 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
23
SCENE II.
A Grove, near the Castle.Enter Elfrida and Adelmine.
ELFRIDA.
Ha! ha! ha!
Thou wouldst have laughed as I do to have heard him;
He bade me clip my glossy braids of hair,
Stoop in my gait, put on my lowliest garb,
My coldest look,—do all I could to mar
What he was pleased to call my loveliness.
ADELMINE.
And will you not, dear lady?
ELFRIDA.
Will I not?
Nay, most obedient Adelmine, would you?
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Oh! ask me not, Elfrida; did mine eyes
Wear the soft glory of an angel's smile,
I'd shut them with a still and stern resolve,
Nor lift their lashes at a King's command;
Waved my rich tresses with the golden gleam
That lighted Eve's in paradise—I'd mar
Their soft luxuriance with unfaltering hand;
I'd spare as soon the serpent that would sting me,
Because its coils with changing splendour shone,
As let a ringlet's sunny lustre lure
My heart from rectitude, my love to shame;
Rivalled my roseate cheek the glowing dawn,
I'd find some dye would change it, till its hue
Were swart as Ethiop girl's; and should my smile
Awake some sportive dimple from its sleep,
To make that shadow lovely—like a star
Twinkling on night's dark cheek—I'd wear a look
Solemn as eastern sage; if peace and love
Reposed upon my pure mouth's glowing arch,
I'd bid repelling scorn usurp the throne;
A sculptor's model were my glorious form
For grace and queenly bearing as I moved,
I'd stoop, I'd limp, to spoil its loveliness,—
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And glory in the sacrifice, if so
My husband were unperilled.
ELFRIDA.
And what would prompt thee to this strange romance?
ADELMINE.
Love, holy love, Elfrida!
ELFRIDA.
What if love were not?
ADELMINE.
Do you not love your husband, gentle lady?
ELFRIDA.
Nay, that I spoke not of;—but is there aught
Save love would tempt thee to so dear a loss?
ADELMINE.
Ay, madam!—if affection's voice were mute,
Honor and woman's pride—they too have tongues,
Whose word is law with those who love themselves.
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Now, prithee, peace!
ADELMINE.
Oh! lady, say not so!
I will not pause—I'll bid thee think of all
The shame, the ruin, it may guard thee from.
Thou know'st the King's impassioned love of beauty—
His lawless violence—his tyrant will;—
He'll wreak his wrath upon your noble husband,
The gentle, generous Athelwold,—whose peace,
Honour—nay, life perchance, are in thy keeping.
Elfrida! will you risk them all to please
A stranger's eye—to win the wanton gaze
Of reckless Edgar, whose least look, methinks.
Were insult to your loveliness?
ELFRIDA.
Fond girl!
Thou may'st well prate that hast no charms to hide.
(Aside.)
Now would I that were not a barefaced lie,
For well I dread she'll rival me to-night;
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But no! I have it—'tis a simple task
To work her grateful spirit to my purpose.
(Aloud.)
Hear me, sweet Adelmine! I did but jest;
But wilt thou too a simple guise assume?
Some rustic garb?—It were not well, methinks;—
'Twould seem too like a plot—attract too much
The curious and enquiring gaze, if thou
Wert robed in rich array, with gems and gold,
And I, the lady of the castle—I,
A noble's wife, more meanly, poorly clad.
If both are thus, 'twill win less observation,
And seem our common custom,—wilt thou so?
ADELMINE.
Yes, dear Elfrida, robe me as thou wilt;
I would do more to save the noble Earl
From danger; he was kind to me, thou know'st,
When I was lone and sad;—but how wilt thou
Make thyself aught but beautiful, Elfrida?
ELFRIDA
(smiling.)
I can but try.
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And wilt thou do his bidding with thy hair?
ELFRIDA.
What! rashly rob myself of woman's pride—
Her dearest ornament?—that auburn hair
Which Athelwold a thousand times has praised?
ADELMINE.
Ay! fling the worthless tresses to the wind!
He'll bless thee for it; and believe me, lady,
The graceful deed will but adorn thee more
In his adoring eyes;—why! with this hand
I'll sever mine, if thou wilt, dearest cousin!
ELFRIDA.
Thine! what are thine? coarse stragglers!
ADELMINE.
Are they so?
Then would I they were lovely as the light,—
Each hair of them a thread of purest gold!
If seeming thus a dearer sacrifice,
It might ennoble in thine eyes my loss,
And win thee to thy duty!
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Duty, girl?
ADELMINE.
Ay! duty, noble lady!
ELFRIDA.
Thou art bold,
And dost forget, moreover, simple maid,
As he forgot, that slaves alone do go
With shaven head. How then may I appear
Without my wealth of hair? It does not need;
I'll fold it simply 'neath some awkward gear,—
See thou do so. And now, my dearest coz,
Hie to thy chamber. Keep thy kind resolve,
And meet me in the banquet-room. I'll send
A fitting dress to thee.
ADELMINE.
Good-bye, then, dear Elfrida;—
How I shall love thee in thy homely garb!
[Exit.
ELFRIDA.
She's gone! poor child!
Poor, fond, confiding child! She'll prove a foil,
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To proud Elfrida's majesty!
Heigh ho!
I would this royal banquet were well over!
My heart, that should beat high with hope, is cold,
And still, and dark, and passionless!—heigh ho!
With hope—what hope? a most unholy! Ay,
Strive as I may to hide its shadowy form,
Into the hateful light it will steal forth;
For conscience is a mirror true and clear
As heaven itself, and in it lives a spell,
Divine, perchance, by whose resistless power
All thoughts, deeds, wishes, passions, good or ill,
Are won to view themselves reflected fairly;—
Even so the voice of music doth beguile
And awe the gliding serpent with its charm.
Yes! hide it as I may, that guilty hope
Doth stand before that magic mirror now,
All undisguised in native hideousness!
It looks a demon there—so dark, so wild,
So merciless! Its smile is fierce, yet cold;
(Enter Gillian.)
Its brow hath blood upon it!—ha!
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(aside.)
“Its brow hath blood upon it!”—she is mad!
(Aloud.)
My lady! here's the chain.
ELFRIDA.
The chain that is to link me to my fate!
Give it me, girl, and leave me.
[Exit Gillian.
'Twas his first gift!—I do remember well
How tenderly he clasped it round my throat,
And bade me when I wore it, think of him!
To-night I'll wear it. 'Tis a gorgeous toy,—
Will it not choke me? let it. Athelwold!—
What, tears? Elfrida weeping—and for him!
Has he not wronged Elfrida? played her false?
Dethroned her?—for in Edgar's heart I dwelt
A crowned queen, until his perjured tongue
Did so belie me I was banished thence.
Why! 'twas undoubted treason!—he did owe
As true allegiance to me there, as if
On England's throne I sat; and shall I weep,
I that was born to be his Sovereign?—no!
[Exit.
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |