University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

—The inside of Guthrum's Tent.
Enter Guthrum and Edric.
Guth.
I swear a royal booty! Thou hast done
Great service to the Dane. With these supplies
No need to forage. Here we'll sit at ease,
And rest us from the war.

Edr.
No rest for me!
Far richer holds than those which I surprised
And plunder'd, at my master's feet shall lay
Their treasure and munition.

Guth.
At thy friend's!
Call me not master! Call me father! Think
To thy first expedition what we owe!—
The capture of the royal Saxon's son,
The heir of Alfred!

Edr.
Would his queen, as well,
Were now within thy power!—But she escaped,
Or perish'd in the flames.

Guth.
Come, Edric!—speak;
What shall I give thee to reward the love,
That so hath labour'd to enrich me? Come,
Ask what thou wilt, by Odin it is thine.

Edr.
Thou badest me call thee father. With the leave
Give me the right to hail thee by that title.
I ask thy daughter's hand.

Guth.
I give it thee.
Seek her, and bring her hither.

Edr.
For that boon
Command my blood! Ay, every drop of it.

[Goes out.
Enter Haldane.
Hal.
My Lord, a Saxon minstrel is without:
The string he touches with a master's hand;
And as he plays, a youth that waits upon him,
Sings to his harp rare tales of love and war
As ever gladden'd ear!

Guth.
Conduct him hither.

[Haldane goes out, and returns with Alfred, followed by Edwy. Guthrum, who had sat down, struck by the deportment of Alfred, rises.
Guth.
Ha! who art thou? What art thou?

Alf.
I'm the bard.
The son of fantasy,
Whose world's o' the air—to mortal vision else
Impalpable—a paragon to this!—
Where he communes with forms, whose radiancy
Outshines the lustre of earth's fairest things!
Whose title, from above, earth can't confer
Or take away! whose smile is coveted
By beauty—valour—their bright mirror, where
They see themselves more bright! whose tributaries
Are kings themselves; whose gorgeous state but serves
To swell his strain, that doth emblazon them
Beyond their deeds or titles!

Guth.
Well replied;
I like thy answer better, that 'tis bold!
Sit down, sit down.—A sample of your skill.—
Thou spokest of beauty now,—What canst thou say
In praise of it?

Alf.
[To himself.]
Thanks to the tender hand
That guided me to con the minstrel's lore,
And treasure't in my heart!

Guth.
Let's taste thy skill.

Alfred.
Wouldst thou know what beauty is?
Beauty is the queen of sighs!
Not a heart but owneth this,
Proud or humble, light or wise.
Crownéd goblets some desire;
Some to see the banquet spread;
Some prize shining gold; and higher
Value some the shining deed;
Safety's deem'd a gem by some;
Danger, some a jewel call;
Some to power desire to come;
But beauty is the prized of all!
Well the Bard her praise may sing—
Of his soul-entrancing lyre,
She commands the master-string,
That which lends it all its fire!
Wanting which he could not sing—
Rhymeless, numberless, might be,
Nor e'er had won a name for deathless minstrelsy.

Guth.
Right well thou provest thy title to thy name.
What does the youth that waits upon thee?

Alf.
Sing,
The while I play.

Guth.
We'll hear him at the banquet.
Thou art not old—and, yet, thou look'st not young;
Thy brow with wisdom graver than with years—
I'd talk with you; for great, unless I err,
Your skill in lore, we little care to search
Whose school's the battle-field. Attend me! Come.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

—A sequestered rural spot near the Camp.
Enter Ina (leading Ethelred), Edith, and Boy.
Edith.
Your little charge is a fair healthful plant,
Whose thriving looks bespeak your careful tending.
How strong is infancy in its helplessness!
Of all that dwelt within the hold where he
Was found, no soul, they say, was spared but him,
Howe'er they pray'd for mercy!

Ina.
Little praise
To him that saved him! Edric's treacherous heart
Can own no touch of mercy! Know you not
The boy is Alfred's son? His hold it was,
Which Edric with my father's host beset,
When found the chief this boy. Go on before,
We'll follow you; and mind you spare no pains
To humour him.
[To Boy, who goes out with Ethelred.
I should not love thee, boy:
Thy race is Ina's bane!

Edith.
Why say'st thou so?
The Saxon loves thee, Ina.

Ina.
Loves me?

Edith.
Yes!
What, though his passion is not on his tongue;
His heart is full of it. It speaks in sighs—
Love's proper words. Ne'er plainer spoke to ear!

Ina.
Nay, tell me not. His heart is stone to me!
He sighs! but 'tis for freedom!

Edith.
'Tis for you!
How love is blind to what it pines to see!
You think him stone; belike so thinks he you.
Couldst see thyself, thou wouldst at once see him!
Your eyes, at parting, that strain after him,
At meeting, feast on any other thing;
Your tongue, that, when he hears not, rings with him,
In his hearing's noteless, as it ne'er knew sound.
For too strong love, his love's accounted none.

Ina.
I tell thee, no! His thoughts abide not here.
They're with his countrymen, some daughter fair
Of whom he loves—not Ina.—Be it so!
The cheek I love shall smile, though not on me!
The bird, I'd keep with me I will let go,
And free from bondage that would kill with doating.
He's free—My father gives him liberty.

Edith.
And what for thee?

Ina.
To die, like a poor flower
That lives with only gazing on the sun;
But from her radiant lord too long shut out
By the cold cloud, in silence hangs her head,
And dies a smiling death!

Edith.
He comes.

Ina.
Alas,
For the last time!

Oswith enters, perceiving Ina.
Os.
Still, still, my treacherous steps
Betray me, leading me to what I'd shun;
Yet what is ever present to my thought
Why fears my eye to see? My thraldom's full—
If 'tis enchantment, better to enjoy
The fatal sweetness of the powerful spell
I strive in vain to break!

Ina.
Saxon, thou'rt free.

Os.
Recall thy words!

Ina.
I speak my father's will.

Os.
Why does he give me liberty?

Ina.
Because
His Ina begg'd the boon.

Os.
Why did she so?
Would she had begg'd my death! I did not ask
For freedom;—thraldom was more kind to me,
Which chain'd me unto that I ought to fly,
But fain would cling to! Honour did not swerve
That was constrain'd to look upon its bane;
And if it look'd till it forgot itself,
'Twas its mischance—not crime.—Now, if it falls,
It falls of its own will! O maid, too fair!
Help me to 'scape the ruin thou hast wrought!
Think—think—'tis an apostate kneels to thee!
Instruct thy melting eye to flash with scorn—
Teach thy sweet tongue harsh indignation's note—
Erect thy form with dread severity—
Till, like a seraph, sterner in thy frown
For what thou look'st and breath'st of beauteous heaven,
Thou awest me into virtue!

Ina.
Wouldst thou be free,
Thou art so!

Os.
Am I? Lady, there are bonds,
The wearing which endears them to the slave,
So that he hugs them—would not be set free!
Free me from these!

Ina.
What bonds?

Os.
E'en such, as not
Our limbs imprison, but the things that rule them—
Our thoughts and wills—as coil about our hearts,
And keep their hold, when links of steel were wax.

Ina.
Methinks I have a guess what bonds you mean!
Are they not heavy ones when worn, alone,
But light when others share them? Is it so?
Hadst thou such partnership, wouldst thou be free?
I would not, so had I!

Os.
It cannot be!
Half she reveals her heart, and veils her eyes.
Do her veil'd eyes unveil the other half?
Am I so bless'd, so cursed, as to be loved?
Nay, then, 'tis fate I'd cope with, and must yield!
Oh, to have fallen in battle!—to have fallen
When honour was my mistress!—to have fallen
When in her radiant eye I drew my sword,
And deem'd my life a stake not worth a thought
To venture for her smile!—when wooing her,
I strode more blithely through the battle-field,
Than e'er I bounded down the festive hall!

Ina.
What makes thee wish for death?

Os.
The dread to lose
What was my more than life; but now seems poor—
Like to be cast away, since I have found
A good I covet more than life and it!

Ina.
What dost thou covet so?

Os.
Thee, lady, thee!
Thou art that good of value paramount!
Oh, to have met thee with a heart at large!
No solemn debt—no knotted tie upon it!
Free to be all thy own—to render thee
Its whole of love, hope, honour, loyalty—
One large, unbroken, everlasting gift—
The hand which now, in doubtful joy, I take—
How had I caught in trancéd ecstasy,
And kneeling, laid the offering at thy feet!

Enter Edric.
Edr.
Let go that hand! 'Tis mine!

Os.
What fire is this,
That like the lightning darts through me, and feels
As all-consuming!—Thine!

Ina.
Believe him not.
Oswith, believe him not—believe the maid
That all forgets herself with thought of thee,
Casts off the bashful 'tire of virginhood,
And, unenforced, confesses she's thine own!—
The eyes turns on thee she would still avert,
And lets thee see them, though they stream with love!—
Calls on thee with the tongue that ne'er till now
Betray'd her secret, to receive't for thine!
Believe him not, he sports with thee!—Thy heart
Is not more surely seated in thy breast,
Than is thy image lodged in Ina's heart—
Not more the spring of life to thee, than that
Is life itself to Ina! 'Fore the world
Will I proclaim me thine, and cleave to thee!
But plight me faith for faith.

Os.
I do, sweet maid!

Edr.
[Drawing his sword.]
My right's a bar, which thou must first remove!

Os.
Thy right! What right?

[Half drawing his sword.
Ina.
Give me the hand that grasps the sword, and grasp
My hand, instead! Thou'rt mine! Thy hand—thy arm—
Thy all are mine! My all I have given for thee!
Paid down for thee a virgin's heart, that ne'er
Before in love was barter'd. Give me thy hand!
Or thou'rt the falsest, most forsworn of men,
Breaking the vow that scarce hath left thy lips;
And I'm the poorest, most abused of maids!
Give me thy hand! Nay, an thou wilt not, thus
Upon thy arm I'll hang, and be thy shield,
Taking the blows upon my fearless breast,
That threaten wound to thine.

Os.
[Taking his hand from his sword.]
Thy right? What right?

Edr.
Dost wish to learn? Such as the bridegroom claims—
As makes the lover bless his stars, and gives
Fulfilment of his long-enduring hopes—
As turns his blissful dreams to substances,
So rich, past credence, still he thinks he dreams—
Asks if he wakes—believes it—doubts it—sickens
Lest day prove night, and truthful morning come,
And in his very arms his treasures fade!

Os.
[Half drawing his sword again.]
A bridegroom's right!

Ina.
That right is thine alone!
O how thy frame with fearful passion shakes!
While thy full orbs strain on thy countryman,
With deadly purpose fraught! Turn them on me!
Read who is Ina's bridegroom in her face!
See whom her eyes with fondness strain upon,
As thine on him with hate! O what a fee
Thou mak'st me pay for that which costs thee nought!
I call thee lord—If that contents thee not,
Why then the dearer name of husband take,
And give me in exchange, an only look!

Os.
[To Edric.]
Explain thy words.

Edr.
The service I have done
The Dane, he bids me name requital for;
And by his God he binds himself, whate'er
The boon, to grant it. Ina was the boon.

[Oswith draws his sword.
Ina.
List to me, Oswith—Oswith—by thy love!—
My father's oath has made me his! Hear mine!
By Odin, I'll be bride to none but thee!

Edr.
Force will exact what frowardness denies!

Os.
And thou couldst wed the bride that loathéd thee?

Edr.
Yes.

Os.
Put up thy sword. I'd whisper thee.

[They whisper.
Ina.
Say it out.
Thy breath is mine! More than her own it feeds
Thy Ina's life! O, 'tis a treacherous breath,
To play the traitor to its mistress thus!
Speak out, I say! Thou heed'st me not! False friend!
Friend cruel and unfair, that gives me nought,
Whilst I give all to him!

Edr.
'Tis well.

[Goes out.
Ina.
'Tis ill!
Not half so plain thy gleaming brandish'd sword
Could threaten death, as doth thy flashing eye!

Os.
Ina, thy fears are causeless. Prithee hence,
Back to the camp; whilst I revolve the means
Shall bring the course of our now thwarted loves
To prosperous issue.

Ina.
I'll revolve them with thee;
And thou shalt find how thrifty woman's wit,
When set to work by love!

Os.
My Ina!—Love!
Bride!—Wife!—for wedded they whom love has join'd—
I'd be alone.

Ina.
I will not leave thee! Come!
We'll go to the camp together.

Os.
Sweet! my way
Lies this way.

Ina.
So does mine, then.

Os.
Nay, farewell!

Ina.
You leave me not! I'll cling to thee till death
Disjoins us! Drag me if thou wilt, I'll ne'er
Let go my hold! Oh was there ever maid
So lost for love! that knelt—that bent the knee—
Pleaded her cause with her bold tongue—paid tribute,
Large as her eyes could furnish, of her tears
To an unheeding lover, deaf to her,
And scarce confess'd an hour!

Re-enter Edric.
Edr.
Was it for this
Thou sent'st me hence? to give thee pause for dalliance!
Traitor!

Os.
Ha!

Edr.
Coward!

[Both draw.
Enter Guthrum and Alfred.
Guth.
Hold! forbear! Who stirs,
There's not another step 'twixt him and death!
How is this?—I deem'd you friends!—Your cause of quarrel?
Ina, my child! what share hast thou in't? What!
Dost turn from me?

[Angrily.
Ina.
My father!

Guth.
There! there! there!
[Pressing her to him.
Did I speak roughly to thee? Silly fawn,
Startled at but a sound! Art thou in tears?
It does concern thee, then?—How?—Ina, speak!
Dost hear me? Answer, girl! Well; never heed.
You would if you could! No matter! Noble Edric,
Declare the cause of quarrel to thy friend.

Ina.
Thou'rt not his friend! Call not thyself his friend!

Guth.
My Ina, but I must! and so must thou—

Ina.
Never!

Guth.
What's that!—My child, beware! You know
I brook not thwarting!—must not be gainsaid!
Call him thy friend! Come! Show me thou'rt my child!
My flesh! my blood! that owe themselves to me,
And should be subject to me! Wilt not speak?
Take counsel! Something 's rising in my heart
That bodes not good to thee! Once more I say,
Resist me not! Submit! Call him thy friend.
Art silent still? Now, minstrel, prove thou'rt wise!
I found thee so when we discoursed of peace!
Of war!—the duties subjects owe to kings,
And kings to subjects. Now propound the means
Behoves a father take, who would untie
A wilful daughter's tongue!

Alf.
Force but subdues
The weak; but, with the strong, 'tis met by force.
Was never found the noble nature yet
That crouch'd before a frown! 'Tis sway'd with smiles.
Chiding her nature thou but chid'st thy own!
She's thy soul's bright and fair reflecting glass!
But look at her! Sits not thy upper lip—
All manly as it is, and bold, to hers—
More proudly firm upon thy nether one,
Than hers upon its fellow! Vauntest thou,
As only late thou didst, rebuke with thee,
Given as rebuke, ne'er mended failing yet?
Then is thy boast her pardon! Give me favour
For speaking thus my thought.

Guth.
Thou dost my wish.
I like thy frankness! Yes; I see! You're right!
She's all her father's child! Come to me, Ina!
[She rushes into his arms.
What wouldst thou do for me?

Ina.
Aught that I could.

Guth.
Ah, there my Ina speaks! I like thee thus!
Thus Ina, when thou hang'st upon my neck,
And gazest in my face! My Ina, list!
I'll tell thee wherefore I would have thee call
The Saxon friend. I've sworn to give thee to him.

Ina.
Without my heart? What, father, give my hand
Without my heart? Not so wouldst thou give thine,
And make a league of friendship with thy hand
Thy heart protested 'gainst! And what were that,
Compared to one of love?—a league of friendship,
That barr'd a friend out, and enclosed a foe!
Wouldst thou do that? Thou wouldst not give a smile
Without thy soul's consent. And wouldst thou have
Thy Ina give her hand without her heart?

Guth.
Dread Odin has my oath!

Ina.
So has he mine!

Guth.
What hast thou sworn?

Ina.
Eternal truth to love!

Guth.
Thou dost not know the passion? But thou dost!
'Tis clear! I see too sure thou art its thrall!
Upon thy cheek his crimson pennon waves!
Thy downcast eyes pay homage to his sway!
Thy heaving breast by its commotion shows
The conqueror is within! I see his power
Confess'd in every fibre of thy frame!
Whom dost thou love? Who has lit up this flame?

Ina.
[Kneeling.]
Thou, father, thou; whose fondness for thy child
Would sketch for her the man thou'dst have her wed;
How he should be among his peers in rank—
And that the first—without a peer in worth!
Most brave!—most true!—most generous!—most good!
Fit to be challenger of all the noble field,
In all achievements of supreme renown;
And bear the palm from all! Nor yet to lack
Those qualities of visage, and of form,
Which to these other richer graces join'd,
Make the consummate man! But that I saw
My father such a man, I should have deem'd
A phantom 'twas he drew for me; for ne'er,
Except in him, saw I embodied wealth
Of so rare worth—until I saw it there!

[Pointing to Oswith.
Guth.
What's this to me?

Ina.
The being of thy child—
Thy Ina!—thy dear Ina!—who forgets
Her father 'tis she's kneeling to, as though
He were a stranger to her; but, now, leaps
Into his bosom! Oh, I'd like to see
The harm could reach me here!

Guth.
The Saxon dies!

Ina.
No! no!

Guth.
He spurn'd the proffer of his life,
When forfeit to the God!

Ina.
Nay hear me!

Guth.
Spurn'd
My friendship! Guthrum's friendship!

Ina.
No!

Guth.
He did!
I loved him, though my foe, because I mark'd
His prowess in the fight! I could have thought
The God himself had turn'd against his sons,
And, angry, sided with their enemies!
He was my captive! He had bled to Odin!
I proffer'd him my friendship, would he make
Alliance with the Dane, to snatch him from
The altar; and he spurn'd me! Ay! refused
The hand of a victorious king, through faith
To an uncrownéd fugitive! He did!
I spared him at my child's beseeching! He
That spurn'd the parent, now would win the child!
He dies!

Alf.
[Aside to Guthrum.]
Thy Ina dies! See, how she hangs,
Half dead, already on thy shoulder! Much
Thou lov'st her! If none other calls thee father,
Beware thou art not childless!

Guth.
Am I in the wrong?
Demand I more than is a father's due?
What is her life, but portion of my breath?

Alf.
A portion thou'dst give all thy breath to save!

Guth.
Thou sayest right.

Alf.
A portion, too, which she
Would render up, not only to save thine,
But let thee breathe with ease!

Guth.
Thou sayest right;
Yet bows she not her fancy to my will

Alf.
She cannot.

Guth.
How?

Alf.
You ask; and you have loved!

Guth.
How know you that?

Alf.
Who has not felt the flame?
Your passion was repaid.

Guth.
How know you that?

Alf.
How know I that? From nought but mutual love
A flower, consummate rich like that, could grow,
Where fairest things that harmonize unite!
E'en such a skin should such a mould incase,
To such a heart, be casket such a mould;
Such lineaments compose the beauteous face,
Of such a neck that makes its graceful seat!
And skin, and mould, and heart, and face be served
By such a minstrel as that tuneful tongue!
This speaks the mingling of accordant hearts,
Throbbing in fervent unity; that one
No thought, no wish, no hope, no joy can lodge,
But finds its fellow at the other's core!

Guth.
Minstrel, thou'rt right! Deep does thy wisdom search!
Her mother, Eva, was my only love,
As I was hers! Though daughter of my foe,
She left her father, friends, land, faith, and all,
To follow me. She did!—She did!

Alf.
And that's
Her child, in whom, the passion that bless'd thee,
Thou'dst turn into a curse!

Guth.
I like not that!
Thou makest too bold to say I'd curse my child!

Alf.
Look at her!

Guth.
Thou art right! Say on! Say on!
Yet where's the profit? Win me Odin's ear,
And move the God to give me back my oath!
Thou but perplexest me! Since thou'rt so wise,
Show me the way not to forswear myself;
And yet not keep my oath!

Alf.
Two oaths the God
Has register'd; one only can be kept.
Which he accepts, the God himself decide.
You say he rules the sword; then to the sword
Entrust the cause, and these the terms of strife—
Who masters first his adversary's sword
And yet not sheds his blood, be his the maid!

Os.
Content!

Edr.
Content!

Ina.
Oswith, this chain's of gold,
[Still leaning on her father.
That never knew alloy—cunningly wrought—
An amulet, that ever faithful guards
The wearer's wishes. Hang it round thy neck,
Thy Ina's fate goes with it! Proves it false,
Drop it into the grave where I shall lie,
Ere, by its treachery, thy rival thrives!

Guth.
And Edric, thou receive this ring from me.
The hand that wears it, holds its weapon true,
If faithful to the Dane, as thou to me!

Alf.
I have a ring, a charméd bauble too.
Power to the hand it graces, does it give,
O'er falsehood to prevail. 'Tis his who'll take it—
But who would wear it, and its virtue prove,
Must first affirm he owns a loyal heart—
True to the king that first his homage claim'd,
The land that gave him birth—Wilt take it, thou?

[To Edric.
Edr.
The ring I'll trust is this I now put on,
The guard of my good sword!

Alf.
Wilt take it thou?

[To Oswith.
Os.
Though to the king I'm true
That first my homage claim'd—true to the land
That gave me birth! yet more, than true to these,
The thrall of love, I dare not take the ring!

Alf.
Show me thy hand—my countryman!—'Tis on!
'Tis a true hand—for ne'er would fit the ring
Disloyal finger yet. Look at it well!
Lo! speak I not the truth?

Os.
[Recognising Alfred.]
My liege!

Alf.
Beware!
In whose but a true subject's hands would place
A king his life. Be of good heart! No doubt
Palsy thy arm! The wishes of thy love,
Thy king, are with thee! Heaven be with thee too!

Guth.
Away! I'll follow you! and see myself
This bloodless trial made
[Oswith and Edric go out.
Here minstrel, take
My child! Support her! Cheer her to abide
The issue of their strife.

[Goes out
Alf.
[Supporting Ina.]
Fair maiden, take
The minstrel's word, thy lover wins the game!
Thy fears are wrongs, where wrong thou least wouldst do!
Doubt on thy champion did another cast,
How would disdain arouse thy languid lip;
Colour thy frozen cheek from snow to flame;
And the expired lustre of thine eye
Re-kindle till it lighten'd! Maiden, list!
The hand's best sinew ever is the heart!
Thy lover's is the sound one! Think of that!
That's right! Look up! Take courage! Oswith throws
His brand away, and grapples Edric's! Ha!
Keep thy hold, Edric, if thou canst! A child's—
An infant's—is it to thy rival's grasp!
Look on thy lover, maiden! His chief's eye
Upon him, double is a vassal's strength;
What then the lover's, in his mistress' eye,
That strives for victory, and she the prize?
He sees thee! Mark you, how his frame distends,
As though with superhuman vigour fraught,
At his good angel's sight? Wave, maiden fair,
Wave your white arm to him! 'Twere ten times worth
A royal pennon in a monarch's hand,
Cheering the champion of his challenged crown!
You see! You see! Now puts he forth his might!
Edric gives way! He faints! His limbs are wax,
Wrestling with limbs of steel! He falls! His sword
Waves o'er his head, in noble Oswith's hand.
Hold up! Nay, gasp not! It were wrong to die,
Slain by thy gallant lover's victory!

Enter Guthrum, leading Oswith.
Guth.
There, Saxon, take my child; but thou'rt my thrall.
Thou must not bear her hence!

Alf.
He should not!—Guthrum,
Where'er I speak of thee I'll give thee out
Indeed a royal chief! Farewell!

Guth.
Not yet.
By Odin, thou shalt join our feast! I say
Thou shalt not go! I like thy company!
I'd hear thy harp again! Come! Follow all.

[They go out.
Re-enter Edric.
Edr.
Foil'd, but not yet o'ercome. The baffled foe
That will not turn a friend, is like to prove
A deadly one! Oswith has won the maid,
But not possess'd her yet! I'll mar his love!
That minstrel is not what he'd seem! Me
He shuns!—communes with Oswith!—Oswith knows him!
Some man of note—a prize to Guthrum—which
If Oswith lets escape, he wrongs the Dane!
Hence, will I work his ruin! To the banquet!
I'll watch their every movement; and unmask him,
Though I should tear the visor from his face!

[Goes out.