldiers Plunder.

Harold.
It seems then, Gothmund owes full half his Conquest
To Athelstan's Revenge.

Goodwin.
Aye, more than half.
Ne'er did such deadly Valour sweep the Field:
His hoary Head clasp'd in a steel rib'd Helm,
He sprung to Vengeance, and forgot old Age.
With such a headlong Course he led the War,
That Denmark's Troops, nay his own firey Mercians
Linger'd behind: while he, attended only
By Death and Fate, which at his right Hand rag'd,
Thin'd the retreating Foe.

Harold.
Thank we the Gods,
Who sow Dissention in these British Hearts!
Else, ne'er had this fair City fall'n our Prey!

Dunelm.
Know ye the Cause why this proud Duke of Mercia
Revolted from his King?

Goodwin.
Pride and Revenge.
Some suit deny'd him, which the royal Bounty,
Unequal to the Cravings of it's People,
Granted his Foe. No more. His firey Spirit
Mounted to sudden Rage: with secret Levy
He muster'd all his Pow'rs, and join'd with Denmark
To overwhelm his Country.

Harold.
Be it ours,
To nurse this useful Treason: Thus invading,
While we divide, we conquer.

Dunelm.
Hark! I hear
The Shouts of Victory.

Goodwin.
Gothmund approaches.
His Troops come laden with the precious Spoil
Of this imperial City. Captive Maids,
The sweet Reward of Valour, grace his Triumph:
And Infants, doom'd to drink the bitter Draught
Of endless Slavery in a foreign Clime.