The Fatal Prophecy :: :: University of Virginia Library

Berino.
Still my friend!
Whom never change of fortune, or of time
Shall banish from my breast—while the soul wakes
And the blood wanders thro' the veiny ways
Of this mechanic being—still my friend!
But ah! how useless my attentions now!
And yet, I would have serv'd thee.

Ostan.
Cease thy cares,
And every kind anxiety for me.
To see thee live, to hold thee to my heart,
Is now my happiness, and wouldst thou wish
This pleasure to continue; all the service
I ask, or hope from thy unwearied kindness
Is to partake of this unknown retreat,
Companion to a Queen, tho' in a cottage.

Lena.
Thrice gallant Chief! and worthy Ostan's friendship,
If aught my poor intreaties might avail,
In this retirement to detain thee, pride
And joy would soothe my heart, tho' Norway's Queen
No more—

Berino.
The powerful charm of friendship needs
No other motive—Trust me, beauteous Queen,
Would it ensure your safety—would it guard
My Ostan's life, amid these lonely shades
I'd dwell a Hermit to the dregs of age,
Feed on the wood's wild fruits with greater gust
Than at the palace board, and drink the fountain.

Lena.
Then, Chief, thou wilt not leave us, wilt not draw
Thy Ostan from my arms—

Ostan.
For ever generous!
Berino, my full heart in silence thanks thee.

Berino.
Yet this, my friends, is but a dream of safety.
Since, to avoid the dire event of war,
Should Valdemar demand, and Denmark's King
Agree to yield you victims to his rage,
In vain would you depend on these wild woods
To screen you from their search—united armies
Would ransack all these hills, and range these groves,
'Till not a sapling should remain unnoted.

Lena.
Lost, wretched Lena! Norway's haughty King!—
Ah! shall he blast thee with his flaming eye?
Shall he enfold his hard hand in thy hair?
And drag thee to the earth? He shall, he shall—
And there is no escape—

Berino.
Yet, beauteous Queen!
Suspend thy fears; the pride of Valdemar,
And high resentment haply may demand
Such terms as Denmark's Monarch, keen to war,
And delicate of honour, shall disdain
To yield—

Ostan.
What can we hope from thence?

Berino.
A battle
Follows of course, and Valdemar may fall,

And Denmark's arms may conquer: by our service
By our united efforts in the field
'Twill then be our's that favour to regain
So needful to your safety.—

Ostan.
Hateful service!
But not to be avoided—yet, my friend,
Yet when I think on all our glorious toil
On Lemor's shores repaid with negligence,
My vex'd blood boils, and every stroke my hand
Directs at Denmark's foes, my heart will envy.
Nay should Canute himself, with offer'd favour
Applaud my services—the tardy kindness
'Twould pain me to receive—

Berino.
We are not now
So circumstanc'd as when the splendid feast

In Agar's echoing hall then crown'd the toils
Of victory—By us o'erwhelm'd with foes,
Our Country calls on her apostate sons,
And warns us of our duty.

Ostan.
Thou hast wak'd
A thousand tender thoughts—Ah Denmark! yes!
I lov'd thy green vales, lov'd thy wild, brown hills,
And oft ere manhood brac'd my limbs, have climb'd
To their aspiring tops, with boyish fancy,
To image armies in the evening-clouds.
Oft, listening from the rock's projecting brow,
My rapt ear fed upon the far-heard sounds
Of the deep-toning horn, and my young breast
Burn'd for the fancied battle. Ah! my Country!
I feel thee at my heart.

Berino.
'Tis Nature's law.
She bade us love those native fostering fields
That spread their green laps for our infant sports;
And, acting still from kindness all her own,
She makes love gratitude, and pleasure virtue.

Lena.
Save, save me, Ostan! See thro' yonder glade,
An armed man walks warily along,
Looking as if in search—Hah! he approaches—

Ostan.
He has the air of Lother—

Berino.
'Tis the same—
Why has he trac'd me into this retreat?
What can it mean?

Lena.
What shall we do?

Berino.
Retire,
And leave me to engage him—Your abode
If possible, must yet remain unknown.