 | Athelstan |  |
SCENE VI.
To her, Egbert.Egbert.
Behold him here!
Thyra.
Is't possible!—'Tis He! my Lord! my Husband!
Oh happy Change! Oh Bliss unspeakable!
Support me, heav'nly Pow'rs! Support me, Egbert.
I faint, I faint! Oh, take me to thy Breast!—
Egbert.
Thou Crown of all my Joys! Thou Cause belov'd
Of all my bitterest Pangs! Do I once more
Infold thee in these Arms!
Thyra.
Too bounteous Heav'n!
And are my Sorrows fled! Shall Hope once more
Visit this Breast? And do I live to see thee!
Alas, my Lord! thro' what unnumber'd Woes,
Thro' what a Sea of Horrors have we past,
Since last we parted!
Egbert.
Such is Heav'n's high Will.
England is fall'n! The Majesty of Empire
Is sunk by Fate! Destruction rears her Banner:
The fatal Raven croaks; and Britain's weeping Genius,
Yielding his Charge, flits to some happier Clime!
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Oh fatal Day! be thou for ever wept!
Yet ev'ry future Morn shall hear my Praise,
And Gratitude sincere arise to Heav'n,
For this dear Boon, this Cure of ev'ry Woe,
That I have found my Egbert!—Say, my Lord,
Who led thee to these Tents?
Egbert.
Thro' the wide Waste
Of mortal War, I sought my virtuous Thyra,
To save her from the Foe: But sought in vain.
Then rushing on the thickest War, my Sword
Edg'd by Despair, I mow'd my Way; to where
Gothmund, intrench'd in triple Rows of Spears,
Stood like our Country's Fiend. He met my Arm.
But soon th'o'erwhelming Files that hemm'd him round
Ended the mortal Strife; and led me hither,
The Captive of his Pride.
Thyra.
Blest, blest Event!
Sure, 'twas some unseen Angel rul'd thy Fate;
Now, barbarous Gothmund, I defy thy Threats!
Oh Coward! to insult a helpless Captive!
[Burst into Tears.
Egbert.
Soul of my Soul! The frowning Fates surround us!
That thou art here, restor'd to Life and Me,
This grateful Tear I offer up to Heav'n!
But if some heavier Ruin hangs unseen,
Unkind and cruel was the Sword that spar'd thee!—
Thyra.
But thou art come, like some blest Pow'r from Heav'n,
To banish all my Fears! Ah, why that Groan?
Egbert.
Dear Thyra! See,—these Chains!—
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Wou'd I cou'd wear them for thee!
Egbert.
Generous Thyra!
I know thy Love: I do believe thou woud'st.
Think then, what Pangs must rend thy Egbert's Heart,
To see thy Worth insulted, drag'd by Pow'r
To soul Dishonour; while this cruel Chain
Binds down his honest Vengeance!
Thyra.
Since I have found thee,
Tho' setter'd in this ignominious Chain,
I know not why,—but ev'ry Fear is fled:—
There's Safety in thy Arms.—
Egbert.
My Soul's best Part!
Wrap not thy Heart in blind Security!
Helpless thou seest me here, as Age or Childhood:—
I fear the rising Storm. Forgive me, Thyra,
If in the Tempest of my Rage, these Chains
Shou'd strike thee to the Earth! the cruel Task
Of desp'rate Love! and blot that Heav'nly Form
With deadly Wounds and Blood; to rescue thee
From this remorseless Dane!
Thyra.
But Athelstan,
Who sav'd me midst the Horrors of this Day—
Egbert.
Who? Mercia's Duke?
Thyra.
Hath bravely sworn Protection.
Egbert.
Curse the Traitor!
'Twas he, whose Sword, unsheath'd by lawless Fury
Against his Country, and the best of Kings,
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Fall, like an impious Arrow shot at Heav'n,
And cleave his hoary Head!
Thyra.
Yet, if I err not;
Ere this, Conviction of his Crime hath wrought
Repentance in his Heart.
Egbert.
No: plead not for him:
He hath undone us all!
Thyra.
Forgive me, Egbert,
If Gratitude work strong within my Soul.—
He sav'd me from the Dane. A Mind so noble,
Tho' headlong driv'n down by the Tide of Passion,
Must soon return to Virtue.
Egbert.
Cou'd I hope it?
Cou'd I but hope he wou'd rejoin our Arms,
We yet might rescue Thee, and rescue England!
Thyra.
Behold, he comes!—Now, Egbert, curb thy Rage,
Think: He is still the Guardian of my Honour.
Assume the winning Eloquence of Grief,
Lab'ring beneath it's Wrongs: His generous Heart
Will melt in Sympathy.
Egbert.
My virtuous Thyra,
For thee, and for my bleeding Country's Sake,
I'll choak the Pang I groan with.—
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