 | Ethwald |  |
SCENE I.
An open space on the walls of the castle. Enter Alwy and Hexulf, talking as they enter with violent gesture.Hex.
Escap'd, sayst thou, with all the rebel chiefs?
Hereulf escap'd? th' arch fiend himself hath done it,
If what thou sayst be true.—It is impossible.
Sayst thou they are escap'd?
Alwy.
In very truth they are.
Hex.
Then damned treachery has aided them!
Alwy.
Nay, rather say, thy artful cruelty
Arm'd them with that which to the weakly frame
Lends a nerved giant's strength, despair. From out
The thick and massy wall, now somewhat loose
And jagged grown with time, cemented heaps,
Which scarce two teams of oxen could have mov'd,
They've torn, and found a passage to the moat.
What did it signify in what dire form
Death frown'd upon them, so as they had died?
Hex.
Who can foresee events? As well as thou
I would that one swift stroke had slain them all
Rather than this had been. But Ethelbert
And Selred are secur'd. Was it not Selred
Who on the second night our victim fell?
Alwy.
It was, but better had it been for us
Had they been left alive: had they been still
In their own castles unmolested left.
For like a wounded serpent, who, aloft,
The surgy volumes of his mangled length
In agony the more terrific rears
Against his enemy, this maimed compact
Will from thy stroke but the more fiercely rise,
Now fiery Hereulf is their daring leader.
And what have we to look for?
Hex.
Dire, bloody vengeance.—O some damned traitor
Hath done this work! it could not else have been!
Alwy.
Well, do thou find him out then, if thou canst,
And let thy vengeance fall where lies the sin.
Hex.
Doth the king know of this?
Alwy.
He doth not yet.
Hex.
Then must he be inform'd without delay.
Alwy.
As quickly as you please, if that you please
To take that office on yourself, good father;
But as for me, I must right plainly say
I will not venture it: no, faith! of late
The frame and temper of King Ethwald's mind
Is chang'd. He ever was in former times
Cheerful, collected, sanguine; for all turns
Of fate prepar'd, like a fair ample lake,
Whose breast receives the azure hue of heaven,
And sparkles gaily in the breezy noon:
But now, like a swoln flood, whose course has been
O'er rude opposing rocks and rugged shelves;
Whose turbid waters wear the sullen shade
Of dark o'erhanging banks, and all enchaf'd
Round ev'ry little pebble fiercely roars,
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Can bear th' encounter of no adverse thing
To his stern will oppos'd. I may not tell him.
Hex.
Be not so fearful! art thou not a man
Us'd to the sudden turns of great men's humours?
Thou best can do it, Alwy.
(Soothingly.)
Alwy.
Nay, father, better will it suit your age
And rev'rend state. And he has need, I ween,
Of ghostly counsel too; night after night
He rises from his tossing sleepless couch,
Oft wildly staring round the vacant chamber,
As if his fancy peopled the dark void
With horrid shapes. The queen hath told me this.
Come, look to it, for something must be done.
Hex.
I will accompany your homeward steps,
Whilst we consider of it.
[Exeunt.
| Ethwald | |