 | Alfred |  |
SCENE, The Danish Camp.
Enter Surrey.
SURREY.
The tale of Orpheus, (which in Rome I heard,)
Whose lyre harmonious civiliz'd mankind,
Is verified to-day. The stubborn sons,
Of Denmark sympathize with Alfred's strain;
And, as he leads the song, their passions flow.
Hinguar himself is wonder-struck.
Enter an Officer.
OFFICER.
Be gone;
Thou tread'st already on forbidden ground.
SURREY.
Inform the King, that Erick is return'd.
OFFICER.
Hinguar approaches, and with him the bard,
Whose lyre is fram'd, by necromantic art;
Inchanted are the strings.—Away, with speed.
(Exit Surrey.
Enter Hinguar and Alfred, in conversation.
HINGUAR.
(To the Officer.)
Withdraw.
(Exit Off.)
Now, I believe the death of Alfred.
This ring, the well-known signet of his power,
He never trusted to another hand.
ALFRED.
When, in the rocky cave, I found him dead,
I then resolv'd, King of the warlike Danes,
To bear to thee the tidings of his death;
And as a proof, which could not be deny'd,
That ring I took, which erst mine eyes beheld,
Upon his finger plac'd, with rites and charms,
When he was crown'd, in London, England's King.
HINGUAR.
I will reward thee to thy utmost wish.
Thou art no Saxon, but of British race,
And lov'st the mountains of thy native land;
Choose where they fairest rise; they shall be thine,
With all their valleys and their Sylvan streams.
The Gods I serve have sent thee to my aid.
'Tis my belief thou can'st assist me much,
In what is dearer to my soul than empire.
ALFRED.
How can the bard assist a Prince like thee?
HINGUAR.
In high respect, I hold thy art divine.
Whate'er thou art, magician, bard or seer,
Or if thou art all these, I crave thine aid.
Amidst my victories, I am most wretched;
By love tormented, unsuccessful love.
ALFRED.
Thy love, with equal love, is not return'd?
HINGUAR.
More grievous still. The fair, my soul desires,
Cannot distinguish nor reward my love.
If thou her cruel malady can'st charm,
And drive wild frenzy from her troubled mind,
Task to fulfil thy wish the power of Hinguar.
ALFRED.
In me behold the man of thy desire.
Unlawful arts I neither use, nor know;
But am, in nature's secrets, deeply skill'd.
Far from the pleasures and the cares of men,
By strange misfortune, to the desart driven,
A lonely anchoret, for years, I lived.
To me are known the virtues of each plant,
That grows in hill or dale, in sun or shade;
How one, by sympathy, with madness taints;
And how another clears th'infected blood.
Much I can help or harm.
HINGUAR.
Exert thy skill;
And plant and herb, or song and spell employ.
Do what thou wiltst, so thou restor'st the fair.
ALFRED.
Did her dire frenzy from distress arise?
From sudden perturbation of the mind?
Or is the cause unknown?
HINGUAR.
From grief, from fear,
From terror to excess, her frenzy rose.
Dreadful the shock she suffered!
ALFRED.
How, my Lord?
What did she suffer?
HINGUAR.
In her person, nothing;
But agony of mind, to an excess,
Not easy to describe.
ALFRED.
Has she reveal'd
Her name, her family?
HINGUAR.
By different names
She calls herself; and when with questions urg'd,
She makes extravagant, fantastic answers,
And seems unconscious of her true condition.
ALFRED.
Her general temper, is it sad or gay?
For frenzy is most various.
HINGUAR.
So is hers;
For she exhibits every various mood,
That frenzy e'er assum'd. But thou shalt see,
And judge her strange demeanor. In yon tent,
With purple bright, she dwells; and to this spot,
Where now we stand, she frequently repairs.
This is her usual hour. Behold! she comes.
(Enter Ethelswida, with two women attending, fantastically drest.)
ALFRED.
How beautiful she is! O, piteous sight!
Her frenzy's high.
HINGUAR.
Did ere thine aged eyes
Behold her equal?
(Ethelswida passes them, and advances to the front.)
ETHELSWIDA.
Eagles of the rock,
Lend me your sounding wings; cherubs of heaven,
Who soar above the sun, your pinions lend,
To bear me to my love.
HINGUAR
, (to Alfred.)
Observe!
ALFRED.
I do.
ETHELSWIDA.
The crested swans were heard to sing
A sad lamenting strain;
As floating with the stream, his corse
Descended to the main.
HINGUAR.
Still of a lover lost. I never heard
Her roving words tend to one point so long.
ALFRED.
Sorrow and rage excessive, both are madness.
Time always cures them, if the frame is sound.—
She speaks again.
ETHELSWIDA.
My heart swells in my breast,
And stops my breath. Oceans of tears I shed,
And shake the high pavilion with my sighs.
But neither sighs nor tears give me relief.
(To Hinguar.)
Thou keeper of the keys of death and hell,
Unlock the iron gate, and set me free.
Then I shall smile and thank thee.
HINGUAR.
Queen of beauty!
I am thy captive, and obey thy will.
To soothe the grief that preys upon thy heart,
My care has hither brought a Bard divine,
Whose voice can charm the ache and agony,
Which spirits feel. He's gentle, mild, and wise,
And shall attend thy call.
ETHELSWIDA.
I will not call him.
His garb is vile; I hate it.
ALFRED.
Hate not him.
Whose heart is tun'd to sympathize with thine.
I shun the house of mirth, and love to dwell,
A constant inmate of the house of sorrow.
(Whilst he speaks, Ethelswida gazes and knows him.)
ETHELSWIDA.
Then thou art not so wise, as wou'd appear,
From thy white head, and grave habiliments.
(Walks aside in great emotion. Returns.)
If thou art fond and weak, and foolish too;
Why, so am I. We may consort together,
And build strong castles.
ALFRED.
Yes.
ETHELSWIDA.
Thy harp shall move
The trees and rocks. In order they shall rise,
As high as Babel's tower.
ALFRED.
Forthwith they shall.
ETHELSWIDA.
Are all thy songs of melancholy strain?
ALFRED.
The greater part.
ETHELSWIDA.
Then thou hast lost thy love;
Else thou could'st ne'er have felt true melancholy,
I will not hear thee now. I'm poor in spirit,
And have not force to bear a strong affection.
I choose a garland song, a lighter strain.
Some men are true of heart, but very few.
Those live not long, they die before their time.
'Tis pity of them. Oh!
[walks aside.
HINGUAR.
A show'r of tears
Fast falling calms the tempest of her mind.
ALFRED.
'Tis a deep rooted malady.
Enter a Danish Officer.
OFFICER.
My Lord,
A troop of English horsemen, from the hill,
Descend into the plain. Our warriours wait,
Impatient, thy commands.
HINGUAR.
I come.
(Exit Officer.)
(To Alfred.)
Remain,
Till I return. Edda, Elisa, mark me.
Give her full scope; in nothing cross her mood,
That this reflecting sage, compleat, may see
The picture of her mind.
(Exit.)
ETHELSWIDA.
(After a pause, approaches Alfred.)
Thou pilgrim sad,
Whose head the hand of time hath silver'd o'er,
Com'st thou from Palestine?
ALFRED.
From Rome I come.
ETHELSWIDA.
From Rome! Thou dost not wear thy triple crown;
And yet I know thou art the holy Sire,
The common father of the Christian world.
Compassion show to me.—with wicked men,
With heathens and idolaters, I dwell;
Without the benefit of holy church.
Nor shrift, nor absolution have I known,
For seven long years.
ALFRED.
I will, myself, confess thee.
The peace of heaven shall on thy soul descend.
(To the attendants.)
A course most fortunate her fancy steers;
Most likely to effect the King's desire.
In this conceit, to me she may reveal
Her name, her parentage, perhaps the grief
That rankles in her breast. Please to retire,
As if it were confession.
ELISA.
Haste away,
For fickle is her mind.
EDDA
, (going.)
I like it not.
This may be stratagem: They're Saxons all.
'Tis fit they be observ'd. I'll keep in sight.
[Exeunt.
Manet Alfred and Ethelswida.
ETHELSWIDA.
Alfred!—
ALFRED.
Ethelswida!
(offers to embrace her.)
ETHELSWIDA.
O, beware!
Death lurks in every corner. Why expose
Thy noble life to such inglorious peril?
Not thus did I expect to see the King.
If 'ere mine eyes beheld my Lord again,
I hop'd to see him in the light of steel,
Prompt to defend himself, or rescue me.
Why com'st thou thus?
ALFRED.
I come to know thy fate.
For, since I heard thou wast in Hinguar's power,
Distraction here has reign'd,
ETHELSWIDA.
I comprehend thee.
Could Alfred think I wou'd survive my honour?
ALFRED.
I knew not what to think: But much I fear'd.
ETHELSWIDA.
Dismiss that fear; and be of this assur'd,
I shall be as I am, or shall be nothing.
Fly from this place of peril; fly, with speed.
Thy presence to us both is sure perdition.
My own distress, with fortitude, I bore:
But feel my weakness, when the danger's thine.
The part I act, I hardly can sustain.
Didst thou not mark, when first I heard thy voice,
How real passion mingled with the feign'd?
When I beheld thee risen from the grave,
And braving death again for Ethelswida,
The veil of frenzy scarce conceal'd my transport.
ALFRED.
I saw thy struggling soul, then—not till then,
Athwart the cloud, the beam of reason shone.
ETHELSWIDA.
Tarry not here; else I shall lose my reason,
And be the thing I seem.
ALFRED.
Till night shall spread
Her favouring mantle o'er my secret steps,
I cannot leave this place; and then I hope
To bear thee with me, thro' the host of Denmark.
Of that, we shall have time to speak hereafter.
This garb secures me frequent, free access.
Now, let me warn thee, shou'd it be suspected,
That I am not the person I pretend,
Thy ready answer must, with mine, accord;
I am thy brother; Surrey is my name,
And Emma thine.
ETHELSWIDA.
Alas! Ill-omen'd name!
In my defence, the noble Surrey fell.
ALFRED.
He lives to serve thee in the camp of Hinguar.
ETHELSWIDA.
What miracle! mine eyes beheld him slain.
ALFRED.
They come, they come; resume thy wild demeanor.
(Ethelswida walks aside, as formerly.)
Enter Elisa and Edda.
ELISA.
The King draws near.
ETHELSWIDA.
Array me for his presence.
I'll have a crown to deck my pensive brows;
It shall be made of sun-beams, and of stars,
Caught as they shoot: and when the rainbow rests
Its glowing shaft upon the mountains side,
I'll dip my robe in gold. Away, away.
[Exeunt Elisa and Edda.
Enter Hinguar.
HINGUAR.
It was a false alarm. The English horse,
When we advanc'd against them, wheel'd and fled.
What judgment hast thou form'd? Did she say ought
In her confession?
ALFRED.
She flew off at once
From that conceit. Her mind's a burning fire,
Where sudden thoughts, like wreath's of smoak arise,
And, parting from the flame, disperse in air.
Her shatter'd fancy, like a mirror broken,
Reflects no single image just and true,
But many false ones.
HINGUAR.
Dost thou hope to cure
The malady, which thou describ'st so well?
ALFRED.
There is more ground of hope than cause of fear.
HINGUAR.
Forthwith the wonders of thine art essay;
Meanwhile, within the circle of my tents,
Secure remain. Gothred's imperious daughter,
(Whom in an evil hour, when new in England,
To please the Danes I was induc'd to wed)
Is in the camp arriv'd. I guess her purpose,
And will prevent her speed.
(A voice behind the scenes.)
Presumptuous slave!
(Another voice.)
Thou can'st not pass.
Who shall oppose the Queen?
Enter Ronex.
RONEX.
I come too late; she's gone. Hail to the King;
Who is this minion, that usurps my place,
And, with mock majesty, dishonours Denmark?
HINGUAR.
Outrageous as thou art, respect at least
The stranger's ear.
(To Alfred.)
Retire, and shun the storm.
[Exit Alf.
RONEX.
What pageantry is this?
HINGUAR.
Why hast thou left,
Without permission of thy Lord, the place
Appointed for thee?
RONEX.
Ha! Am I thy slave?
That thou presum'st to treat me with such scorn.
Hast thou forgot my birth? do'st thou not know
I am the heir of Denmark and of England,—
That in my right thou reign'st?
HINGUAR.
To Denmark go;
There o'er thy barren rocks and desarts reign:
But fair and fertile England is my own.
The sword, that won, shall keep the pleasant land.
I conquer'd for myself.
RONEX.
Talk'st thou of conquest,
Thou woman's warrior, who consum'st thy days
In secret, lawless, and inglorious love?
Whilst o'er thy head thy slaughter'd brother's ghost
For vengeance shrieks in vain.
HINGUAR.
None of my foes,
Of whom the fellest far, I reckon thee,
Shall long elude my vengeance: From this hour,
I cast thee off; for ever I renounce thee;
And soon thou shalt behold another queen
Exalted in thy place.
RONEX.
Fulfil thy threat,
And thou shalt soon behold another King.
The leaders and the soldiers of thy host
Revere in me the Scandinavian line.
When I am not thy Queen, thou reign'st no more.
HINGUAR.
This instant leave me, or by Denmark's Gods,
By Loda's altar, stain'd with human blood,
To Iceland's dreary isle thou shalt be borne,
There to repent thy folly.—Guards!
Enter an Officer with Soldiers.
RONEX.
Stand off!
Tyrant, when next we meet—
HINGUAR.
Force her away.
Never let Gothred's daughter enter here.
[Exeunt Ronex and Guards.
Small is her boasted influence with my people;
And yet her jealous rage is fell and bloody;
My fair Norwegian felt her mortal hate.
I must not trust my lovely captive's life,
To the slight keeping of that officer,
Who yielded to the threats of haughty Ronex.
This instant I'll dismiss him, and appoint
The brave and faithful Erick to his place.
[Exit.
Enter Surrey.
SURREY.
The tale of Orpheus, (which in Rome I heard,)
Whose lyre harmonious civiliz'd mankind,
Is verified to-day. The stubborn sons,
Of Denmark sympathize with Alfred's strain;
And, as he leads the song, their passions flow.
Hinguar himself is wonder-struck.
Enter an Officer.
OFFICER.
Be gone;
Thou tread'st already on forbidden ground.
SURREY.
Inform the King, that Erick is return'd.
OFFICER.
Hinguar approaches, and with him the bard,
Whose lyre is fram'd, by necromantic art;
Inchanted are the strings.—Away, with speed.
(Exit Surrey.
17
HINGUAR.
(To the Officer.)
Withdraw.
(Exit Off.)
Now, I believe the death of Alfred.
This ring, the well-known signet of his power,
He never trusted to another hand.
ALFRED.
When, in the rocky cave, I found him dead,
I then resolv'd, King of the warlike Danes,
To bear to thee the tidings of his death;
And as a proof, which could not be deny'd,
That ring I took, which erst mine eyes beheld,
Upon his finger plac'd, with rites and charms,
When he was crown'd, in London, England's King.
HINGUAR.
I will reward thee to thy utmost wish.
Thou art no Saxon, but of British race,
And lov'st the mountains of thy native land;
Choose where they fairest rise; they shall be thine,
With all their valleys and their Sylvan streams.
The Gods I serve have sent thee to my aid.
'Tis my belief thou can'st assist me much,
In what is dearer to my soul than empire.
ALFRED.
How can the bard assist a Prince like thee?
HINGUAR.
In high respect, I hold thy art divine.
Whate'er thou art, magician, bard or seer,
Or if thou art all these, I crave thine aid.
Amidst my victories, I am most wretched;
By love tormented, unsuccessful love.
18
Thy love, with equal love, is not return'd?
HINGUAR.
More grievous still. The fair, my soul desires,
Cannot distinguish nor reward my love.
If thou her cruel malady can'st charm,
And drive wild frenzy from her troubled mind,
Task to fulfil thy wish the power of Hinguar.
ALFRED.
In me behold the man of thy desire.
Unlawful arts I neither use, nor know;
But am, in nature's secrets, deeply skill'd.
Far from the pleasures and the cares of men,
By strange misfortune, to the desart driven,
A lonely anchoret, for years, I lived.
To me are known the virtues of each plant,
That grows in hill or dale, in sun or shade;
How one, by sympathy, with madness taints;
And how another clears th'infected blood.
Much I can help or harm.
HINGUAR.
Exert thy skill;
And plant and herb, or song and spell employ.
Do what thou wiltst, so thou restor'st the fair.
ALFRED.
Did her dire frenzy from distress arise?
From sudden perturbation of the mind?
Or is the cause unknown?
HINGUAR.
From grief, from fear,
From terror to excess, her frenzy rose.
Dreadful the shock she suffered!
19
How, my Lord?
What did she suffer?
HINGUAR.
In her person, nothing;
But agony of mind, to an excess,
Not easy to describe.
ALFRED.
Has she reveal'd
Her name, her family?
HINGUAR.
By different names
She calls herself; and when with questions urg'd,
She makes extravagant, fantastic answers,
And seems unconscious of her true condition.
ALFRED.
Her general temper, is it sad or gay?
For frenzy is most various.
HINGUAR.
So is hers;
For she exhibits every various mood,
That frenzy e'er assum'd. But thou shalt see,
And judge her strange demeanor. In yon tent,
With purple bright, she dwells; and to this spot,
Where now we stand, she frequently repairs.
This is her usual hour. Behold! she comes.
(Enter Ethelswida, with two women attending, fantastically drest.)
ALFRED.
How beautiful she is! O, piteous sight!
Her frenzy's high.
20
Did ere thine aged eyes
Behold her equal?
(Ethelswida passes them, and advances to the front.)
ETHELSWIDA.
Eagles of the rock,
Lend me your sounding wings; cherubs of heaven,
Who soar above the sun, your pinions lend,
To bear me to my love.
HINGUAR
, (to Alfred.)
Observe!
ALFRED.
I do.
ETHELSWIDA.
The crested swans were heard to sing
A sad lamenting strain;
As floating with the stream, his corse
Descended to the main.
HINGUAR.
Still of a lover lost. I never heard
Her roving words tend to one point so long.
ALFRED.
Sorrow and rage excessive, both are madness.
Time always cures them, if the frame is sound.—
She speaks again.
ETHELSWIDA.
My heart swells in my breast,
And stops my breath. Oceans of tears I shed,
And shake the high pavilion with my sighs.
21
(To Hinguar.)
Thou keeper of the keys of death and hell,
Unlock the iron gate, and set me free.
Then I shall smile and thank thee.
HINGUAR.
Queen of beauty!
I am thy captive, and obey thy will.
To soothe the grief that preys upon thy heart,
My care has hither brought a Bard divine,
Whose voice can charm the ache and agony,
Which spirits feel. He's gentle, mild, and wise,
And shall attend thy call.
ETHELSWIDA.
I will not call him.
His garb is vile; I hate it.
ALFRED.
Hate not him.
Whose heart is tun'd to sympathize with thine.
I shun the house of mirth, and love to dwell,
A constant inmate of the house of sorrow.
(Whilst he speaks, Ethelswida gazes and knows him.)
ETHELSWIDA.
Then thou art not so wise, as wou'd appear,
From thy white head, and grave habiliments.
(Walks aside in great emotion. Returns.)
If thou art fond and weak, and foolish too;
Why, so am I. We may consort together,
And build strong castles.
ALFRED.
Yes.
22
Thy harp shall move
The trees and rocks. In order they shall rise,
As high as Babel's tower.
ALFRED.
Forthwith they shall.
ETHELSWIDA.
Are all thy songs of melancholy strain?
ALFRED.
The greater part.
ETHELSWIDA.
Then thou hast lost thy love;
Else thou could'st ne'er have felt true melancholy,
I will not hear thee now. I'm poor in spirit,
And have not force to bear a strong affection.
I choose a garland song, a lighter strain.
There liv'd a youth, by silver Thames,
Who lov'd the maidens fair;
But loose, at large, the rover rang'd,
Nor felt a lover's care.
We must not with one censure level all.
Who lov'd the maidens fair;
But loose, at large, the rover rang'd,
Nor felt a lover's care.
Some men are true of heart, but very few.
Those live not long, they die before their time.
'Tis pity of them. Oh!
[walks aside.
HINGUAR.
A show'r of tears
Fast falling calms the tempest of her mind.
ALFRED.
'Tis a deep rooted malady.
23
OFFICER.
My Lord,
A troop of English horsemen, from the hill,
Descend into the plain. Our warriours wait,
Impatient, thy commands.
HINGUAR.
I come.
(Exit Officer.)
(To Alfred.)
Remain,
Till I return. Edda, Elisa, mark me.
Give her full scope; in nothing cross her mood,
That this reflecting sage, compleat, may see
The picture of her mind.
(Exit.)
ETHELSWIDA.
(After a pause, approaches Alfred.)
Thou pilgrim sad,
Whose head the hand of time hath silver'd o'er,
Com'st thou from Palestine?
ALFRED.
From Rome I come.
ETHELSWIDA.
From Rome! Thou dost not wear thy triple crown;
And yet I know thou art the holy Sire,
The common father of the Christian world.
Compassion show to me.—with wicked men,
With heathens and idolaters, I dwell;
Without the benefit of holy church.
Nor shrift, nor absolution have I known,
For seven long years.
24
I will, myself, confess thee.
The peace of heaven shall on thy soul descend.
(To the attendants.)
A course most fortunate her fancy steers;
Most likely to effect the King's desire.
In this conceit, to me she may reveal
Her name, her parentage, perhaps the grief
That rankles in her breast. Please to retire,
As if it were confession.
ELISA.
Haste away,
For fickle is her mind.
EDDA
, (going.)
I like it not.
This may be stratagem: They're Saxons all.
'Tis fit they be observ'd. I'll keep in sight.
[Exeunt.
Manet Alfred and Ethelswida.
ETHELSWIDA.
Alfred!—
ALFRED.
Ethelswida!
(offers to embrace her.)
ETHELSWIDA.
O, beware!
Death lurks in every corner. Why expose
Thy noble life to such inglorious peril?
Not thus did I expect to see the King.
If 'ere mine eyes beheld my Lord again,
I hop'd to see him in the light of steel,
Prompt to defend himself, or rescue me.
Why com'st thou thus?
25
I come to know thy fate.
For, since I heard thou wast in Hinguar's power,
Distraction here has reign'd,
ETHELSWIDA.
I comprehend thee.
Could Alfred think I wou'd survive my honour?
ALFRED.
I knew not what to think: But much I fear'd.
ETHELSWIDA.
Dismiss that fear; and be of this assur'd,
I shall be as I am, or shall be nothing.
Fly from this place of peril; fly, with speed.
Thy presence to us both is sure perdition.
My own distress, with fortitude, I bore:
But feel my weakness, when the danger's thine.
The part I act, I hardly can sustain.
Didst thou not mark, when first I heard thy voice,
How real passion mingled with the feign'd?
When I beheld thee risen from the grave,
And braving death again for Ethelswida,
The veil of frenzy scarce conceal'd my transport.
ALFRED.
I saw thy struggling soul, then—not till then,
Athwart the cloud, the beam of reason shone.
ETHELSWIDA.
Tarry not here; else I shall lose my reason,
And be the thing I seem.
ALFRED.
Till night shall spread
Her favouring mantle o'er my secret steps,
26
To bear thee with me, thro' the host of Denmark.
Of that, we shall have time to speak hereafter.
This garb secures me frequent, free access.
Now, let me warn thee, shou'd it be suspected,
That I am not the person I pretend,
Thy ready answer must, with mine, accord;
I am thy brother; Surrey is my name,
And Emma thine.
ETHELSWIDA.
Alas! Ill-omen'd name!
In my defence, the noble Surrey fell.
ALFRED.
He lives to serve thee in the camp of Hinguar.
ETHELSWIDA.
What miracle! mine eyes beheld him slain.
ALFRED.
They come, they come; resume thy wild demeanor.
(Ethelswida walks aside, as formerly.)
Enter Elisa and Edda.
ELISA.
The King draws near.
ETHELSWIDA.
Array me for his presence.
I'll have a crown to deck my pensive brows;
It shall be made of sun-beams, and of stars,
Caught as they shoot: and when the rainbow rests
Its glowing shaft upon the mountains side,
I'll dip my robe in gold. Away, away.
[Exeunt Elisa and Edda.
27
HINGUAR.
It was a false alarm. The English horse,
When we advanc'd against them, wheel'd and fled.
What judgment hast thou form'd? Did she say ought
In her confession?
ALFRED.
She flew off at once
From that conceit. Her mind's a burning fire,
Where sudden thoughts, like wreath's of smoak arise,
And, parting from the flame, disperse in air.
Her shatter'd fancy, like a mirror broken,
Reflects no single image just and true,
But many false ones.
HINGUAR.
Dost thou hope to cure
The malady, which thou describ'st so well?
ALFRED.
There is more ground of hope than cause of fear.
HINGUAR.
Forthwith the wonders of thine art essay;
Meanwhile, within the circle of my tents,
Secure remain. Gothred's imperious daughter,
(Whom in an evil hour, when new in England,
To please the Danes I was induc'd to wed)
Is in the camp arriv'd. I guess her purpose,
And will prevent her speed.
(A voice behind the scenes.)
Presumptuous slave!
(Another voice.)
Thou can'st not pass.
Who shall oppose the Queen?
28
RONEX.
I come too late; she's gone. Hail to the King;
Who is this minion, that usurps my place,
And, with mock majesty, dishonours Denmark?
HINGUAR.
Outrageous as thou art, respect at least
The stranger's ear.
(To Alfred.)
Retire, and shun the storm.
[Exit Alf.
RONEX.
What pageantry is this?
HINGUAR.
Why hast thou left,
Without permission of thy Lord, the place
Appointed for thee?
RONEX.
Ha! Am I thy slave?
That thou presum'st to treat me with such scorn.
Hast thou forgot my birth? do'st thou not know
I am the heir of Denmark and of England,—
That in my right thou reign'st?
HINGUAR.
To Denmark go;
There o'er thy barren rocks and desarts reign:
But fair and fertile England is my own.
The sword, that won, shall keep the pleasant land.
I conquer'd for myself.
RONEX.
Talk'st thou of conquest,
Thou woman's warrior, who consum'st thy days
29
Whilst o'er thy head thy slaughter'd brother's ghost
For vengeance shrieks in vain.
HINGUAR.
None of my foes,
Of whom the fellest far, I reckon thee,
Shall long elude my vengeance: From this hour,
I cast thee off; for ever I renounce thee;
And soon thou shalt behold another queen
Exalted in thy place.
RONEX.
Fulfil thy threat,
And thou shalt soon behold another King.
The leaders and the soldiers of thy host
Revere in me the Scandinavian line.
When I am not thy Queen, thou reign'st no more.
HINGUAR.
This instant leave me, or by Denmark's Gods,
By Loda's altar, stain'd with human blood,
To Iceland's dreary isle thou shalt be borne,
There to repent thy folly.—Guards!
Enter an Officer with Soldiers.
RONEX.
Stand off!
Tyrant, when next we meet—
HINGUAR.
Force her away.
Never let Gothred's daughter enter here.
[Exeunt Ronex and Guards.
30
And yet her jealous rage is fell and bloody;
My fair Norwegian felt her mortal hate.
I must not trust my lovely captive's life,
To the slight keeping of that officer,
Who yielded to the threats of haughty Ronex.
This instant I'll dismiss him, and appoint
The brave and faithful Erick to his place.
[Exit.
| Alfred | |