University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Changes to the Vale of Hakeness; a Hermit's Cell in front near a Rivulet.
Sewold comes out of the Cell, follow'd by Edwin disguis'd as a Hermit, but without his beard.
SEWOLD.
Thanks to thy courtesy, thou reverend Seer;
For youth like thine is reverend. Solitude
And silence, inmates of this peaceful vale,
Have given thee, what a length of busy years,
Spent in the noise and turmoil of the world,
Oft fail to give, rich store of useful truths,
Well rang'd on memory's tablet. Yet I marvel,
Young Lord, what led thee in thy life's fair prime
To this so close seclusion; thou hast said,
It was not for that end, which ignorance
Misdeems religion, and I trust it was not
For that still falser end, which rankling spleen
Miscalls philosophy.

Ed.
Indeed it was not.
Yet there are ills, begot of sad mischance,
Which sacred solitude alone can cure;
And some there are, of such a stubborn sort,
As mock her powers medicinal; yet still
Where'er she fails to cure, she serves to sooth,
For this I use her opiate; ever far
From perfect remedy, yet much reliev'd
By her emollient aid.

Sew.
There is, young Lord,
Another leach, whose drugs have passing power
O'er every malady that mars the mind.
That leach is Friendship; he would probe thy wound
With tenderest hand, and, while he opens, heal.
O that my son were here! for I, alas,
Am all unequal, from discordant years,
To the sweet task! his youthful converse gay,
Mixt with soft sympathy and smiling tears,
Would lure thee to unbosom in his breast
Thy every care, and, opening thus a course
To thy pent sorrows, bid them run to waste,
Or change them into pleasures.

Ed.
Think not, Dane,
That solitude has blunted in this breast
The inborn taste for choice society,
Or that still richer relish for blest friendship,
Which Nature gives her votaries. Think not, Dane,
Quitting the world, I meant to quit that love
Instinctive, that each creature owes its kind,
And, chief of these, that man still owes to man.

Sew.
I trust indeed thou didst not.—But methinks
I hear some footstep. 'Tis perchance my son—
Ah no—my vassal Baldwin from the fleet.

Enter a DANISH SAILOR.
Sail.
My Lord, a fly-boat from yon neighb'ring port,
Its freight one seaman only, hail'd our ships;
And, when we bade him quietly approach,
Row'd sidelong to the first, and on its deck
This packet flung, and hied him back with speed.

[Sewold takes the letter, opens it, and reads.

“To the Lord Ambassador of Denmark,

Greeting.

“The unkingly manner, in which your high Embassage has been treated, by him who was bound by oath given to the dying King Adelbright to treat it with all due honour, has awaken'd much displeasure in the breast of many honest Saxons, who are at once friends to their own country and well affected to the majesty of Denmark. Amongst these no man is more strongly offended than the writer of this letter, who hereby promises, if so that your Excellency shall think meet to anchor two days longer in your present station, to convey safely to your fleet (if Heav'n favours his just design) the fair object of your embassage. Hoping that ere this shall reach your hands, he shall have already secur'd her from the wiles of the tyrant. “Signed, OSWALD.”

Ed.
Oswald!

[Starting.
Sew.
That start bespeaks you know him.

Ed.
Know him!

Sew.
Methinks I see the tears gush from your eye.
Say, Sir, I pray ye, is he of such rank
And influence in the court, that I may trust
On what he here doth promise?

Ed.
Noble Dane,
He is the very soul of honesty.
In virtue as superior as in birth,
And from that birth as high an earldom holds
As Anglia gives; his virtues are his own.
Your pardon, Sir, I cannot count the sum
Of his just praises.—Peace, my fluttering heart,
He is—but rather let me say, he was—
And yet, perchance, now he is Edel's foe,
He may be still my father.

Sew.
Say'st thou, Youth,
Thy father? then we need no more credentials.
And yet, it seems, from the disjointed phrase
That gave this to my knowledge, some harsh treatment,
Which sure to such a son—May I not press
Thy further confidence?

Ed.
To such sage ears
To tell a tale of disappointed love
Must make the teller blush: suffice to say,
That for this cause I lodg'd me in this cell;
Because, by cruel Edel's arts misled,
He frown'd on my chaste wishes; since the day
I hid me here twice has yon golden orb
Finish'd his annual round, and here did mean
To end that life in pining solitude,
I was forbid t' enjoy in virtuous love.
Yet trust me, Dane, if, as those letters speak,
The genius stern of liberty is rous'd,
And threats the tyrant's fall, this hermitage
No more shall shroud me. Trust me, noble stranger,
I'll instant list beneath fair Freedom's banners,
Eager to plant my dagger in the breast
Of her fell foe. Then farewell these hoar vestments,
And welcome helm and hawberk.

Sew.
Gallant Youth,
This zeal sits well upon thy manly front,
And soon, I deem, thy father and thy country
Will call it into action. For the moment,
I hasten to the fleet to spread new orders
Touching its further stay. My son, I hope,
Will soon be here; for this thy cell was fixt
Our place of meeting. If, ere my return,
The youth arrives, thy courtesy, I trust,
Will bid him kindly welcome.

Ed.
As a brother.

[Exeunt severally.