 | Athelstan |  |
35
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Thyra's Tent.Gothmund, Goodwin.
Gothmund.
Her Husband, did'st thou say?
Goodwin.
So Rumour speaks.
Gothmund.
Amazement—Then he hath play'd false with Harold,
And quench'd my Hope.—Did'st thou not say, thou saw'st him,
Walking the Camp?
Goodwin.
He shot athwart the Tents
With proud and hasty Step, that seem'd to scorn
The Ground he trod.
Gothmund.
Then we shall meet him here.
This is his Wife's Pavilion. If he comes,
I mean to speak him fair. Persuasion mild
Shall first allure Consent: Shou'd that be vain,
From the false Calm a sudden Storm shall rise,
And bury him in Ruin.—Is the Guard
Arm'd, and at Hand to seize him?
Goodwin.
Arm'd, and ready.
Gothmund.
Behold, he comes.
Goodwin.
'Tis he: I see his Chain,
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Gothmund.
Goodwin, hence:
Wait within Call.—
[Exit Goodwin.
SCENE II.
To him, Egbert.Gothmund.
Briton, I greet thee well.
Is the fair Captive won to Gothmund's Love?
Why art thou dumb?
Egbert.
Why do I see thee here?
Gothmund.
Lest Insult shou'd approach fair Thyra's Tent,
I come to watch her Welfare.
Egbert.
As the Wolf
Guards the defenceless Lamb.
Gothmund.
Hast thou forgot
Whose Chain thou wear'st?
Egbert.
'Tis Thine: and thence I scorn it.
Gothmund.
Egbert, beware: Thou know'st the Victor's Pow'r:
Wake not his Rage.—
Egbert.
I bear a guiltless Mind,
Thou can'st not conquer.—
Gothmund.
Hence, audacious Captive.
I know thee Thyra's Husband.—Tremble, Briton:
Nor sport with angry Pow'r!
Egbert.
Hence, ruffian Dane!—This Tent is Athelstan's.
Thyra's his Captive: and kind Heav'n ordain'd him,
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Gothmund.
Yet I am calm.—But have a Care, rash Youth—
For Athelstan:—What Pow'r but mine can shield him
From the just Vengeance of his injur'd King?
Whate'er the Traitor won, he won for me.
Like these rich Territories, Thyra's mine
By Conquest: Let not then weak Shame or Pride
Obstruct the Victor's Wish: Be just, brave Egbert,
And yield her Beauty to its new Possessor.
Egbert.
Come, honest Pride! Oh fill my swelling Heart,
And arm mine Eye, and point my Tongue with Scorn,
Keen as the Scorpion's Sting!—By Heaven, this Chain,
This Chain alone bids Insolence be bold,
Which else were dumb, as Cowardice or Guilt!
Oh, for my honest Faulcion! which this Morn,
O'erwhelming Numbers wrested from my Hand!
Yes: I wou'd hunt thee thro' the Battle's Rage:
Surrounding Guards, and doubling Ranks in vain
Should shelter thee!
Gothmund.
Hell's Curses blast thy Pride!
Had not the busy Guards forestall'd my Vengeance,
The Lightning of my Sword had cleft thee down.
Shall I bear this? Hoa, Goodwin! Bring the Guard!
[To him Goodwin.
Seize that insulting Captive: Drag him hence,
To dark Imprisonment, and seven-fold Chains,
Till the Fleet sail for Denmark.
SCENE III.
To them, Thyra, Edwina.Thyra.
Mercy, Mercy!
Oh Gothmund, at thy Feet!
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Let go thy Hold.—
Quick, bear him to his Prison.
Egbert.
Why this Violence?
I am your Captive: Bear me where ye may.
Thyra.
Must we thus part!—Oh cruel Dane! In Mercy
Destroy us here together!
Egbert.
Strive no more:
Waste not thy generous Tears on barbarous Pow'r:
For what can Right, when Lust and Madness rule?
Yield to thy Fate. Farewell!
[Exit Egbert and Goodwin.
Thyra.
My Lord! my Egbert!
Oh lost, lost, lost!—
Gothmund.
Thou yet hast Pow'r to save him.—
Thyra.
Oh name the Task which Honour sanctifies,
And I will die to save him!—Bid me roam,
An Exile from my Country, thro' the Climes
Where frozen Lapland's wintry Wastes extend;
Doom me for ever to th' unwholesome Mine,
Where hopeless Slav'ry toils:—I'll bless my Fate,
So I may save my Egbert.
Gothmund.
Fear not, Thyra,
So harsh a Doom—That delicate Frame was form'd
For gentler Offices.—Crown but my Love,
And Egbert shall be free.
Thyra.
Peace, Monster, Peace!
Nor wound my chaste Ear with thy Words, which taint
The wholesome Air.
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Else shall my Vengeance sweep
Thy stubborn Egbert to far distant Shores.
Yes: he shall dwell with Darkness, pine with Want,
Rot 'midst the cold Damps of a hideous Dungeon;
And live a ling'ring Death!
Thyra.
Oh horrible!
Thou can'st not mean it!
Gothmund.
By our Gods, I do!
While thou, the Minion of the general Camp,
Shalt feed unbridled Lust; till wrinkled Age
Doom thee at length a household Drudge, the Scorn
Of loathing Appetite!
Thyra.
Oh hear me Heav'n!
Hear me, thus kneeling, low on Earth! Descend,
Ye guardian Pow'rs that watch o'er Innocence,
Descend, and soften his relentless Heart,
Or I am lost for ever!—Hear me, Gothmund,
For the chaste Matron's Sake, who gave thee Birth!
Oh, hear!
Gothmund.
Nay, yield thee; or his Fate is seal'd.—
Thyra.
Pity my captive State! a helpless Orphan,
With not a Friend! an outcast from my Country!
Unknown to all; ev'n to myself unknown!
A poor lost Infant, wreck'd on England's Coast!
Perhaps an Infant Dane!—Oh why, Edwina,
Why was I rescued by thy Father's Hand!
Else had my Sorrows found a peaceful Grave
In the devouring Deep!
Gothmund.
An infant Dane?
Give me but Proof of That—
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Concurrent Proofs
Bespeak me such: Wrong not thy Country then:
Wrong not thy Friends: Oh think thou seest thy Friends,
And thy dear Relatives now plead in me;
And thus with bended Knees and lifted Eyes
Beseech thy Pity!—speak, Edwina, speak!
Oh tell the Tale of Woe! The mournful Tale
Needs not the colouring of artful Tongues,
To melt the hardest Heart!
Gothmund.
I charge thee, Woman,
Be bold in Truth: or instant Death awaits thee.
Edwina.
Hear then the Tale, which at the hallow'd Altar
I dare confirm.—Near to the Coast of Wessex
My Father liv'd; an humble Villager.
'Twas on a Time when Storms had vex'd the Deep,
We spy'd a Danish Vessel driv'n on Rocks,
Then swallow'd in the Flood. The Storm rag'd on:
And on the rolling Billows, mountain-high,
This helpless Babe came floating. The next Wave
Had wash'd her to the Deep: 'Twas then my Father
Snatch'd her from Death.—Soon as our Cottage Warmth
Recall'd her into Life, the lovely Babe
Smil'd on us, all unconscious of her Woe.
Tears gush'd from ev'ry Eye. My generous Father,
Generous tho' poor, and now a Saint in Heav'n,
Embrac'd the Child, and vow'd her as his own.
Beauty, with ev'ry winning Quality,
Grew with her Growth: She was our Village Pride.
Egbert at length, drawn by her peerless Fame,
Beheld, and lov'd, and won her.
Thyra.
Generous Egbert!
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But say—Did this poor Babe alone survive
The general Wreck?
Edwina.
Alone: The rest were swallow'd
By the devouring Flood.
Gothmund.
But tell me, Woman,
Why did ye judge the sinking Wreck, a Dane?
Edwina.
'Twas from the yellow Streamers, hoisted high
In Signal of Distress.
Thyra.
[Taking a Chain from her Neck.
Behold this Chain,
[Gothmund takes the Chain.
By me held sacred from my earliest Age:
This, haply, may confirm the wondrous Tale.
Edwina.
That very Chain adorn'd her infant Neck:
Inwrought with mystic Figures, it hath tir'd
Each letter'd Sage's Eye.
Gothmund.
The Signatures
Are of a Runic Import: which our Bards,
And Priests, and Sages magic-taught, can spell.
I'll bear it to their Search.
Thyra.
May Heav'n infuse
Soft Pity to thy Heart!
Gothmund.
Cou'd I but win
Fair Thyra's Love!—The Camp shall pour its Treasures:
Freedom and Wealth, the Spoils of conquer'd England,
Shall join to grace thy Tent: while thou supreme
Shalt triumph o'er thy Fate, and bless the Hour
That spoke thy Birth, and gave thee to the Dane.
Thyra.
Oh mighty Gothmund!
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Nay, dry these Griefs; tho' much indeed they grace thee.
Come; let thine Eyes beam with their own soft Fires,
And all thy Form awaken into Beauty.
Dwell not with fruitless Woe: Let bitter Tears
Rain from the Captive's Eye, condemn'd to Exile,
And endless Slav'ry: But a happier Lot
Awaits fair Thyra's Choice; and pleads Acceptance.
Thyra.
My Egbert! O my Husband!
Gothmund.
Weep no more;
Thy Tears can ne'er recall him.
Thyra.
Little know'st thou;
What strong eternal Bands of mutual Love
Have knit our Souls: Divided Happiness
We ne'er can know. Joy, like one common Sun,
Must shine on Both or Neither: and if Night
Hath overcast his Fate; my Sun of Life
With his, is set for ever.—Give me the Chain.—
Gothmund.
Nay, by my Sword, the Chain
Is dearer to me than a Diamond's Mine.
This Chain's the Clue, shall guide me to thy Birth;
Which, once reveal'd, shall ev'ry Tie dissolve
That binds thee to these Britons. Denmark then
Shall claim thee Her's; and Gothmund plead her Rights.
[Exit Gothmund.
Thyra.
Unfriended Innocence implores in vain!
Edwina, range the Camp! seek out my Egbert!
Tell him, his Thyra kneels in vain for Mercy,
And bid him fly to save her!—Oh, I rave!
E'en now, relentless Ruffians bind him down,
In the drear Depth of dark Imprisonment;
Far from his helpless Thyra.
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SCENE IV.
To them, Athelstan.Athelstan.
Sure, the Voice
Of Female Lamentation struck mine Ear.—
Thyra!—whom do I see?—What, drown'd in Tears?
Thyra.
Oh, lost, for ever lost!—This barbarous Dane!
Athelstan.
What of him?
Thyra.
Bent to do a Deed of Horror,
Ev'n now he hath dragg'd to dark Imprisonment
My guiltless Lord!—He threatens instant Violence!
Athelstan.
Curs'd be the Day on which he touch'd our Shores!
Come; let us from the Camp:—Ere this, my Mercians,
Warn'd of th' Oppressions of this bloody Dane,
And touch'd with Pity for their Country's Woes,
Burn to rejoin their King.—Come, gentle Thyra,—
Edwina, come.—My Presence shall protect you,
Safe thro' this hostile Camp.
Thyra.
Too generous, Duke!
Can I desert my Lord!
Athelstan.
Then stay, till Gothmund—
Thyra.
Oh, save me, Athelstan!
Haste, let us hence!—I have no Help but thee!
Alas, my virtuous Egbert, must I leave thee!
Athelstan.
Nay, fear not for him:—Ere yon Moon hath rode
Her Circuit round the Skies, I'll pour my Thunder
On these accursed Danes, and give him Freedom.
Siward, ere this, throughout the Ranks hath wak'd
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Come, let us quit the Camp.—
SCENE V.
To them, Goodwin.Goodwin.
Hear, Athelstan!
Our General sends thee Greeting.—Sacred ever
He deems the Rights of War: yet Pow'rs ally'd
Own the Priority of peaceful Claim.—
Athelstan.
'Tis granted.—What of this?—
Goodwin.
That captive Fair,
Won by thy Prowess in the City's Storm,
By Law of War is Thine: An earlier Right
Our General pleads: For Proofs of Circumstance
Speak her by Birth a Dane.
Athelstan.
No false Pretence
Shall wile her Virtues from me.—Thyra, speak:—
Is't not a feign'd Pretence?
Thyra.
Oh mighty Duke!
Tho' Ruin hangs upon the Acknowledgment;
I fear, I am a Dane; and thence unworthy
A generous Britons's Care!
Athelstan.
Wrong not thy Worth:
For, as within the Forest's howling Depth,
Where grisly Bears, and Pards, and Tigers roam,
The wild Rose blooms; So oft in savage Lands
Untutor'd Virtue dwells: Where'er 'tis found,
It claims Defence: Virtue is Virtue's Care,
Alike in ev'ry Clime.—Then tell me, Goodwin,—
For ere I yield my Captive, I will know:—
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Goodwin.
[producing the Chain.
Behold this Chain—
With Runic Characters—
Athelstan.
[seizing the Chain.
Ye Pow'rs of Heav'n,
That weave th' inextricable Maze of Fate!
What do I see!—If 'tis your sacred Will
To make me blest, now lend a pitying Ray!
This very Chain, my once victorious Arm
Rent from the proud Neck of a slaughter'd Dane.—
Oh Joy, Oh Grief! Oh Rapture to my Soul!
How,—when,—where,—whence? Speak, Goodwin!
[Thyra, speak!
Or Hope and Doubt will heave my Heart to bursting!
Thyra.
Ah me! I was a helpless Infant, lost
Ere Mem'ry yet was seated in the Brain!
Athelstan.
Oh blessed Hope! Such was my Emma too!—
Edwina,—can'st thou tell?—Range, range the Round,
Where Mem'ry hoards her Treasures, and brings back
Old Time! Confirm the Whispers of sweet Hope,
And give me back my Child!
Edwina.
Heav'n! dost thou weep
A Daughter lost?
Athelstan.
And long have wept in vain!—
Since she was lost, full twenty Years have shed
Their various Woes on my poor orphan'd Child!—
When furious Halfden ravag'd Mercia's Cities,
Then was my Child (this very Chain she wore!)
Snatch'd from her Cradle by unpitying Danes
And thence convey'd to Denmark's barbarous Shore!
Thyra.
Oh gracious Heav'n!
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On that lamented Time,
This very Chain circling her infant Neck,
By my dear Father's Hand was Thyra snatch'd
From the devouring Deep!
Athelstan.
'Tis She!—My Child! my Child!
[Embracing her.
Thyra.
My Father!
Edwina.
Gracious Heav'n!
Who can behold this Sight, and not dissolve
In Tears of Joy!—
Athelstan.
And was it mine, to save thee!
Oh Pow'rful Nature!—For since first I saw thee,
My Emma's Sweetness struck on ev'ry Sense:
Some soft Attraction drew!—some unknown Charm
Work'd in my Soul, and bade me wish thee Mine!—
Haste, Goodwin, haste to Gothmund: there disclose
This Tale of Joy, this wondrous Burst of Bliss!
Tell him, that Nature cancels ev'ry Claim,
And gives my Emma to her Father's Love!
Goodwin.
I'll forthwith to his Tent: A Minute's Round
Shall bring thee his Resolve.
[Exit Goodwin.
Athelstan.
Eternal Providence!
To whose all-seeing Mind, th' unmeasur'd Round
Of wide Events is present! far beyond
The narrow Ken of a weak mortal Eye!
Deep and unsearchable, yet just and true,
Are thy ador'd Decrees, O Pow'r divine!
Thou ev'n beyond the Darings of fond Hope,
Hast from the Bosom of the raging Seas
Restor'd my long-lost Daughter!—
[Embracing her passionately.
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Happy, happy!
Oh Bliss unspeakable! And do I live,
Thus to be press'd to a fond Parent's Heart!
To hang upon his Breast! To know the Joy,
The heart-felt Raptures that attend the Names
Of Child and Daughter!
Athelstan.
Darling of my Soul!
Oh Comfort of my Age;—Yet, yet one Grief
Checks the sweet Tumult of my honest Joy!
One piercing Grief lies heavy on my Soul!—
Thyra.
Can I relieve thy Pain?
Athelstan.
Not all the lenient Balms thy Love can pour,
Can ever give me Rest!—Oh Madness, Madness!
I have undone my Country!
Thyra.
Alas, the Pity!
Think not so deeply of it.
Athelstan.
Oh, I am vile!
I dare not lift my guilty Eyes to Heav'n!
Yet Heav'n hath show'r'd a Blessing on my Head,
Beyond the World's wide Empire!—What may this mean!—
Sure, 'tis the Prelude to some dire Event!
A passing Gleam, sent by almighty Vengeance,
To deepen future Woe!
Thyra.
Nay, rather deem it
The kind Encouragement of Heav'n, vouchsaf'd
To thy returning Virtue!
Athelstan.
Heav'n is just,
Yet merciful:—Let me but rescue England,
And I shall yet be blest!—
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SCENE VI.
To them, Goodwin.Goodwin.
Hear, Mercia's Duke!
Gothmund decrees, that ev'ry Right of Peace
Yields to the Conqu'ror's Pow'r; and claims his Captive.
Athelstan.
Sooner your Swords shall drink my warm Life-blood—
Goodwin.
Hoa! Dunelm—Bear her off!—
[Dunelm and the Guard appear, and seize Thyra.
Thyra.
[as they carry her off struggling.
Help! Help! Undone!
Dear Father, help!—
Athelstan.
[Part of the Guard remain and intercept him.
Damnation! Treach'ry! Treach'ry!—
Slaves, let me pass—
Goodwin.
Not this Way, by the Gods—
Athelstan.
[drawing his Sword.
By Heav'n, I'll mow my Passage with my Sword.—
Goodwin.
Disarm him—
[the remaining Guards disarm him.
Athelstan.
Villains! give me back my Daughter!
Goodwin.
Rave not, old Man!—She now is Gothmund's Charge.
Athelstan.
[Ex. Goodwin and Guards.
Inhuman Dogs!—Tell me—in Pity tell me—
Where is my Daughter! Give me back my Daughter!—
Oh, Mercy, Mercy, Heav'n!—
Edwina.
Alas, my Lord!
I fear She's lost for ever!—
Athelstan.
Vengeance! Vengeance—
Edwina, come!—I'll to this bloody Dane,
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I'll thunder all my Wrongs; and shake his Soul
With Sounds as dire, as when at general Doom
The dreadful Trump shall wake the guilty Dead!
Shou'd he be deaf to injur'd Nature's Claim,—
I'll to my Mercians, and let loose Revenge!
Swift o'er these ruffian Danes I'll pour the Flood
Of War; and drown the guilty Camp in Blood;
Rage thro' their Tents, like fierce consuming Fire;
And among Heaps of slaughter'd Foes expire!
End of the Third Act.
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