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Dramas

Translations, and Occasional Poems. By Barbarina Lady Dacre.[i.e. Barbarina Brand] In Two Volumes

Dacre, Barbarina (1767-1854)

II.

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This tragedy was first printed in 1815, as it had then been prepared for the stage. I now restore the original catastrophe, and some other parts which had been cut out. I have also compressed many passages, and hope to have succeeded in rendering the piece more deserving of the protection it received from individuals, when rejected by the public.

As I retain the title of tragedy, I, for the same(I think obvious) reasons, retain the name of “Ina,” although I am aware it was once borne by a good old king, of whom we know little else. The sound appears to me feminine, and I have a fanciful preference for it, as bearing some affinity with Inez de Castro, whose melancholy story suggested the fable of my play.

PROLOGUE,

BY THE HONOURABLE WILLIAM LAMB.

The tragic Muse, in this our later age,
Has seldom shed her influence on the stage.
With jealous eye, with cold disdainful mien
She turns away, and seems to claim the scene
For those, to whom her loftiest lays belong—
The mighty masters of her earlier song.
For her high thoughts, for her impassion'd strain,
For her proud crown, so often sought in vain,
To-night you hear a timid votress dare
Address an humble, yet ambitious prayer.
Say, should her powers beneath her task decline,
And sink, unequal to the great design,
Yet can you from her aim your praise withhold;
Bold is that aim, but noble as 'tis bold.
As erst in Athens, mighty mother state
Of all that's lovely, as of all that's great,
The gifted bards, whose grave and simple song
Held high dominion o'er the list'ning throng,
Drew from their country's first heroic day
The wondrous subjects of their moral lay:

So, in that time, when nations, driv'n to roam,
Had sought in this fair Isle another home,
And barbarous chiefs, where each had led his band,
Now sway'd divided empires in the land;
In that rude time, which gathering ages veil,
We fix the scene of our fictitious tale;
Which seeks by natural passions to impart
A human interest to the human heart;
A tale of secret love in generous youth,
Uncompromising honour, dauntless truth;
Faith, which sore-tried nor change nor doubt can know,
And public danger mix'd with private woe.—
For, e'en amidst those dark and murderous times,
Religion's errors and ambition's crimes,
Athwart the gloom of that tempestuous day
The native spirit shot a splendid ray;
The spirit of the land—whose course appears
Mark'd by its glory down the path of years,
Unalter'd still through every varying state,
The lapse of ages and the turns of fate—
And late, when o'er us gleam'd the troubled air,
With signs of woe and portents of despair,
The soul of Britain, tranquil and the same,
Shone forth to all mankind a guiding flame:
And if those times of toil must come once more,
If blasts again must rise, and thunders roar—
The beacon, brighter 'midst the gathering night,
Lifts high to heav'n its unextinguish'd light,
And, from the sacred Isles commanding steep
Streams life and safety o'er the labouring deep!

INA.

A TRAGEDY.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

Cenulph, king of Wessex.
Egbert, his son.
Alwyn, Egbert's friend.
Oswald, Mordred, and other lords.
Baldred, a crafty monk of the royal blood.
Osric, captain of the guard.
Edelfleda, princess of Mercia, betrothed to Egbert.
Ina, secretly married to Egbert.
Bertha, an old lady, confidant to Edelfleda.
Elenor, and other ladies, attendants on Edelfleda.
Alice, attendant on Ina.
Blanch, attendant on Ina.
Messengers, Soldiers, Peasants, &c.

SCENE, the kingdom of Wessex.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Edelfleda's Antichamber.
Bertha, Elenor, &c.
BERTHA
(entering from the inner apartment).
The princess will not yet come forth. She thus
Will oft retire from gaiety and splendor
To sit and muse.

ELENOR.
She is much changed of late.
There was a time when she was always pleased.
She chid me yesterday, I know not wherefore.
The broider'd robe, I wrought with so much care,
She cast aside, and said it suited not
Her homely features.

BERTHA.
Homely features, said she?
The beauteous princess Edelfleda!

ELENOR.
Yes.
She is but changed in mind, although she blame
Her outward form: she is no longer gentle.
Dost thou remember something of this humour,
When the orphan Lady Ina's charms erewhile
Arrested every eye and every heart
Of the gay court?

BERTHA.
Fie on thee, Elenor;
Thou would'st not tax thy mistress with base envy?

ELENOR
(archly).
Not so—but when the Lady Ina was forbid
The royal presence, our fair Edelfleda
Shone forth more radiant; as the glorious sun
Himself is wont, when the o'ershadowing cloud
Is wafted by the angry winds away.

BERTHA.
The king of Mercia's daughter, so adorn'd
With every gift of royal excellence,
Were rather deem'd the sun that shed a radiance
O'er the slight vapour sporting in his beams.

ELENOR.
Nay, you are angry now; but 'tis well known
How much Prince Egbert loved the Lady Ina.

BERTHA.
Silence, imprudent girl! At such an hour,

When for the royal nuptials we prepare,
If she should hear thee speak the hated name—

ELENOR.
I will be silent. But even thou hast own'd
The princess loved not her—I may not name.

Enter Edelfleda (they appear embarrassed).
EDELFLEDA.
Why start thus, Elenor, and blush to see me?
Wherefore dost thou look strange upon me, Bertha?
It seems my presence is to neither grateful.
Accurst the day I came to Wessex' court!
E'en my own women, Bertha, even thou
Wilt soon forsake me.

BERTHA.
How have I deserved
This keen reproach?

EDELFLEDA.
Go, leave us, Elenor!
[Exit Elenor.
Forgive my wayward temper, dearest Bertha;
And may'st thou never know the pang that forced
The peevish word which seem'd to chide thy love.

BERTHA.
Alas! my princess, double is the wrong
To own a pang, nor share it with thy Bertha.

EDELFLEDA
(embarrassed).
What have I said? Oh! there are pangs that shun
All fellowship. Grief utters its complaint,
And finds a sweetness in its gushing tears;
But this!—

BERTHA.
Remorse alone speaks thus.

EDELFLEDA.
Remorse
Were his, more justly, who inflicts the ill.
Wrongs undeserved, and borne in silence, wake
No conscious blush. The weak complaint alone
(By pride disown'd) might crimson o'er my cheek.

BERTHA.
If breathed to me? To me, whose raptured ear
Drank the first half-form'd accents of thy tongue.

EDELFLEDA.
This hated court is Edelfleda's prison,
Not the gay scene of her famed beauty's triumph.
But Mercia's king, the valiant Ethelbald,
Will free his daughter, and avenge her wrongs!
Restore her to her country—to her honours—
To all restore her, save to happiness!
Neglected! scorn'd!

BERTHA.
By whom neglected, scorn'd?

EDELFLEDA
(embarrassed).
The king!—his nobles!

BERTHA.
The king loves—honours thee;
Already, princess, holds thee as his daughter,
Whom a few days will make Prince Egbert's wife.

EDELFLEDA.
Prince Egbert's wife! Oh! never, never, Bertha.
Why hast thou touch'd that string?

BERTHA.
I thought no ill.
Came you not to this court betroth'd to him?
And gaily came, a joyful, willing bride.
Is not Prince Egbert knighthood's fairest flower?

EDELFLEDA.
Too sure, I came; gay, thoughtless, young, and free;
And, oh! too surely he is all thou say'st:
Nay, far beyond thy fancy's reach endow'd!

BERTHA.
Thy speech is still at variance with itself.

EDELFLEDA.
'Tis but the picture of the strife within.

BERTHA.
My child! these dreadful words of mystery
Fill all my soul with terror. I adjure thee,
By my long services, my faithful duty,
Speak thy full heart.

EDELFLEDA
(after a conflict).
He loves me not, good Bertha.
Spare, spare a princess' pride, and guess the rest.

BERTHA.
Heaven shield thee! would'st thou say he loves another?
Nay, think it not: she has been long removed.

EDELFLEDA.
I named her not. Ha! then thou know'st it, Bertha!
Or hadst not glanced at her. Thou know'st it; speak,
Oh! tell me all; it is too late to hide it.

BERTHA.
Indeed I nothing know—believe me, nothing:
The idle rumours of an idle court—
Should they arrest our thoughts?

EDELFLEDA.
What idle rumours?
And am I then the jest o' the idle court?
Do they point at me as I pass, and say
'Tis she! 'tis the neglected Edelfleda!

BERTHA.
Be calm, my princess; see the holy Baldred:
You did yourself request his presence.

Enter Baldred.
EDELFLEDA
(resuming a dignified manner).
Father,

You are welcome. I would claim a service;
For sudden purposing to leave a court
Where I have long resided, while the duty
A daughter owes a father—

BALDRED.
Can it be
That Edelfleda leaves the court of Wessex,
When all the palace, all the city, hail
With gratulation her approaching nuptials?

EDELFLEDA
(haughtily).
Softly, good Baldred. Learn that Mercia's princess
Is not so lightly won, nor gives her hand
As to the careless boor the village maid,
Willing ere woo'd, or rudely woo'd at best.

BALDRED
(sarcastically).
Ill would the faltering phrase, the humble sigh,
Become the lip accustom'd to command!
Would'st thou Prince Egbert, he so graced by fortune,
Should bear himself as common lovers use?

EDELFLEDA.
I heed not how the prince may bear himself.
Go, Baldred; plead his cause in other ears,
Where it may more import. What may concern
My honour, is my sole, my proper care.
I claim no service of your courtesy,
Save to make known, e'en now, to royal Cenulph,

My purpose to return to Mercia's court.

[Exeunt Edelfleda and Bertha.
BALDRED
(alone).
And is it so? And will she sacrifice
To pride, her passion for detested Egbert?
This may work mischief to the man I hate.
All kindly feelings from my breast I banish'd,
When, in disgust and bitterness of soul,
O'er my deep festering wounds I flung this garb.
It was for Egbert fortune slighted me!
Ere he had grasp'd a sword, I led the battle!
When lo! he comes a meteor in men's eyes—
Draws in his glittering train my soldiers' hearts—
I woo'd fair Ina, and was paid with scorn:
While Egbert—curses on him! fired alike—
Though now to hate be turn'd the love I bore her,
My bosom holds remembrance of the offence.

Enter an Attendant.
ATTENDANT.
The king demands your presence, holy father,
On matters of high import.

BALDRED.
I attend.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Cenulph and Lords.
CENULPH.
The times indeed do wear a fearful aspect.
You, noble Oswald, Mordred, Alwyn, Orgar,
Have shared my counsels with the holy Baldred;
We have most sure advices from our outposts
That Ethelbald has arm'd, but yet declares not
His hostile purpose; still in martial shows
Breathing his powers: as 'twere the boar enchaf'd,
That whets his hideous tusks, and wounds the soil,
Rooting up herb and flower.

OSWALD.
My gracious liege,
And can you doubt the purpose of proud Mercia?
Have not of late more frequent messengers
Sped with unwonted diligence 'twixt him
And his fair daughter? nay, who has not mark'd
The princess' alter'd mien—the quick succession
Of fierce conflicting passions on her brow?
The day is not yet fix'd that gives her hand

To Cenulph's royal heir. The people murmur,
That thus the pledge of peace with Ethelbald
Should still on vain pretences be deferr'd.

CENULPH.
Oswald, thou pointest to my sorrow's source.
My friends, ye know Prince Egbert's ardent temper,
In childhood haply foster'd by indulgence.

ALWYN.
We do, my liege; but his impatient spirit
Is coupled with such warm, heart-winning frankness,
Such all-embracing kindness, it but seems
The larger bounty of more lib'ral nature.

MORDRED.
A father or a friend may see it thus,
But it is dangerous.—To this we owe,
(This spirit so impatient of control,)
That we are threaten'd by dread Ethelbald.

CENULPH.
We sheathed the sword, my friends, and Edelfleda
Came to our court—the pledge of mutual love
Betwixt two nations harass'd by long war.
Betroth'd to Egbert, all a mother's care,
From my good Editha, the princess shared.
The general sorrow, while my poor queen languish'd,
And her lamented death, forbade the nuptials.
Meantime—(Ah! woe to me that e'er I foster'd

That serpent in my easy bosom) Ina,
The orphan daughter of brave Sigiswold—

OSWALD.
My liege, removed you not the lovely mischief?
Forbidding her the court and festive pageants?

CENULPH.
I did; and thought to quench love's idle flame,
By sending Egbert to command the force
Raised to repel the inroads on our borders.
Whether it be, that all on martial deeds
His soul intent, he spurn inglorious ease,
Or that his fancy still on Ina dwell,
The court he shuns, and its gay soft delights;
And late, when at the tournament, proclaim'd
In honour of the beauteous Edelfleda,
He bore the prize from all the knights of name,
Neglectful of the princess,—at her feet
He placed nor sword nor trophy,—but abrupt
Broke from the lists, unmindful and discourteous.

MORDRED.
Justly the haughty princess is offended.

Enter Baldred.
BALDRED.
My Liege, I come from Edelfleda's presence,
A messenger unwilling—to declare

Her sudden purpose, ere the nuptial rites
Have seal'd the bond of union 'twixt the states,
To seek her father's court.

OSWALD.
My sovereign Lord!
The public weal at stake—

MORDRED.
Prevent her purpose—
Delay not, sire, to solemnize the nuptials.

CENULPH.
But she must first be soothed.—

OSWALD.
The prince alone
Can bend her proud neck to the gentle yoke
She would be woo'd to wear.—

CENULPH.
Retire, my friends,—
Alwyn, find thou my son. Thou know'st his haunts.
Command him to my presence in my closet.
I must be firm—my crown, my honour, all
Must be secured this day by his obedience.
I have too long been passive.—Mark me, Alwyn,
For thou dost hold, I know, the master key
That locks his inmost counsel; nay, with voice
Of soft persuasion, while thou seem'st to yield,
Dost bend his lofty spirit to thy reason:

See that he come disposed to do my pleasure.
It is the King who will confer with him.
Tell him he has too long abused the father.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE III.

Ina's Bower.
Egbert and Ina.
EGBERT.
Oh, yes! I was indeed to blame, my love.
Too much I yielded to the timid counsel
Of cautious Alwyn.

INA.
Thou wast not to blame.
Thy mother's fondness, and her sov'reign sway
O'er thy kind father's heart;—her care for me,
The orphan daughter of her earliest friend—

EGBERT.
And thy brave father, too, whose loyal breast
Received the dagger aim'd at Cenulph's life—

INA.
And at his feet expired!

EGBERT.
Oh! these were hopes
And claims, that sanction'd well the confidence
With which I snatch'd thee to my beating bosom,
Call'd thee my wife! my dear, my honour'd wife!
And swore that thou should'st be ere long acknowledg'd
By Cenulph, his throne's heiress, and his daughter.

INA.
Thou could'st not then foresee that cruel death
Would rob us of the queen, and our best hopes.

EGBERT.
But that I did respect my father's sorrow,
I then had at his feet confess'd my fault—
Ha! said I fault to love such excellence?

INA
(starting).
Methought I heard approaching steps; each sound
Appals me, since I live a sad recluse,
With thoughts—tho' not of guilt—that shun the light.

EGBERT.
This is my worst reproach!—That virtue's self
Should be by me condemn'd to own the fears
Which only guilt should know.

Enter Alwyn.
INA.
It is kind Alwyn:

Welcome, my friend. Oh! soothe his troubled mind,
That dwells with too much pain on our lost hopes.

ALWYN.
Alas! I am the bearer of worse pain.
Ye have heard that Ethelbald has taken arms—
The offended princess past all hope estranged.—
The king, awaken'd by th' indignant lords,
And by the people's murmurs, which have reach'd
At length his careless ear, in angry mood,
Has sent me to command you to his presence,
To press,—I fear—with Edelfleda—

EGBERT.
Peace!
'Twere sacrilege to utter such a thought
As now hangs on thy lip.—

INA.
My much-lov'd lord!
Oh! hear good Alwyn: hear him patiently.—
Too long we fondly from our thoughts have driven
The frightful future in our present bliss.

EGBERT.
And would'st thou I should hear him bid me wed
With Edelfleda?—Cast thee from me?—thee!
By every holy tie my wedded wife!

ALWYN.
But by the laws, alas! and king, not sanction'd!

EGBERT.
Can human laws o'ermaster the divine?
Tear from a mother's breast her infant joy,
And bid a father's heart not own his child?
Can a king's breath annul the thing that is?

INA.
Be calm, my Egbert! oh! it is not thus
By eager words of fruitless controversy
We can avert the ill, or find the means
To reconcile our duty and our love.
I will retire, and leave thee with our friend:
Yes, my loved lord! true friendship has more skill
To work our good than our self-blinded judgment.
It knows not passion—for it takes the soul
Out of the earthy mould where passion lurks,
To watch,—a guardian spirit,—o'er the weal
Of its true object: as the sun it shines
For others' good!—still giving, without thought
Of like return! so high! so pure! so bounteous!
Oh! I do think kind angels lend to friendship
Some touch of their divinity, to raise
Th' aspiring thought to heavenly harmony!

[Exit.
EGBERT
(gazing after her).
She is herself that heaven of harmony!
Oh! Alwyn! blest in Ina's love, thy friend
Is lost to life's low cares.

ALWYN.
Too true, my prince;
In voluntary blindness thou hast pass'd
Thy thoughtless days of visionary bliss;
But I must rudely rouse thee from thy trance,
And bid thee look, with eye firm fix'd, e'en now
On all the fearful truth.

EGBERT.
Speak on.—I am calm.

ALWYN.
The king expects thee. He will press thy marriage
With Edelfleda.

EGBERT.
Alwyn, were I not
To Ina bound by ties so dear, so sacred—
Oh! no—I could not think of Edelfleda
But as a sister. Once to Mercia's court
I went a stripling, ere the feud arose
That sever'd us, and plunged the states in war.
In th' op'ning splendour of her awful beauty
I honoured her with boyish reverence.

ALWYN.
And woo'd the Mercian princess—yes, you woo'd her:
Whisper'd gay flatteries in her willing ear
At banquets, tournaments, and courtly revels.

EGBERT.
Well, grant I did so—'twas a stripling's homage
At beauty's shrine: she was of riper years.

ALWYN.
Two summers more had but matured her charms,
And not impair'd. You woo'd her, in good sooth.

EGBERT.
Nay, why insist? I had not then seen Ina.
Who shall resist his fate?

ALWYN.
Resist his will,
More aptly had express'd your thought.

EGBERT.
My friend,
Thou wert not wont thus keenly to retort.

ALWYN.
Nor would I now, were not the ruin imminent,
And no redress save one. I crave your patience:
You have abused the princess, much abused.

EGBERT.
How shall I soothe her but at honour's price?
How speak, and not redouble my offence,
Disclosing all the truth?

ALWYN.
Thou'rt new to love,
If thou know'st not how lightly we believe

What we too fondly wish! The heart forlorn
Will snatch e'en from a word, a look, a nothing,
A fearful hope of sweet returning kindness.
Avert her anger, you avert the sword
Upheaved by Ethelbald t' avenge his daughter.

EGBERT.
But said'st thou not, the king would urge the nuptials?

ALWYN.
Uncertain of thy love, the haughty princess
Will spurn the hand but offer'd as the pledge
Of union 'twixt the states.

EGBERT.
Oh! let me rather
Shun the wrong'd princess' presence, or declare
My wedded faith: I know not to dissemble.

ALWYN.
Yes; shut your eyes, and let the ruin come!
Nay, nay, my prince, hear me! The veteran bands,
Not yet dismiss'd by peace to their far homes,
On the fresh news that Ethelbald has arm'd,
Demand thee as their leader. I but ask,
That thou dissemble till the trumpet summon
To arms the late disbanded men of Wessex.

EGBERT.
And wherefore, friend?

ALWYN.
The chief who sways as thou

His soldier's hearts, may, with best vantage, treat
With angry Mercia, or repel his rage;
Best may avert, or over-awe the vengeance
At Ina aim'd. 'Tis for thy wife, thyself,
I plead, no less than for the state; and ask
But that thou play awhile the cautious part.
Be rul'd by me—conceal thy marriage still
A little space.

EGBERT.
I will: and bend my spirit
To cold occasion. Yes, for Ina's love
I will defile that singleness she prized.
Alwyn, I had mark'd the crooked ways of courts,
And in the arrogant dreams of boyhood, shaped
To myself a course of future glory
So proudly honest! but I find that he
Who would hold on the broad and open way,
Not once may swerve aside, howe'er allured.

ALWYN.
Your father waits—Come on, my friend.

EGBERT.
I come.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Cenulph, Oswald, &c.
CENULPH.
And has a king no friend? Would no one tell
What, it seems, all or knew or did suspect?
And have his secret visits been so frequent
To this abandon'd woman? Artful fiend!
Well might she meekly thus retire content,
And shun the public gaze, as I commanded;
When, at her feet, all languishing with love,
Lay Cenulph's son, the heir of Wessex' throne!
Ye all have been in league—are traitors all!

OSWALD.
My liege, you wrong our faith. It is but now
I learn what I have given to your ear.

CENULPH.
By night, say'st thou, he from the camp would steal?

OSWALD.
Ev'n so, my liege. When, in the crimson west,
Mantled in blushing clouds, the sun went down,
Each order given, the prince would mount his steed;

Swift as the winds, and as direct his course,
He topp'd the mountain, skimm'd the valley, plunged
Into the foaming river, stemm'd the current,
And reach'd the bower where Ina waited him;
Then, ere the grey light streak'd the eastern sky,
With course as rapid, he regain'd the camp.

CENULPH.
Perdition seize the sorceress! That the child
Of Sigiswold, my youth's first friend, in age
My counsellor—who in th' extreme of peril
Gave me his life.—Leave me.
[Exit Oswald.
The soldiers, too—
Who hailed him first but as their good king's son—
Sought but to trace in the young eagle's bearing
Some semblance of the sire—

Enter Alwyn.
ALWYN.
Prince Egbert waits.
May I beseech your grace, assail the prince
With gentle speech. Howe'er his spirit rage
Beneath the iron curb of harsh control,
His heart will answer every tender touch
With readiest sympathy.

CENULPH.
He must, he shall,
This very day, espouse fair Edelfleda.

OSWALD.
Nay, my good lord. She too must now be won
To give her hand; but that would cost small pains
To Egbert's self, might he be brought to wish it.
'Tis to this end I would that you urge home
To his warm, generous nature, all the ruin,
Dishonour to your crown—the thousand mischiefs
That hang on his refusal, till his heart
Embrace our cause, forgetful of its own.

CENULPH.
I hear his steps—away! I will suppress
My anger, Oswald, and will touch each string
That readiest vibrates in the generous breast.
Attend the princess hither. She requests
A private audience.
[Exit Oswald.
In Cambria's fastnesses
The Druid seers, with hymns and sounding strings,
To such religious frenzy work the soul,
That mothers dash, before their gods, exulting,
Their sucklings to fierce flames. Hang on my lips
The golden phrase of patriots! so to grace
The cause of public virtue, that my son,
Alike exulting, from his breast may dash
This worthless woman's love!

Enter Egbert.
Egbert, draw near:
Sit thou beside me. I am old, and worn
By a long reign of war—of cruel bloodshed,
It was not mine t' avert. The throne I fill
Will soon be thine, and I would know from thee
Thy thoughts of the high office.

EGBERT.
Oh! my father!
As yet unknowing but of martial rule,
To rouse, direct, or quell the soldier's rage—
Of thee I hope to learn each exercise
Of peaceful government.

CENULPH.
And dost thou think
To learn of me to hold the throne of Wessex,
But as a larger means to do thy pleasure?
To hold the people but as flocks, nor care
How many swell th' account of them that bleed,
If but thy giddy passions be indulged?

EGBERT.
How should I learn of thee these tyrant maxims;
Thou, who hast ever sought thy people's good?

CENULPH.
If such has been the measure of my sway,

How much must wiser Egbert scorn his father!
Egbert, who rather would unbar the gates,
And hail, with impious welcome, the invader,
Than aught control his idlest appetite.

EGBERT.
No, my loved father; I would give my life
To save thy simplest peasantry from ill.
Oh! let me prove it in the field of glory,
And pour forth all my blood!

CENULPH.
Go to, rash boy;
'Tis not thy blood thy country asks of thee:
'Tis not thy blood can make thy father happy:
No, if thou hadst but entertain'd such thoughts
As suit thy royal birth, thou hadst, ere this,
Assured our people's welfare and thine own.
Now, 'tis too late; the sword is drawn that dooms
Thousands to pay the forfeit of thy fault,
While thou wilt, thoughtless, revel in light joys
I blush to think upon!

EGBERT
(much affected.).
My guilty soul!
Each word a deadly weapon! Oh! my father!

CENULPH.
A princess mock'd by nuptials vainly promised!
My name, my crown, branded with foul dishonour!

I shall not long survive this sum of ill;
Thus parricide will heap the monstrous measure
Of thy licentious deeds!—

EGBERT
(terrified).
Most horrible!
Are there no means? Oh, point the way, my father,
To thy unworthy son! Let me alone
Meet the uplifted sword of Ethelbald,
And free thy people from the threat'ning foe;
Nor from a subject's veins one precious drop
Distain the peaceful soil.—

CENULPH.
It is well said.—
Insult a princess,—break her generous heart;-
And murder then her father!—

EGBERT
(clasping his hands.).
Wretch accursed!
Am I so deep in guilt?

CENULPH
(taking his hand kindly).
Not yet, my son;
But such the course thou headlong dost pursue.

EGBERT
(eagerly).
Not yet? and is there time? Oh, then thy son
Will act a worthier part.

CENULPH.
Why, this is well.—

I will ascribe to wild unbridled youth
What late hath reach'd my ear. Not wanton smiles,
Soft lisping lips, and braided locks, the toys
One born to rule should sport with—save indeed,
As he would, at the careless banquet, quaff
The luscious mead, each graver care discharged.
But see, my son, fair Edelfleda comes.
Think of her wrongs: you woo'd her, won her love.
She came a stranger to a foreign court,
Abused by hollow promises, and hopes,
That in high souls will sicken to despair
Ere yet the lofty brow betray a pang.

EGBERT.
Much injured princess! Villain that I am!
I know her generous nature: at her feet
I will pour forth my soul—atone my fault—
Oh yes—she will forgive—will pity—

Enter Edelfleda and Bertha.
EDELFLEDA
(aside to BERTHA).
Bertha,
May I believe my senses? have I wrong'd him?

CENULPH
(to EDELFLEDA).
Thou, unawares, hast heard my son declare
What a rude soldier's plain unpractised tongue,
Awed by thy charms, had ill express'd to thee.

EDELFLEDA
(watching EGBERT).
Royal Cenulph! I but claimed your patience
To ask such escort—as becomes—my state,—
Unto my father's capital—in—Mercia:
This was my errand—nor thought I to meet
One—almost—grown a stranger—in this presence.

CENULPH.
Doubtless, fair princess, if it be thy wish
Thy native court to visit, and thy father,
When the new season smiles with happy omen,
Thou shalt have royal escort, as befits us,
And love shall guide thee, Hymen light thy way,—
Meet convoy for the beauteous Edelfleda,
And mine and Mercia's daughter!

EDELFLEDA.
Royal sir,
As Mercia's daughter only must I go.
Nor can as Mercia's daughter brook delay. I claim no other title.

CENAPH.
Thy father pleads in vain: speak thou, my son.
Thou may'st prevail on filial love, perhaps,
(Though much I honour this its pious wish),
Awhile to yield its claim to claims more sweet,
And yet more powerful.

EGBERT
(much embarrassed).
Fair Edelfleda!

Thou know'st our youth, contracted by our fathers;
Ere yet our hearts had spoken, we were doom'd
By Hymen's bonds to ratify the peace
Betwixt two war-worn nations.

EDELFLEDA.
Oh! sad lot
Of royal slaves, who thus are bought and sold!
But no, Prince Egbert—no, not so, our fathers
Barter'd with their children's hearts. Mutual
The affection—mutual—once—the tie—and I
Shall still esteem—thy virtues, Prince—shall still
Bear with me the remembrance of thy worth,—
Though far—far—distant.

[She turns away to hide emotion.
EGBERT.
Say not so—Oh, hear me,
Unworthy as I am: in pity hear me!
It was not thus erewhile you turn'd away.
Reverse this harsh decree, and from remorse,
Or worse destruction, if worse be, save him
Who once found favour in thy sight: nay, turn—
Turn, gracious Edelfleda!

EDELFLEDA.
Might I think
That from thy heart these words of gentler import—
Might I believe—the slighted—Edelfleda—

Indeed—were—I adjure thee, on thy soul,
Trifle not, Egbert, trifle not!—be plain!

EGBERT.
Not though the axe were lifted o'er my head,
Could I one moment longer, by feign'd words,
Abuse thy generous temper. Hence, base art!
Dissimulation, hence! Speak nature! truth!
[Throwing himself at her feet.
See, princess, at thy feet a wretched man,
Bowed to the level of the peasant swain,
Who trembles for the lowly roof that shelters
His wife and little ones!

CENULPH.
What mean thy words?

EGBERT
(with dignity, rising).
I am, like him, a husband and a father!

[Edelfleda sinks into Bertha's arms.
CENULPH.
Darest thou avow it?—Ha! rash youth, beware!
Thou art a subject still, nor could'st thou pledge
Thy faith, unsanctioned by thy king! thy father!
My royal word was given to Ethelbald.

EGBERT.
King! there are ties of nature stronger far
Than even those convention has stampt sacred
'Twixt man and man, by social compact bound.

The rudest savage, howling amid deserts,
That tears his vanquish'd foe, devours his flesh,
And quaffs his smoking blood, does yet defend
His mate, the mother of his babes, with wild
And desperate love; and meekest things that creep,
Or wing the air, in nature's dearest cause
Will brave destruction from the spoiler's rage.
I am a husband, king! I am a father!

CENULPH.
Guards! secure the traitor.

Enter Guards and Alwyn.
ALWYN
(aside).
Who now will shield poor Ina?

EGBERT.
Her Egbert will!
(To the guards.)
Off, sirs! first take my life!

[The guards fall back.
ALWYN.
Oh! yield, dear prince!
Yield, if the life of Ina yet be precious!

EGBERT.
My Ina! for thy sake—
[Gives his sword to the guards.
Sirs! take my sword!
And now my chains!

[The guards approach fearfully and reluctantly to chain him.

CENULPH.
Why tremble ye? Obey!

EDELFLEDA
(recovering).
Monarch! grown hoary in deceit and fraud!
Leagued with thy worthless son to insult me thus!
Ye shall for this feel Ethelbald's dread arm:
Hurl'd from your throne, and prostrate at his feet,
Shall sue in vain for mercy, while your cries,
The cries of Ina—e'en her infant's cries—
Shall fall as sweetest music on my ear.
Ev'n now great Ethelbald is on your borders;
'T was I unsheath'd his sword! 'T is I who guide it!
And none but I can turn its edge aside!

[Exit with Bertha.
CENULPH
(to EGBERT).
Thus, wretch accursed! is this devoted land,
Her wounds scarce closed, and scarce renew'd her strength,
By thee to war's fell demons given again;
Nor though th' abandon'd, the perfidious Ina,
Were doom'd to pay the forfeit of her crime,
By deep disgrace, by death in lingering torments—

EGBERT.
Ha! torments? lingering torments, said'st thou, tyrant?
But Heaven's own angels watch o'er innocence!
Nor can there be conceal'd in human shape

The fiend could touch her with a hand of harm!
The most remorseless villain, bred to blood,
Fierce creature of thy fiercer will, would shrink
At sight of Ina, in the majesty
Of virtue, beauty, youth, distress!

CENULPH.
Away!
Guards! drag him hence. Ha! Osric in such haste!

Enter Osric.
OSRIC.
My liege, with rapid march the King of Mercia
Advances on thy frontier. Deadly his rage!
His powers, the breathless messengers declare,
Rush as a torrent with impetuous course
On the devoted land. No order taken,
Confusion and dark mutiny prevail
Among our troops. The surly soldiers, murmuring,
Demand Prince Egbert at their head.

CENULPH.
Prince Egbert?
What? to a traitor shall I trust my cause?

OSRIC.
Such confidence in him each soldier feels,
Such love, such loyalty: I know it well,

They will fall off, or coldly meet the foe,
If any other leader—

CENULPH.
Is it so?
Then is it time I yield my forfeit sceptre,
Lest he with impious hand should wrest it from me!
[He throws down his sceptre, crown, or any emblem of royalty.
Guards, free the man who henceforth is your king,
And do with me as does the graceless churl,
Who lays the axe, remorseless, to the oak,
That stretch'd its sheltering arms o'er his forefathers,
When wintry winds have stript its leafy pride.

EGBERT
(rushing to him with passionate tenderness).
See me, my honour'd father, at thy feet!
Oh speak not words that cut my heart asunder!
Resume thy honours—
[Giving him the sceptre.
See thy humblest subject!
Oh show some signs of pardon and of comfort,
That I may say thy son—thy penitent son.
Yes, trust thy cause to me—to thee I trust
All that my sould holds dear—my wife! my child!
[After a pause, taking his hand with great emotion.
If I should fall, they will be dear to thee.

CENULPH.
Oh Egbert! Egbert! thou go'st near to break

Thy father's heart. Thou wast a duteous son.
Once more I trust thee, nor admit the thought
Thou yet hast practised aught disloyal. Leave me.
Alwyn, thy arm.
[Egbert offers his assistance, and Cenulph puts him away.
Nay, I would be alone.

[Exit Cenulph with Alwyn.
EGBERT
(alone).
'Tis Alwyn's arm supports him—not his son's!
Alas! this keen rebuke is just, my father:
Yet dost thou trust me; and thy confidence,
So precious, shall be justified by service
Thou look'st not for at my unworthy hands.

Re-enter Alwyn.
ALWYN.
My royal friend—I tremble but to think
Of thy imprudence.—How avert the ills—

EGBERT.
Alwyn, no ill awaits the upright course!
This dark concealment! 'twas the only stain
My bosom knew.—Oh! could'st thou guess the load
It has thrown off! how buoyant all is here!
Avert what ill? for, grant I lose a crown,
(An awful charge, not merely a gay circlet

To grace the brow) integrity remains!
Were I not happier? ay, and worthier too—
A sturdy peasant, with undaunted front,
Grappling with stern adversity, than wielding
Sceptres by wrong obtained, or violence
To inbred honesty:—my friend, I have led
My countrymen to battle: each bosom owned
As brave a heart, and in his country's cause
As warm as mine—and haply each, like me,
Had his heart's partner too at home, who trembled,
And wept for him, as Ina for her Egbert.
There is a brotherhood in tented fields,
Where all with equal venture play for lives,
That wakes a consciousness we are but men,
And men alike, till worth has made distinction.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Edelfleda, Bertha.
EDELFLEDA.
Leave me, good Bertha; thy officious love
But wearies me.

BERTHA.
Thy pardon, dearest mistress.

EDELFLEDA.
These cumbrous robes, these idle ornaments,
Oppress my bosom. Thou hast deck'd me out
As 'twere a victim for the sacrifice.—
I am the victim! thou hast wisely done!

BERTHA.
The artful Baldred rules King Cenulph's mind;
Nay, can compel, some say, the stubborn fates,
By prayers, and penance, and mysterious rites.
Through his means haply thou may'st triumph yet.

EDELFLEDA.
Yes! I will triumph yet—but if the means
Recoiling fancy dare but faintly shadow,
Oh Bertha! Bertha! dost thou think kind nature

Form'd me for darkest deeds? Oh, no! her hand
Temper'd my soul to gentleness and love,
And stampt it with a royal loftiness;
But it is given in possession now
To such a friend!—so irresistible!
[Hiding her face in Bertha's bosom.
Thou'rt good and kind!—oh! throw me from thy heart!
I never more shall there deserve a place.

BERTHA.
That heart is thine, my princess,—owns no bounds
To its devotion! nay, take hope—take comfort—
Th' astonish'd king was as thyself indignant.
Thou saw'st the prince in chains! King Cenulph loves thee—
He will annul the marriage.

EDELFLEDA.
How annul it?
Not if she live! he cannot sunder hearts.
No, if she live—it is impossible.
I would have fled ere the ungentle wish
That she were not—

BERTHA.
Then think of her as dead!
Thy wish might stamp her doom.

EDELFLEDA
(with horror).
What, murder her!

BERTHA.
Not that.—Stern policy has instruments
Secret and sure. Thou know'st the envious abbot
Beneath that saintly garb wraps deadly hate.

EDELFLEDA.
Let me not hear—nor guess what thou would'st say.
It will be mine to soothe him when 'tis done!
I must not bear the horrid consciousness
About my heart;—for I will win his love
By virtue then, by tenderness, and patience!
Then did I say? as, then! what thought was that
My guilty soul admitted? oh! is virtue
So convenient? will she? can she dwell again
In the polluted bosom she forsook?
Or if she could—remorse must usher her!
Unutterable woe!—oh, save me!—save me!
[After a pause.
One only means is left may yet preserve
These hands from stain of blood. Some pitying angel
Whispers the thought.—Come, Bertha! let us haste.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

BALDRED
(alone.).
Too long, methinks, the king confers with Egbert.
He leads the army!—I would have it so.—
The time has been men fell in fight.—Death ruled
Unquestion'd there.—Yet now, methinks, for him
All weapons lose their edge!—But has this head
Forgot the means t' effect this bosom's purpose?
I hate her now—yet envy him his joys.
Yes, but for him I had won her—but for him
In love's full confidence had met those eyes,
Had clasp'd that hand in love.

Enter Egbert.
EGBERT.
What! murmur'st thou of confidence and joy?
Of eyes that meet, and hands that clasp in love!

BALDRED.
That sinful in their sweetness are these things,
And as rank weeds that wear a gaudy blossom,
Should be uprooted from the wholesome soil;
While, as the liberal herbage spreading wide,
Or sacred grain, friendly to general life,
The public weal alone should be our care.

EGBERT.
These maxims, holy kinsman, are severe
For one erewhile a gay, a gallant soldier.
What! for the public weal would'st thou uproot
That which does make the public weal our care?
Why fill the eyes with tears? Why leaps the heart?
“Our country” but the theme of our discourse?
We love the land where first the light of heaven
Broke on our eyes!—dear by all childhood's joys!
Her soil enfolds our fathers' honour'd bones!
Our friends and kinsmen reap her golden harvests!
But there are ties! which thou hast thrown from thee,
That more than these endear our country's name!
That brace the thrilling nerves, and swell the bosom—
Doubling the powers and energies of man!

BALDRED.
Ha! did I throw from me those ties? (howe'er
My heaven-ward thoughts despise them now!) thou treach'rous,
Thou gay insinuating flatterer!—thou,
Who stealing on the promise of my bliss—

EGBERT.
'Tis false, proud priest! Her love was mine, ere thou
Hadst with loathed passion gazed on Ina's charms.
She ever hated thee!—

BALDRED.
Thou say'st so, boaster!
Haply my soldiers' hearts alike were thine,
Ere I had led them forth.—I! who so long
Fenced with this arm thy father's tottering throne
Against dread Ethelbald.—

EGBERT.
Hold, Baldred, hold!
I grant my father's throne was sore beset
When mighty Ethelbald came thundering on.
But force me not to say who fenced his throne.

BALDRED.
Nay, doubly treacherous was thy part! thou cam'st
Prank'd in gay youth, and glittering novelty—
With idle promises, alluring wiles—
And won the dastard knaves, who had forsook me,
To turn again with swift recoiling force
On the triumphant foe; thus foully wresting
The dear-earn'd meed of longer services.

EGBERT.
Vain reasoner! true; the flying bands I rallied
By promises, not idle, if fulfill'd!
Nor robb'd thee of the meed of victory,—
For on thy brow I would have placed her wreath.

BALDRED.
'Twas all hypocrisy!—'twas insult all!

Thou still hast wrong'd me,—but I scorn thee still.
Fortune's sleek minion! Flattery's demi-god!
Awhile thou yet may'st flutter in their sunshine,
A gay-wing'd insect, till the northern blast
From short existence sweep thee, while the eagle
Towers in her native skies!

EGBERT.
Peace! coward priest!
Who thus secure, beneath that saintly garb,
Dost blacken worth, and rail at envied greatness.

BALDRED.
Thy worth I own not, nor thy fleeting greatness.
Power is true greatness! Go, guide thou the sword
Thousands of sinews wield! but I can slack
Those sinews that they loose their hold. Thus wrapt,
I sway by holy awe the souls of men,
And am superior in superior power!

EGBERT.
I mock thy blustering impotence and pride,
But I respect the garb thou dost abuse,
And, therefore, priest, I unchastised will leave thee,
While yet my better thoughts restrain my arm.

[Exit.
BALDRED.
Thinks he to awe me by his lofty carriage?
And shall my spirit stand rebuked by his?

Shall I, in blood his equal,—hang the head?
Wondering, confess his rare endowments? Hail him
With idiot incense as the vulgar use?
There are tame spirits who recline content
Beneath the greatness that o'ershadows them.
The timid herds, denied by nature fangs
To wage offensive war, will throng together—
Obscure equality! The lion stalks
Alone!—unrivall'd he!—the lonely tiger
Leaps single on his prey!—these brook no equal;
Nor will I, crouching, a superior own!

[Exit.

This was first printed in 1815.

SCENE III.

Ina's Bower.
Ina, watching over her sleeping child; Alice, Blanch, &c.
INA.
Sing me, dear maids, the lullaby I love;
'T will soothe my infant's slumbers, and may speed
The lagging wing of time till Egbert come.

SONG BY ALICE AND BLANCH.

ALICE.
Lull my babe in rosy slumbers,
Whisper sounds that die away,
Utter none but drowsy numbers,
Luring dewy sleep to stay.

BOTH.
Lullaby, lullaby,
Hush my babe with lullaby.

BLANCH.
But if on a brighter morrow
Ope his eyelids laughing gay,
Careless notes of light joy borrow,
Lest his mother's tears betray
He wakens to a world of sorrow.

BOTH.
Merrily, merrily,
Maidens, then, sing merrily.

INA.
Thanks, my good girls:—yet, Alice, Egbert comes not.
It seems an age that I have fix'd my eyes
On that sweet sleeping innocence, thus hoping

To lose the consciousness of each sad moment
That slowly drags its length till he return.

ALICE.
The noble Alwyn went with him, dear mistress;
Thou know'st his prudence well.

INA.
Still Egbert comes not.

ALICE
(after looking at the child).
His sleeping features wear a joyous smile,
And see, he stretches forth his little hands!
Regard it as a happy omen, madam.

INA.
Kind Alice, thanks. Would my sad heart could do so!
Poor helpless slumberer! oh! had I been born
A village maid! a cottager, my Egbert!
The war of elements the only danger
That threaten'd our low roof—thy innocent smile
Had waken'd but a mother's honest joy,
Nor chill'd my heart, as now, with nameless fears.

ALICE.
Alas! the sadden'd fancy gives its colour
To all it rests upon, and often paints
In objects of delight some idle terror.

INA.
Hark! Alice, hark! feel how my poor heart beats!
Some dreadful ill hangs o'er us! It must come,

The hour of vengeance.—Royalty insulted!
A father's love deceived!—Alice! how guilty
Do I appear to my affrighted conscience
Whene'er my Egbert tarries long away;
But when he comes,—and when I hear his voice
And meet his eye,—and feel how I am loved—
And with what full devotion I am his,
It seems not only happiness, but virtue,
Glory, and honour!—all, are mine—and lift
My proud heart—

ALICE.
Now I hear a busy stir!
Sure 'tis the prince!

INA
(hastening to meet him).
My lord, my life, my husband!

[Meets Edelfleda, who enters with Bertha. Edelfleda measures her with her eyes as she totters back to Alice.
EDELFLEDA.
Why do you tremble, madam, and turn pale?
I own that this intrusion can be warranted
By none but its true motive.

INA.
Motive! princess?
What motive prompts the gentle mind to seek
The unhappy,—but some courteous, kindly impulse?

And your eyes speak not such. Some dire mischance
Perhaps—oh! tell me—tell me all—and with one blow—
Alice—support me—

[Sinks into Alice's arms.
EDELFLEDA
(aside to BERTHA).
Is she so beautiful
As to my tortured soul my eyes present her?

BERTHA.
'Tis but the beauty of the menial train.
The royal air is wanting.

EDELFLEDA.
Say'st thou so?
Ah, no! that timid softness wins its way
More surely to the heart.—I, too, were gentle,
If I, like her, were blest.

BERTHA.
Perversely thus
Ingenious jealousy will rack itself
To deck its object.

EDELFLEDA.
Jealousy no longer,
But hate, contempt, and vengeance—

(To Ina, who recovers).
I am sorry
That you anticipate what I would say.
If thus thou swoon while yet in ignorance,
How wilt thou tear with self-destructive passion
Those tresses in their dark luxuriance bound

With skilful negligence around thy brow!
Deface that matchless beauty with thy hands,
Play o'er each practised act of desperation!
When thou art told,—the prince thou hast enthrall'd,
In a vile dungeon, bound with traitor's chains,
Awaits the doom of his disloyalty.
INA.
Have mercy! heavenly powers! imprison'd! chain'd!
But no—it cannot be—thou com'st to prove me.
Thou too hast loved him, lady, and thou could'st not,
Oh no, thou could'st not thus unmoved declare,
That he whom thou hast loved—impossible!
Thy voice had falter'd, and thy tears had flow'd!
Yes, thou hadst pitied me, and kindred sorrow
Had one short moment link'd our adverse souls.

EDELFLEDA.
Who tells thee, insolent! I love the prince?
Or ever loved the base degenerate Egbert?
'Tis true that policy had doom'd our hands
To a forced union once—and therefore was he
Sacred to such as thou!—treason the thought
In any subject's breast to match with him.

INA.
If it be treason, I alone am guilty.
Treason regards but the aspiring subject;
Nor can the same be charged on yielding greatness.

Then plead for me in this, howe'er thou hate me.
Plead for me, royal Edelfleda! Claim
For me the chains he wears (if it be so
That he indeed does wear them); set him free:
[Kneeling.
I, I alone have sinn'd against the laws!
The king, and him, and thee!

EDELFLEDA.
All! all! thou fiend!
And think'st thou it can aught atone my wrongs,
Though low I see thee, grov'ling at my feet?
Off, shameless woman! Shameless Egbert's choice!

INA
(rising, and with dignity).
The woman honour'd by Prince Egbert's choice,
Founds on that choice her claim to more respect.
As Egbert's wife, I must withdraw from one
Unmindful what to Egbert's wife is due.
[Turning to Alice.
Raise gently, Alice, my sweet infant boy,
Lest he affrighted wake; then follow me.

EDELFLEDA
(stopping ALICE, and gazing passionately on the child).
Oh Heaven! Is this his child?

INA.
Madam, it is.
You startle him. I pray you speak more softly.

Ungentle tones ne'er wounded yet his ear.

EDELFLEDA.
Nay, take it hence. I know not why I look'd on't.
[Ina, &c. going.
I had forgot the purpose of my visit;
Will you not stay and hear it?
[Ina returns. Edelfleda softens her tone.
Ina, say—
Would'st thou Prince Egbert, whom thou call'st thy husband,
Were freed from prison, and from shameful death?
I come to tell thee how to compass this.

INA.
Oh! pardon, gracious princess! that my ignorance
Misjudged your generous purpose. Yet goodness, sure,
Ne'er wore before such haughty looks and tones
As you ev'n now did lend her. Name the means!
Weak as I am, my courage will not shrink
In such a cause, from any fearful task.

EDELFLEDA.
There needs to save him, but that thou forego
The idle title thou erewhile didst boast;
For, as thou know'st, it is of youth's gay coinage;
Unsanction'd thus—an empty appellation—
Offensive as 'tis empty. Claim it not.

INA.
Princess! I understand you. I am ready,
By death, to cancel my pure marriage vow,
That he may live, but by no other means;
Nor is it fit I longer parley hold
With one who counsels thus Prince Egbert's wife.

[Exit.
EDELFLEDA
(after watching her in a tumult of passion).
Thus scornful to withdraw!—
(Striking her bosom).
Hell! hell is here!
(Turning eagerly to Bertha).
Didst mark the infant? Had it not his brow?
Methought I could have snatch'd it to my bosom
With transport such as mothers scarce have felt,
And instant came a horror—such a horror!
That I had dash'd the tender form to atoms,
Had I but held it in my shuddering grasp!

BERTHA.
Oh! let us quickly leave this fatal scene!
Too much it racks thy bosom.

EDELFLEDA.
How I hate her!
I envy her her very dangers, Bertha.
She claim his chains! 't were mine the right to share them.
Or rather I had brought all Mercia's power

T'avenge his wrongs! Nor had I proved my love
By tears and prayers, low grov'ling on the earth,
But by such gifts as kingdoms! sceptres! thrones!
Adoring nations kneeling at his feet!

BERTHA.
It yet will be so. This presumptuous woman
Will meet the death she merits, and her image,
Her worthless image, fade from the remembrance
Of him who should be yours!

EDELFLEDA.
Yes, mine by right!
By solemn compact mine! Attested mine
By witness nations! And thinks she I will yield him?
But, ah! he loves me not! What were his hand,
His cold reluctant hand, without his heart?—
Shall I not find some solace in revenge?—
Yet will that sweeten life like what ev'n now
These eyes have seen?

Enter Egbert.
EGBERT.
Oh, Heaven! whom find I here?

EDELFLEDA.
I came to see this miracle of beauty,
She for whose fatal charms two realms must lie

In ruin, and for whom Prince Egbert
Remorseless dooms his people to the sword;
And I have seen her.

[Going, he stops her.
EGBERT.
Hast thou seen my wife?
Ha! Edelfleda!—How didst thou address her?

EDELFLEDA
(contemptuously).
As is her due.

EGBERT.
Then as Heaven's fairest work!
As Virtue's brightest gem! as Nature's pride,
Didst thou address her!—and—as Wessex' princess!

EDELFLEDA.
Say, rather, as a subject too aspiring,
Presumptuous, and vain; who gave her ear
To idle flatteries from royal lips,
And swerved from honour's path. I would have saved her,
But she scorn'd my counsel.

EGBERT
(eagerly).
Save her from what?—
Say, princess! is aught practised against Ina?

EDELFLEDA
(going).
Nay, it imports not me.—I would depart.

EGBERT
(stopping her).
Oh, Edelfleda! I have held thee noble,
Have ever honour'd thee.

EDELFLEDA.
Ye powers supreme!
Oh hear his words! mark his unblushing brow!
Thou! thou hast honour'd me?—hast held me noble?
And didst thou honour me in Cenulph's presence,
When late—oh! grant me patience, Heaven! an hour,
A little hour has scarce elapsed,—since mock'd,
Insulted—scorn'd.

EGBERT.
This keen reproach were due
Had I thy royal nobleness mistrusted;
'Twas from thy generous nature that I hoped
For help and stay in this my utmost need.
Canst thou forget when in our earliest youth,
Ere yet the fatal torch of discord blazed,
Severing our houses,—of thy mother 'reft,
Mine proved our common parent? happy days!

EDELFLEDA
(with emotion).
And were they happy days to thee too, Egbert?

EGBERT.
Yes, they were days of thoughtless, unmix'd joy.—
Hadst thou, sore press'd with sorrow, said to me,
“Friend of my youth! thy help!”—Oh, Edelfleda!
What had I not encounter'd in thy service?
But thou desertest me—art my worst foe!—

EDELFLEDA.
I! I, thy foe?—I, who for thy sake live
In torments, fiercer than e'er yet consumed
The guiltiest wretch.—I, who but err'd in this,
That yielding to our parents true obedience,
I gave my heart where they had given my hand.

EGBERT
(distressed).
Princess!—my heart—my hand—no longer mine,—
How often with the secret on my lips,
Sought I, ere this, to throw me at thy feet:
But thy averted looks,—thy cold disdain—
The sudden anger flashing on thy cheek—

EDELFLEDA.
Were the last struggles of expiring pride!
And hast thou loved? nor know'st love's various language?
Tremble, yes tremble, at the bound I've pass'd.
Nothing remain'd to wretched Edelfleda
But pride of soul, and that lies prostrate now.
And dost thou think I will recede? No, Egbert!
Triumph or death be mine!

EGBERT.
Triumph! o'er whom?

EDELFLEDA.
O'er her! the source of all my ill! o'er her!—
Who, as the sweeping pestilence, unseen

Stole o'er the tender germ, and blasted it,
That, growing with our growth, unfolding fair,
Had ripen'd into love, and made me blest!

EGBERT.
Hold, woman! would'st thou be a vengeful fury?
And will my deadliest hate?—my soul's deep curse—

EDELFLEDA.
Thy hatred? yes—thy curse were far less bitter
Than thus to see ye blest.

EGBERT.
Nay, Edelfleda,
Be thyself again!—thou, once so generous!
I, who have wrong'd thee, throw me on thy mercy!
By the new faith that teaches sweet forgiveness!
By my contrition for the outrage done
To thy best feelings! By our early days
Of childish fondness! By our common mother
(For thou didst give her that endearing name!)
And by her dying blessing o'er us breathed,
As we together knelt and mingled tears!
Oh! be thou great, as not to mortal frailty
Has yet been given!—Princess, protect my wife!

Enter Ina.
INA.
I hear his voice! 'tis he! my lord! my Egbert!
[They embrace.

Why kneel to her? why claim of her protection?
And canst not thou protect me? thou, my husband!

EGBERT.
Alas! my love, I must on the instant hence;
The army claims me, and the king commands.
I can but fold thee to my faithful bosom.
[They embrace in speechless emotion.
My Ina!—oh! I would be firm.—I pray thee
Tremble not thus.—Nay, smile—though forced the smile,
It were a pious fraud, and my poor heart
Will half deceive itself.

INA
(in great distress).
My lord! my love!

EDELFLEDA
(aside).
And must I witness the soft melting eye!
Hear the endearing name! mark all their fondness!
And thus learn each sweet several joy I lose!
And is't of me he claims for her protection?
Let justice take its course. He knows I love,
And therefore must be mine: and for she knows it,
My pride cannot consent that she should live.

[Exit with Bertha.
EGBERT.
Alas! my love, to part with thee is hard;
Never so hard before. Yet, my kind father,
As if repentant of the angry haste

With which he fasten'd ('twas but for a moment)
Chains on thy Egbert, has even now dismiss'd me
With gracious signs of sweet returning love—
With fullest confidence—with ample powers.—
Was it not generous? And think'st thou, Ina,
I will not justify the noble trust?

INA.
Oh, yes! thou wilt a thousand, thousand fold.
Heaven guard thee while this thought impels thy valour
(As well I know it will) beyond all bounds
Of prudence! Oh! when desperate, thou seek'st
To pluck fair wreaths from danger's hideous brow,
Think of thy Ina! of thy child! and check
Thy daring rashness!

EGBERT.
Nay, it is that valour
Thy love would chide, will best protect thy Egbert,
Restore him worthy of thy tenderness!

INA.
And must I stay so near a treacherous court,
And that fierce woman's hate, now all is known?

EGBERT.
My father will protect thee.

INA.
Can he, Egbert?

Thou know'st the artful sway of cruel Baldred.
Nay, let me go with thee!—See, Alwyn comes. Enter Alwyn.

Plead for me, Alwyn, that I follow him.

ALWYN.
She must not stay, my friend—Thou art deceived,
Thy father was too gentle. 'Tis not so,
Howe'er the parent may relent—that kings
Can wipe away all trace of injury.
Go, then, my prince, as was appointed, wearing
That open brow—a stranger to mistrust.
When night shall close the eye of vigilance,
And with her friendly mantle shroud our steps,
I will steal forth with Ina, both conceal'd
In such rude weeds as wrap the villager.

INA.
Thou art our guardian angel!—and my child?

ALWYN.
We will not leave him. On his mother's breast
He shall be cradled. On the gentle steed
Thou lov'st so well, for that he brought thy Egbert
So often to thy arms, ye shall be placed,
And I beside you will conduct your steps.

EGBERT.
How for a moment shall I leave thee, love,

Now that a doubt—Oh, no! a doubt would wrong
My father—yet—a fear—Love's idle fear—

INA
(with joy and eagerness).
I have nor doubt, nor fear. I follow thee,
My lord! my husband! thee, my all of bliss!
And bear our mutual treasure in my arms!
Rear'd softly, I ne'er knew life's rougher hour;
Yet shalt thou find me as the rudest peasant,
Hardy, and firm of nerve. If night should wrap
Her brow in clouds, I'll bless the kinder shade
Favouring our flight; or, if her lamp shine forth,
I'll think it is to light me on my way.
The howling wolf shall seem but as a friend,
Scaring who may pursue me (for true love
Never knew fear!) The blust'ring winds that meet me,
I'll hail as eager messengers from thee;
And, if they scatter from their ruffled wings
The driving hail-storm on my houseless head,
I will but lap our infant's mantle close,
And say it is plain nature's ruder welcome.

[Exeunt severally.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

CENULPH
(alone).
The cheerful day revives me. All night long
In thousand changeful forms my labouring fancy
Presented Sigiswold. The very smile
Beam'd on me still—the smile he wore in death!
He wrung my hand as then; and, as I gazed,
He glared all ghastly, horrible. In agony
I shook off sleep—again I sunk o'erwearied,
And then methought my son came towering on,
Nor touch'd the ground, but in contempt.

Enter Osric.
OSRIC.
My liege!
From royal Egbert messengers arrive.

CENULPH.
Conduct them hither.
[Osric goes.
My distemper'd thoughts bode nought but ill. Enter Edred.

What tidings from the army?

EDRED.
Prince Egbert greets his father and his king
With duteous love and firmest loyalty;
Already to his banners throng thy subjects
With ardour never witness'd. He had number'd
Ten thousand men in arms ere he dismiss'd us.
The peasant leaves the coulter in the furrow
To snatch his battle-axe, or ponderous spear;
The aged bowman, all unnerved by time,
Grasps the tough yew he can no longer bend.
Ev'n mothers bid their slender striplings arm,
To follow their loved prince! their future king!

CENULPH.
Their future king! say they, “their future king?”
Are they impatient that old Cenulph lives?
It is enough. You may retire.
[Exit Edred.
The prince,
Elated, thinks 'tis but to break a lance
With Ethelbald, and gaily speed him back
To love and Ina. [He appears in great agitation.
Enter Baldred.

Baldred, thou art welcome!
I think thou art true, nor like the summer courtier,
Dost more affect the prince than thy old master;
Oswald I doubt, and Orgar.—The smooth Alwyn

Is wholly his.—The father's tenderness
Has, more than all, proved traitor to the king.
Did I say king? Ah! king no longer, Baldred,
Than it may please Prince Egbert!

BALDRED.
True, my liege;
You have cause to fear him.

CENULPH.
Fear him! Fear my son?

BALDRED.
Yes, you do fear the prince, and you have cause;
E'en the wolf's whelp will gambol round its dam
With new life's graces:—but ere long, behold
The blood-red eye-balls glare—the keen-hook'd fangs:
Anon th' invaded fold, the slaughter'd flock.
Yes, Egbert was a child—his father's darling—
But now he is a prince, in manhood's prime,
Bold, strong, ambitious—and the soldier's idol.

CENULPH.
Of Egbert's growing honours thou would'st speak,
Nor aught infer of dark design. I said—
I know not what—in moody vein. Thou hast seen
The lambent lightnings flash o'er summer skies;
E'en so a father for a moment chides.
The ominous clouds must heap their sooty volumes,
Shrouding the last blue space of hope, ere yet
The bolt be sped in wrath.

BALDRED.
Nay, trust him till he pluck
The diadem from thy time-silver'd brow.
I can retire within my holy cell,
That, self-defended in its sanctity,
Not shameless vice shall dare to violate;
Welcome to me the sacred fold I left!

[Going.
CENULPH.
Stay, Baldred, stay! Think not I bar my ear
Against thy counsel. Yes, my rebel son
Must be reduced to duty and obedience.

BALDRED.
Then must his wanton, Ina, be removed!
There is nor peace, nor safety for the realm,
Till Egbert with the Mercian princess weds.
'Tis but to pluck this canker-worm away—

CENULPH.
And crush it underneath my foot, good Baldred?

BALDRED.
Rather, my liege, to holy keeping yield her.
To the new faith devoted by strong vows,
The veil shall shroud her from his sight for ever;
And from her wiles escaped, the prince once more
Is Wessex' heir, and Cenulph's duteous son.

CENULPH.
The marriage void declared, thyself shall lead

And offer at the holy shrine the victim;
But she must be compell'd herself to cancel
The idle vow, or Egbert will not yield
To wed as the high views of state demand.
If she refuse—her doom is fix'd—she dies!

BALDRED.
Most wise! most just!—Yet had not I kept watch,
She had escaped beneath a peasant's garb,
By darkness favour'd.

CENULPH.
Thanks to thy vigilance!
We must be prompt. But I would have the council
Debate on this, and hear her on each charge—
That all may know how just the king's decree.

BALDRED.
The lords, assembled, wait the royal presence.
Ere yet they met, I sounded warily
Each several bosom: they are well advised.
They view with steady eye the general good,
Nor mark the private pang. Leave all to them!
'Tis meet that Alwyn (though we know him false)
Should hold his place among them: he will mark
The father's wish to save, ere yet the king
And prudent council doom the criminal.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Lords in Council.
FIRST LORD.
Methinks the holy abbot tarries long.

SECOND LORD.
King Cenulph loves his son. It were not easy,
Perchance, to bring him to the point we wish.

ALWYN
(eagerly).
King Cenulph was the father of his people!
Then how much more the father of his child!
Ere Baldred practised on declining age
To sow dissension—

THIRD LORD.
Hark! I heard their steps.

Cenulph enters with Baldred. They all rise. He takes his seat with due ceremony.
CENULPH.
Have ye, my lords, each several charge prepared
Against this woman? that she may appear,
And answer for her crime?

MORDRED.
We have, my liege.

CENULPH.
We do not wish that she be hardly dealt with,
Nor would we pluck up by the roots a flower
Our son has sometime foster'd with fond care,
But rather place it, rich in blooming sweets,
An offering on the shrine of public good.
[The lords bow assent.
Bring in the prisoner!
[Ina is brought in, guarded.
Holy abbot, speak!

BALDRED.
Daughter of Sigiswold, thou art summon'd hither,
To answer to high charges brought against thee!
Thou hast, by subtle and unlawful arts,
Wrought on the royal heir of Wessex' throne,
And drawn him from his true allegiance;
That he hath broke the faith the king, his father,
Had pledged for him, and thereby brought on us
A bloody war, and on the throne dishonour.

CENULPH.
Speak, Ina, nor dissemble; thy confession
May win stern justice to commit thy cause
To mercy's hands. Say, was't by flatteries,
By honied words thou didst so far prevail?

INA.
My king, my royal master! ever gracious!
Thanks for thy gentler speech, that gives me time

To wake and rouse my senses to these horrors,
So new, so strange, around me, conjured up
To terrify my weakness!—
[A pause.
My confession,
And my defence, are one. On simple truth
I rest. For my good father's services,
Most honour'd Cenulph, and his happy death
(For that he held it happy his last words,
As ye all know, declared), I was advanced
To attend your late loved consort. In her presence
I often saw the prince, but practised nought
Of what ye charge me with. I am not skill'd
In arts unhallow'd, lords, nor even practised
The arts less blamed of courtesy and smiles.
Nay, when through all the realm one voice was heard
Of gratulation on his martial deeds,
Oh! when the widow's tears were dried to bless him!
When age shook off its weight of years for joy!
And children gambol'd round his homeward steps,
While checking his proud steed he smil'd upon them!
And when his boundless heart to all went forth,
To age with filial love! to glowing youth
With all a brother's warmth! To the fall'n foe
With sadden'd grace, as though he blush'd at conquest!
I still was silent—though sweet tears would gush
To hear his praises from a nation's lips!

[She appears overcome.

ALWYN.
It was a glorious triumph for a prince
So young in war's dread lore!

BALDRED.
Such deeds more justly
Had in a simple maid raised distant awe,
Not the ambitious thought to match with him.

INA.
Still was I happy in my secret homage,
(To blame alone in that it border'd much
On what were due to Heaven) nor knew a wish
Beyond what each ensuing hour now gave,
To see him, hear him, and retain each word
His gracious lips let fall; when, on a day,
(How fortunate esteem'd till now!) the queen,
For some slight instance of my duteous care—
The prince assisting—said, “My children, thanks!”
I met Prince Egbert's glance—it bore my fate!
Confused, I hasten'd from the royal chamber.
He follow'd me, and pour'd forth all his soul!
For in those words he read the queen's consent;
Nor did I otherwise interpret them,
Who had no power to think but as he thought.
You, royal Cenulph, then were on the borders,
To treat with Ethelbald. When you return'd
With Mercia's princess—I was Egbert's wife.

CENULPH.
Thy father's services are not forgotten,
With which thou artfully dost usher in
Thy tale of innocence. Although thy deed
In any other were as treason censured,
The worth of Sigiswold shall gloss it over,
And I will pardon thee, if thou retire
Within the walls of some far monastery,
And take the holy vows that sever thee
For ever from the world and all its ties.
This, by thy free consent, and presently!
Declaring void th' unsanction'd marriage.

INA.
King!
I am a wife, and mother of a prince,
Who must not blush, in riper years, to hear
His mother's name.

BALDRED.
Dost thou, perverse and thankless,
Turn from the outstretch'd hand of royal mercy?
The law to death has doom'd thee. But the king
Would snatch thee from thy fate, and we, his council,
Applaud his deed; while thou, ungrateful woman!—

INA.
My lords, the sentence you declare as law
I cannot have incurr'd. The prince is free:

He is a man, and has the privilege
Ye none of you would yield, to choose his mate!
But if the claims of state demand my death,
I, for my country's weal, can lay my head,
Calmly as any of ye, on the block.
A death so glorious, by my countrymen
With grateful tears acknowledged, will not stain
The name of her who bore your future king.

BALDRED.
Consider well. Delay is not allow'd.
To-morrow, or the scaffold or the cloister!

INA
(with terror).
And must I then, my lords, prepare for death?
Nor see my husband—more?

BALDRED.
Thou never wilt see him thou hast named thus,
Which e'er thou choose.
[Seeing her overcome.
Think of that tender frame,
Moved thus by ills, as yet but faintly imaged!
Oh! how will it sustain the real horrors
Of infamous and public execution?
While the outrageous populace throng round thee
With curses loud, or haply, coarser pity?
I marvel not to see thee shrink appall'd!
Yes, shroud thy timid softness in the cloister,

Where sister saints shall fold thee to their bosoms,
From the rough world and all its ills secure.

INA.
Mock not, my lord, what nature's various hand
Stampt on the weaker sex to set off yours!
The finer texture of our nerves will thrill
At horrid sounds: the changeful cheek will blanch,
Though not with fear; or glow with crimson hue,
Though not a thought less pure have stain'd the mind:
And, though I tremble, lords, nor can support me—
Nor can distinctly mark this awful presence
(For in amazement swims my troubled vision);
Yet does this frame, so fragile, bear a soul
More constant than ye think, where youthful pride
Both knows to make the choice which virtue prompts,
And by that choice abide. 'Tis death, my lords;
Dishonour never!

BALDRED.
Thou wilt think otherwise;
Thou art not firm to meet the law's full rigour.

INA.
Baldred, I am! If what thou say'st be law:
I must live honour'd as Prince Egbert's wife,
Or must not live: and, when ye shed my blood,
Remember, 'tis Prince Egbert's wife ye murder.
May I retire, my liege, and wait my sentence?

CENULPH.
Attend her hence, Lord Oswald. Ina, mark,
'Tis thou who hast rejected offer'd mercy.
[Exit Ina.
Alwyn, thou see'st how vain it is to strive
Against her firm resolve.

ALWYN.
Most firm, my liege,
In honour's mid-day course. I thought no less
Of one, though of the weaker sex, and gentlest
Ev'n of the gentle—sprung of Sigiswold!

BALDRED.
Alwyn would say, the father's loyalty
Sanctions the offspring's treason.

CENULPH
(to the lords, rising).
In your hands
I leave my seal: affix it to the sentence
Your steadier judgment prompts.

[Exit.
OSWALD.
Harsh the decree, howe'er expedient, lords;
And pregnant too with danger that ye mark not.
Prince Egbert holds the soldiers' hearts, and may
Be driven to extremes. Though justice doom her,
And the public safety, yet remorseful
Be the stroke; nor chains, nor loathsome dungeons
Add gloomier terrors to untimely fate!
Be her own house her only prison, lords;

And though ye place a trusty guard around it,
Let her not be control'd in aught, save what
Might furnish means to escape:—this mercy asks.

LORDS.
And justice yields.—No one objects to this.

BALDRED.
The impending danger, nay, the sure destruction
Of this ill-fated land, if we avert not
The sword of war, and this the only means,
Have been well weigh'd before. Alas! my friends,
The public danger suffers not delay.
The child must die with her, or nought is done.
Are we not all agreed?

ALWYN.
No. I, my lords!
I dare protest against the bloody sentence!

BALDRED.
Alwyn, beware! 'Tis well known thou hast been
Base pandar to Prince Egbert's worst excesses.
What by my holy office I declare
To be most just—most necessary—thou,
Bold as thou art, wilt thou, at thy life's hazard,
Vainly oppose? I do take shame, my lords,
That this man's taunts should thus have moved my temper;
I who have thrown aside the ruthless sword

To bear the pastor's crook! who did forego
The pride and pomp of war—the shout of triumph,
For humble beads, and the low voice of prayer!
Would I, my friends, would I have doom'd this lamb,
Pride of my flock! but for the good of all?

SECOND LORD.
None doubt your pious motives, holy Baldred.

BALDRED.
In the fair cause of peace, 'tis Heaven's decree.

ALWYN.
I tell thee, proud remorseless priest—that Heaven,
Thou would'st make 'complice of thy cruelty,
Will baffle thee. Yes—the red bolt of vengeance
Will find the guilty head beneath the cowl,
As surely as the bare and houseless ruffian's,
Who spoils the nightly traveller!—nor waits
The swifter fire till tardy thunders warn!

[Exit.
[The scene closes on them as they are signing her sentence.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Ina's Bower.
Ina, Osric, and Guards.
INA.
My home! thou scene of happiness! my home!
(Oh! the sweet recollections in that word!)
For the last time my eyes would fain retrace
Each several spot so dear!—but blinding tears—
[Seeing the guards, and shuddering.
These savage men! good Osric, pray dismiss them—
They gaze on me with bold, ungentle looks,
That wear not the respect methinks were due
To wretchedness like mine.

OSRIC
(makes signs they should retire).
You are obey'd.

INA.
Is thy heart hard, that Baldred chooses thee
To be my jailer?

OSRIC.
Lady, I'm a soldier,
Command the troops that guard the royal person;
And while I hold this charge, were my own father
Entrusted to my keeping, I were firm.

INA.
And must the soldier know no touch of nature?

OSRIC.
I said not so. I meant but to declare
The soldier's honour must not shrink, although
His heart-strings burst.

INA.
Methinks, my lord
Did show thee favour once?

OSRIC.
'Twas on an outpost.
Wounded, and left as dead, the tide of battle
Roll'd onwards where I lay.—The prince was there
(For he was every where, and ruled the fates),
He placed me on his steed, supported, led me,—
Himself deep wading through swoln Isis' flood,
And gave me to a cottager in charge—
Nay, thought of me in victory's madd'ning hour,
And sent, ere night, one skill'd to close my wounds.
Lady, if hard this heart, th' impression graved
On hardest things is deepest, and most durable!

INA.
Thou'rt moved!—kind soul!—my grief, not I, did wrong thee.
Sure thou couldst pity me!

OSRIC.
Oh! might I prove it!

INA.
Thou may'st! for though thou canst not spare my life,
'Tis thine to soften death. Thou, by thy office,
Hast access ever to the royal presence.
Conduct me to the king.

OSRIC
(astonished).
Ha! say'st thou?—wherefore?

INA.
I would but claim a grandsire's pitying care
For Egbert's—for thy benefactor's—child.
Then look on death with such meek constancy
As innocence may lend.

OSRIC.
Thou hast prevail'd.
But, lady, wait—I pray you wait a space
Till darker night close round, and the hush'd palace
Assure no interruption.—'Tis but life
I hazard here,—the soldier's honour safe!
For Alwyn said the king forbade control,
Save in what might afford thee means of freedom.

INA.
Thou generous man! thy precious life is sure;
The prince at hazard of his own will guard it.
But what of Alwyn? thou didst speak his name.

OSRIC
(giving her a dagger).
He bade me give thee this; yet, charge thee, live
If it be possible—

INA
(taking it eagerly).
I understand him.
[After looking at it with emotion, she goes to a table on which are emblems of worship.
Here I shall offer up my last sad prayer
When I return; and, if the secret voice
Of conscience speak assent, yes,—I will hug thee,
Horrible as thou art!—thou last best friend,
That canst alone prevent the headsman's stroke.
[Lays the dagger on the table.
Here too I place my Egbert's pictured form,
It might offend.
[Takes a picture from her breast.
And here, these gems, his tokens!
[Places ornaments.
They ill become the wretched supplicant
To death devoted.—
(Returning to Osric).
Alwyn, where is he?
I little thought that Alwyn would forsake me.

OSRIC.
Forsake thee? He! The cruel sentence pass'd,
He flung him on the steed prepared for thee;
And, with a madman's desperate course, he sped
To seek thy Egbert.

INA.
Oh! 'twas rashly done!
Had I but known his purpose, I had sent
Some words of comfort,—of fallacious hope.
Osric, my husband's bosom owns no thought
Mine does not share. We are one heart! one mind!
And the full tidings of my fate, pour'd forth
With careless haste, will kill him. Oh! I know,
Too well I know, alas! th' impetuous course
Of all his soul's affections!—

OSRIC.
Nay, take comfort.
Haply good Alwyn brings him to thy rescue.

INA.
The distance, Osric!—Will the wild winds lend
Their rushing wings?

OSRIC.
Forestall not evils, lady.
There's pity still in heaven!

INA
(looking out).
See, my friend!

The last pale lingering light has left the west.
I will prepare me.

OSRIC.
I will wait you, lady.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.

A Wood. Night.
Baldred and armed Peasants.
BALDRED.
A thoughtless groom that tends on Alwyn's steeds
Betray'd their course. They will pass through this wood:
Conceal yourselves, my friends, and be ye sure
The prince escape not. Egbert's death alone
Can save you from the sword of Ethelbald.
Think of your wives, your children, and your homes.
Hark! I hear distant voices! to your stand. [They conceal themselves.

Enter Egbert and Alwyn.
EGBERT.
Oh Alwyn! that my gallant steed should fail me!
In Ina's rescue fail me!—

ALWYN.
Ere he sunk
O' erwearied, he had measured half the realm!
My fleetest coursers wait in yonder hamlet,
Conceal'd by darkness and these tangled trees.
Trust me, my lord; I know each knotted oak,
Each bushy dell; and, though the moon refuse
Her friendly beam, can guide your steps aright.

[The peasants attack them. Egbert wards off their weapons, but does not strike them.
EGBERT.
Refrain these ruffian staves! hold, traitors! hold!
I am your prince—your leader—and for you
Have this day staked my blood on yonder plains.
Stand off! forbear! I would not take the lives
Of those for whom I fought beneath that sun,
Gone down erewhile in crimson blushes wrapt,
To hide him from your deed.
[The peasants fall back, and then advance again tumultuously.
On your allegiance!
Ingratitude shames mercy from her softness!
[They fall back again.
Mistaken men! what villain set you on?
Not of yourselves—ye men of Wessex!—no—

Not of yourselves,—my countrymen!
My fellow subjects!—and my fellow soldiers!
Would ye attempt my life. I know you would not!
I trust you ere ye speak.
[Peasants fall at his feet. (Sheathing his sword).
Who set you on?

PEASANTS.
A holy man declared you held at nought
Our lives, our fortunes—and he bade us boldly
By one great stroke secure them.

EGBERT.
“Boldly,” fellow!
Is midnight murder bold? ye are abused—
'Tis at his country's foe the Briton strikes,
And thus secures the blessings ye have named.

PEASANTS.
Oh! pardon—generous prince! our lives are yours.

EGBERT
(raising them).
Away, poor knaves, away! ye were misled.
I would not have the peering moon betray
Some well-known aspect, and unwilling force me
To do as justice points.—I pardon you—
Depart—nor let me see you till in battle
Ye on your country's foes redeem this deed.

[As they are going off, Baldred steals behind Egbert with uplifted weapon.

ALWYN
(rushing on him, and seizing his arm).
Ha! treacherous villain?—No! it cannot be
A British breast I pierce!—Die—traitor, die!

[Stabs him.
BALDRED
(falling).
Detested Alwyn!—Is it thine—to wield—
The threaten'd—bolt—of vengeance!—

ALWYN.
Baldred's voice?
And didst thou wrap thee in the holy seeming
Of peace and love for this? for secret murder?

EGBERT.
Unhappy Baldred! how had I deserved
Thy deadly hate?

BALDRED.
As does the sun—himself—
The hate—of all—heaven's glittering—host beside,
And I—like them—would shun—thy hated—presence.
Wilt—wilt thou—still-embitter—death's last pang,
As thou hast poison'd—all—my course—of life.

EGBERT.
Yet live! oh live! accept my friendship, Baldred—
My forgiveness!—

BALDRED.
Forgiveness—from the man—I hate?
Ye demons! save me—from him—save—oh, save me!

[Dies.

ALWYN.
So may th' unerring vengeance of high Heaven
Still fall on those, who wrest the sacred cause
To their dark purposes!

EGBERT.
Oh, Ina! Ina!
Should this delay prove fatal!—On, my friend!

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The King's Closet.
CENULPH
(alone).
The midnight hour has toll'd! I fain would rest.
Sleep flies these aching eyes! Why is it so?
[He ruminates in a disturbed manner.
It is not much that one be sacrificed
To stay the sword of war. Yet, ere I press
The downy couch, a painful something here,
I would compose by my accustom'd prayer.
I never yet have laid me down to rest,
Unoffer'd to high Heaven the past day's deeds.
Why do I seem less ready now to bend
The humble knee? If, for my people's weal,

This woman's death!—'tis well—
[He kneels.
Yes, I will kneel.
I am alone with thee, my Maker! Thee!
In whose sight all are equal—all thy creatures.

[As he kneels down, Ina enters softly behind with her child, approaches unperceived as he speaks, and kneels beside him.
INA.
No; I am with thee, in thy Maker's presence!
Like thee, his creature! and, if true thou say'st,
Thy equal in his sight.

CENULPH
(with terror).
Protect me, Heaven!
Ha! is it past?—Avaunt! terrific vision!
Com'st thou to charge me with thy blood?

INA.
No, king!
I come to bow me at thy honour'd foot,
And plead for thee, that thou wilt spare thyself.
Oh! spare thy age, nor rob it of its staff,
The blameless conscience! Of its graceful honours,
Posterity! and children's children's blessings!

CENULPH.
Thou! thou dost bar me from the joys thou nam'st.
They will be mine when thou art in the grave.
How didst thou gain admittance at this hour?
Who aided thee in this?—his life shall pay—

INA.
'Twas He, to whom thou didst pour forth the prayer.
He gave to innocence unwonted courage,
And lent my suit the winning grace it needed.
He, whose voice heaves the sea, and stills the storm—
Bade every cruel passion to subside;
And, as I pass'd, fashion'd each heart to pity.
The gentle hand, unconscious of its act,
Put back the pond'rous bolt!—With noiseless sweep
The portal open'd, to admit a mother
Bearing her orphan'd little one, to place him
Beneath a grandsire's care.
[Presenting the child.
Protect this child!
The heir of Wessex' throne!

CENULPH.
I will not look on't.
Away, and take it hence!—It dies with thee.

INA.
Oh! say not so! Murder the rosy babe
That smiles on thee? thy age's stay and hope!
Thou, who not yet in wantonness of power
Hast rioted in blood! not yet hast mock'd
At nature's ties!—and at thy first essay
To crimson thy hard hand with this! thy own!
Nay, tremble, tyrant! tremble in thy turn
Before a frantic mother!—Thou a father!

Oh, yes! thou art, and father of a son,
Whose infancy was dear as is this babe's.

CENULPH.
Yes, dear his infancy! his boyhood dearer!
His youth my pride! my joy! till thy loose arts
Wound sensuality's soft silken toils
Around his soul.—Besotted in thy love,
What crimes may he not perpetrate to soothe
Thy woman's pride!—His father's throne—his life—
Nay, hang not on me—thou'rt my bane, my curse.
But thou art doom'd—of treasonous practices
Convicted publicly.—Prepare for death!

INA.
I am prepared to meet death as becomes me;
Although 'tis hard to die, so young, so loved!
Thy Egbert, too, will find it hard to part.

CENULPH.
Shall the young eagle mate him with the raven,
Nor, spurning the delusion, spring aloft,
Bathing his plumes in the meridian ray
To shake off foul pollution?—Think it not.

INA.
Nor think thou he can lose the wife he loves,
Nor feel a pang.

CENULPH.
'T will be forgotten soon.

INA.
And was the pang so soon forgot by thee,
To lose thy virtuous queen, my gracious mistress?
Though 'twas by nature's hand, matured for heaven
By a long life of happiness and love!
Not torn from thee, as must be Egbert's wife,
In spring of bliss, but gently summon'd hence.

CENULPH.
No more of this. Fair Edelfleda's charms,
With whom he weds—

INA.
Oh! never, never, king!
He will not long survive.—Thus Edelfleda
Will be appeased, and peace once more restored.
Then will this child—Oh, look on him, King Cenulph!
Then will this child remind thee of thy son.
Fear not to look:—he but resembles Egbert.—
He bears no feature of his wretched mother.
His looks will waken none but grateful thoughts
Of all that once was thine in Egbert's worth,
Nor e'er remind thee of the deed of blood
That stain'd thy long reign's close.

CENULPH.
I charge thee, hence!
Was't I who will'd thy death?

INA.
It was myself!
And I am firm to die with honour, rather
Than live with fame attainted. Sigiswold,
My father, died with honour.

CENULPH
(starting at the name).
Sigiswold!

INA.
I am his daughter! and like him I die
For thee, and for thy people.—If his blood,
His faithful blood, that at thy feet flow'd forth,
While thronging subjects hail'd thy rescued life!
Have any claim upon a royal heart,
(But, haply, nursed in soft prosperity,
A king is not a man that he should pity!)
Oh! in my father's name—to thee—my father!
My Egbert's father, therefore mine, I sue.

CENULPH.
I'll hear no more—away! I have sworn thy death.

INA.
And I will die content—indeed I will,
If thou wilt hear thy victim's dying prayer.
Grant, grant, that I once more behold my husband!
Oh! let thy Egbert once more see his child!
And bless him, once, once more! Oh! let me see him,
And parting, speak as holy wedded love,

100

So rudely sever'd in its youthful prime,
May prompt. This last, this sad, this little comfort,
Canst thou refuse to her whose father saved thee?
A mother! and a wife! whose throbbing breast
Thy hand so soon will still for ever?

CENULPH
(groans).
Oh!

INA.
Merciful God! thou dost wipe off a tear?
Spite of thyself thou hast a father's heart!
[Eagerly pressing the child towards him.
Look on thy Egbert's child, and let me hear,
Ere yet, at day-break, I lay down my life,
A grandsire's blessing pour'd upon his head!
[Cenulph snatches the child to his bosom. Ina contemplates them with rapture, then with trembling anxiety and hope.
Father! and shall I see my Egbert too?

CENULPH.
Yes! thou shalt see him—nor for thousand worlds
Shalt thou be torn from him!
[Embraces her and the child together, with agonizing emotion—then
Come, Ethelbald!
In all thy terrors, come! I am prepared—
I and my children will defy thy rage.

101

EDRED
(behind the scenes).
Nay, let me pass. Ye shall not stay my steps.
Monarchs would wish their slumbers ever broken
By tidings such as these!
(Entering).
King Cenulph! joy!
Th' invading host no longer threatens thee.
While they advanced in insolence and pride,
Dreaming of conquest—as the god of battles
Prince Egbert came!—with skill, his powers dividing,
He rush'd upon the foe from every side.
Disorder'd, broken, they but fell on death
Where'er they turn'd. 'Twas one wide slaughter all.
Our brooks run crimson to th' affrighted sea!
Our thirsty fallows drink of Mercian blood!
Countless the prisoners!—Ethelbald is taken!

Enter Edelfleda.
EDELFLEDA.
Egbert victorious!—Ethelbald in chains!
And is it true? and am I quite undone?
[Seeing Cenulph embrace Ina.
What sight is this that blasts the blessed sense
Of vision? doom'd to death a few hours since,
Feeble old man, by thee and by thy council,
I see her now, clasp'd in thy trembling arms,
While tears of dotage o'er thy eye-balls swell.

102

Stand I alone in the wide world?—no power
That rules our fates to avenge or to protect me?
Then will I be protector to myself!
My own avenger!—independent—single—
Supreme!—though but in misery and guilt!

[She rushes to stab Ina. Cenulph seizes her arm, and the attendants surround her.
CENULPH.
Guard her, Lord Oswald, with respectful care.—
This frantic act was but the effect of grief.

INA.
Soothe her, my lord. Who shall compassionate
Her soul's distracted state if Ina do not?
Oh! use not harsh constraint, lest she should feel
Too heavy on her heart her father's chains,
Her fortune's overthrow.

EDELFLEDA.
This ruffian grasp!
And think ye, sirs, ye hold some lawless hind
By sordid rapine stain'd?—I am a princess!
A mighty monarch's daughter!—though dethroned—
And sacred still my person!—Nay, unhand me.
[They leave her.
See, I am tranquil, king!—
(To Ina).
Nor tremble thou—
One moment I forgot myself—no more—

103

But to high Heaven belongs to judge the faults
Of royal souls!—the royal soul itself,
|Heaven's best interpreter!—and royal hands
Alone shall execute Heaven's just decree!

[Stabs herself.
INA.
Hold, hold her hand, Lord Oswald! 'tis too late!
What hast thou done?

EDELFLEDA.
To Mercia's wretched princess
I have secured an honourable death!—
I could not live degraded!—thou or I—
Must yield!—'tis mine—I will'd it so!—and now—
(Which Edelfleda had not ask'd and lived)
Thy pardon, Ina!

INA.
Oh! much-injured princess!
Thou pardon rather the unworthy Ina
That happiness it now seems guilt to own!

EDELFLEDA.
These torpid pulses, with—mad passion throb—
No longer—all—is calm—and cold—tell Egbert—
I—dying—bless'd—your loves!—I pray—you—both—
Think—kindly—sometimes—kindly—speak—of me—

CENULPH.
Oh! Edelfleda! rash, unhappy maid!

104

Thy hand has dash'd from thee exalted good;
The good congenial to thy lofty spirit!
Seated on Mercia's throne, thy soul of love
Had in a people's bliss secured thy own.

EDELFLEDA.
No, monarch—no; there is—no bliss—for one—
Who—loving virtue, but—by passion—driven—
To worst—extremes—can never—never—more
Honour—herself.—Oh! let—the quiet—grave—
Close o'er—my sorrows—and my—fault. That pang!—
And now—I rest—

[Dies.
INA.
Oh Heaven! her soul is fled!

CENULPH.
Poor Edelfleda! Summon her attendants!
Good Bertha, bear her hence; apply each means
If yet a lingering breath of life—

EDRED.
My liege,
We fear some ill may have befallen Prince Egbert.

CENULPH.
Where is he? Comes he not?

EDRED.
There came a man,
With visor down—in breathless haste he came;

105

They spoke apart with gestures violent,
And sudden sped together o'er the plain.

INA.
'Twas to his heart's dear home my Egbert sped!
He will be there ere we can reach it, father!

[She rushes out, Cenulph follows.

SCENE IV.

Ina's House.
Enter Egbert and Alwyn hastily.
EGBERT.
I am here, my love! they shall not tear thee from me!
Thy husband will defend thee from the world!
My love! my wife! where art thou?

ALWYN
(alarmed).
My good lord,
Strange silence reigns around. They sleep, perhaps—
The menial train. The night is far advanced.
I pray you rest you here: I will awake them.
Haply thy Ina too enjoys repose—
For sleep will visit suffering innocence.

106

EGBERT.
Haste thee, my friend, and rouse the drowsy sluggards. [Exit Alwyn.
(Going to a door)

This is her chamber. Those loved eyes have wept,
Till, as the infant's, they have closed in sleep.
I'll enter softly, and will whisper peace;
Till, by degrees, she wake to the full sense
Of all our joy.
[He enters, and returns.
She is not there!—Nor wife!
Nor child is there! Nor Alice—all is still!
Where am I?—(faltering).
(Starting.)

Ina!—Is it possible?
(With violence.)
My love! my wife! my Ina!

Enter Blanch.
EGBERT.
Where is thy mistress?

BLANCH.
Some hours have pass'd since she departed hence,
With Alice and her infant, good my lord.

EGBERT
(distracted).
Say how? say whither?—Speak—be brief!

BLANCH.
My lord,

107

The guard and Osric waited on her steps;
With locks dishevell'd, wrapt in sable weeds,
Weeping she went, alas! we know not whither.

EGBERT.
Hush! speak no more—thy every word is death! [Exit Blanch.
[After a pause, in which he appears violently agitated.

Am I still living? Had we not one being?
Beats still my heart? and not responsive beats,
In each pulsation, throb for throb to hers?
[With revived hope.
It cannot be: I yet shall find her—
[Sees the table, with the dagger, picture, &c.
What see I here? Her holy book of prayer?
A dagger placed beside it! and my portrait,
That never had forsook her living bosom!
The tokens of my love too!—Tyrant father!
And ye, ye men of blood!
[He weeps.
She is with angels!
Yet still unblest without her Egbert! Thus
She summons me, and gives the means—and thus,
Thus, my soul's love, thy husband follows thee.
[Stabs himself.

108

Enter Alwyn.

ALWYN.
She is gone forth; but yet I nothing doubt:
I with redoubled diligence will search—
We yet shall find her.

EGBERT.
I—shall—find her soon!

ALWYN.
Why, why, my friend, that ghastly aspect? why
Those tottering steps? What hast thou done?—A poniard!

EGBERT.
I could not live—she beckon'd—from the skies—
I let my spirit—forth—that else—had burst—
With ruder shock—its prison.

ALWYN.
Mercy! Heaven!

INA
(behind the scenes).
And is he come? Oh joy! Where—where is he?
My husband! Egbert!
(Entering).
See—I live! I live!
[He sinks into Alwyn's arms.
He sinks! Too mighty the o'erwhelming joy!

109

Softly, good Alwyn—softly—place him here—
[She helps to support him, and he rests his head on her bosom.
A moment yet—his senses will return—
Let all be hush'd around.
[After a pause, in low tender accents.
My love! my husband!
'Tis thy own Ina—We are happy, Egbert!

EGBERT
(reviving).
Is death but this? Have I already past
The dreaded bourne? And does thy sainted spirit
Bend to receive me in the blest abodes?
How easy death!

INA.
Talk not of death—we live,
And we are blest beyond our fondest wish—
We are forgiven—The good Cenulph loves me,
Has clasp'd thy wife, thy infant to his bosom!
[A pause.
A little moment, friends—his mind not yet
Can compass our immensity of bliss.
Ha! while I speak of joy thy cheek grows pale:
Methinks no gladness beams in those dear eyes.
Thou art very ill!—thy looks are wild and sad.
Come, father, come.

110

Enter Cenulph.

CENULPH.
My son! my victor son!

EGBERT.
My father too! Oh that I yet might live!

CENULPH.
What has befallen? Is not all well with thee?
My age's prop! My noble, valiant son!

INA
(screams).
Here's blood!

EGBERT.
Oh! Ina—this rash—desperate—hand
Has dash'd—dash'd to the earth—our cup of joy.
'Tis here—'tis here—cold—cold—and I must die.
Have mercy, Heaven!—one—little hour—of life
Were worth—but 'twill not be—I'm sick—to death.

CENULPH.
Haste—seek—bring aid—my throne, my treasure, all,
All shall be his who first brings timely aid.

EGBERT.
'Tis vain, my father—Oh! the stroke—was—home—
Pardon—Oh! pardon—that I could—misjudge
A father's heart! My love—my wife—be patient—

111

Oh! father—bid her live—to warn—our child—
From—passion's—headlong—course.—
[Stretches his hand to Alwyn.
My friend!—Oh! Ina!
Where art thou?—I nor see—nor feel—I sink—
Hold fast—my hand!—My wife—my Ina—Oh!

[Dies.
She falls on the body, and the Curtain drops.

112

EPILOGUE,

BY THOMAS MOORE, Esq.

Last night, as lonely o'er my fire I sat,
Thinking of cues, starts, exits, and—all that;
And wondering much what little knavish sprite
Had put it first in women's heads to write;
Sudden I saw—as in some witching dream—
A bright blue Glory round my book-case beam;
From whose quick-opening folds of azure light,
Out flew a tiny Form, as small and bright
As Puck the Fairy, when he pops his head,
Some sunny morning, from a violet bed:
“Bless me!” (I starting, cried) “what Imp are you?”—
“A small He-devil, ma'am—my name, Bas Bleu—
“A bookish Sprite, much giv'n to routs and reading,—
“'Tis I who teach your spinster of high breeding
“The reigning taste in chemistry and caps,
“The last new bounds of tuckers and of maps;
“And, when the waltz has twirl'd her giddy brain,
“With metaphysics twirl it back again!”
I view'd him as he spoke—his hose were blue,
His wings—the covers of the last Review—
Cerulean, bordered with a jaundice hue,

113

And tinsell'd gaily o'er, for evening wear,
Till the next quarter brings a new-fledged pair.
“Inspired by me!” (pursued this waggish Fairy)
“That best of wives and Sapphos, Lady Mary,
“Votary alike of Crispin and the Muse,
“Makes her own splay-foot epigrams and shoes.
“For me the eyes of young Camilla shine,
“And mingle love's blue brilliancies with mine;
“For me she sits apart, from coxcombs shrinking,
“Looks wise, the pretty soul! and thinks she's thinking.
“By my advice, Miss Indigo attends
“Lectures on Memory, and assures her friends,
“'Pon honour! (mimicks) nothing can surpass the plan
“Of that Professor—(trying to recollect) psha!—that Memory-man,—
“That—what's his name?—him I attended lately—
“Pon honour, he improved my memory greatly.”'—
Here, courtseying low, I ask'd the blue-legg'd sprite
What share he had in this our play to-night?
“Nay, there,” he cried, “there I am guiltless quite;
“What! choose a heroine from that Gothic time,
“When no one waltz'd, and none but monks could rhyme:
“When lovely Woman, all unschool'd and wild,
“Blush'd without art, and without culture smiled;
“Simple as flowers, while yet unclass'd they shone,
“Ere Science call'd their brilliant world her own,
“Ranged the wild rosy things in learned orders,
“And fill'd with Greek the garden's blushing borders!—
“No—no—your gentle Inas will not do—

114

To-morrow evening, when the lights burn blue,
I'll come—(pointing downwards) you understand—till then, adieu!”
And has the Sprite been here?—no—jests apart—
Howe'er man rules in science and in art,
The sphere of woman's glory is the heart;
And, if our Muse have sketch'd, with pencil true,
The wife—the mother—firm, yet gentle too;—
Whose soul, wrapp'd up in ties itself hath spun,
Trembles, if touch'd in the remotest one!—
Who loves,—yet dares ev'n Love himself disown,
When Honour's broken shaft supports his throne;—
If such our Ina, she may scorn the evils,
Dire as they are, of Critics, and—Blue Devils!