University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Cottage in a mountainous Desart.
Lena.
Dear, horrid hours of unpermitted joy!
What anxious moments does the woman pass,
Who riots in the arms of lawless love!
But ah! when Danger's threatening form invades
The scene of stolen happiness; tho' dearer,
Tho' then more exquisite the theft of bliss,
Sure misery is behind—Perhaps, e'en now
The troops of Norway range o'er these wild hills
To seek their low-fall'n queen—with insolence,
With all th'unmanner'd rage of vulgar power
They treat her name, and tread on her lost honour.
Perhaps e'en now—surrounding this poor cottage,
They meditate with rude hands unrestrain'd
By royalty, or awe of greatness lost.
To drag me to their injur'd king—oh! horror!
More than ten thousand deaths is in the thought.
Hah! heard I not the sound of hasty steps?
—No! all is silent—Peace, thou busy sprite,
Life-chilling Fear, that, acting still the friend,
Art in thyself a traitor—Thee the heart
Admits it's guardian—wrapt in thy embrace,
Thy cold embrace, it dies—and wakeful Prudence,
That watches thy alarm, oppress'd by thee,
Confus'd, defenceless, droops—O foe to Love!
Yet, ever in his train; with cruel skill
Prompting the anxious thought! pale sprite, away!
For lo! he comes, who never felt thy power.