 | Alfred |  |
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SCENE II.
Corin, Emma, Peasants.Corin.
O happy hour! wife, neighbours—such, such news!
I shall run wild with joy!
Emma.
Speak, shepherd; say,
What moves thee thus?
Corin.
The king is in our isle!
Emma.
Can it be possible?
Peasant.
What do I hear?
Corin.
As now I pass'd beneath the hermit's cell,
I heard that wonderous man pronounce his name.
O Emma, the poor stranger whom we serv'd
And honour'd, all-unknowing of his state,
Is he! our great and gracious Alfred!
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Heaven!
Then are we blest indeed!
Corin.
My humble cottage,
Long ages hence, when we are dust, my friends,
In holy pilgrimage oft visited,
Will draw true English knees to worship there,
As at the shrine of some propitious saint,
Or angel friendly to mankind—The thought
Brings tears into mine eyes.—
Emma.
Does joy deceive
My sense? or did I hear a distant voice
Sigh thro the vale and wake the mournful echo?
The following song is sung by a person unseen.
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I.
Sweet valley! say, where pensive lying,For me, our children, England, sighing,
The best of mortals leans his head:
Ye fountains! dimpled by my sorrow;
Ye brooks! that my complaining borrow,
O lead me to his lonely bed!
Or if my lover,
Deep woods ye cover,
Ah! whisper where your shadows o'er him spread.
II.
'Tis not the loss of pomp and pleasure,Of empire, or of tinsel treasure,
That drops the tear, that swells the groan;
No, from a nobler cause proceeding,
A heart with love and fondness bleeding,
I breathe my sadly pleasing moan;
With other anguish,
I scorn to languish.
For love will feel no sorrow but his own.
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What think ye, friends? Such moving, melting softness
Breathes in these sweet complainings, as till now
Mine ear was never blest with. Let us go
And find out this new wonder.
Second Shepherdess.
Look, the king!
Emma.
Now, by my holidame, a goodly person,
And of most noble mein.
Corin.
Disturb him not.
| Alfred | |