 | Gustavus Vasa, The Deliverer of his Country |  |
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SCENE XI.
Enter Gust. Arv. Ander. Arn. Siv. &c.Hold!
Gust.
Ha! 'tis, it is my Mother!
Crist.
Tell me, Gustavus, tell me why is this?
That, as a Stream diverted from the Banks
Of smooth Obedience, thou hast drawn those Men
Upon a dry unchannel'd Enterprize,
To turn their Inundation?—Are the Lives
Of my misguided People held so light,
That thus thou'dst push them on the keen Rebuke
Of guarded Majesty; where Justice waits,
All awful, and resistless, to assert
Th' impervious Rights, the Sanctitude of Kings,
And blast Rebellion?
Gust.
Justice! Sanctitude!
And Rights! O Patience! Rights! What Rights, thou Tyrant?
Yes, if Perdition be the Rule of Power;
If Wrongs give Right; O then, Supreme in Mischief!
Thou wert the Lord, the Monarch of the World!
Too narrow for thy Claim. But if thou think'st
That Crowns are vilely propertied, like Coin,
To be the Means, the Specialty of Lust,
And sensual Attribution—If thou think'st,
That Empire is of titled Birth, or Blood;
That Nature in the proud Behalf of one
Shall disenfranchise all her lordly Race,
And bow her gen'ral Issue to the Yoke
Of private Domination—then, thou proud one,
Here know me for thy King—Howe'er be told,
Not Claim Hereditary, not the Trust
Of frank Election;
Not ev'n the high anointing Hand of Heav'n
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For lawless Pow'r; wed Faith to Violation;
On Reason build Misrule, or justly bind
Allegiance to Injustice—Tyranny
Absolves all Faith; and who invades our Rights,
Howe'er his own commence, can never be
But an Usurper—But for thee, for thee
There is no Name!—thou hast abjur'd Mankind;
Dash'd Safety from thy bleak unsocial Side,
And wag'd wild War with universal Nature!
Crist.
Licentious Traitor! thou canst talk it largely;
Who made thee Umpire of the Rights of Kings,
And Pow'r, prime Attribute? As on thy Tongue
The Poise of Battle lay, and Arms, of Force,
To throw Defiance in the Front of Duty.
Look round, unruly Boy, thy Battle comes
Like raw, disjointed Mustring; feeble Wrath!
A War of Waters borne against the Rock
Of our firm Continent, to fume, and chafe,
And shiver in the Toil.
Gust.
Mistaken Man!
I come impower'd, and strengthen'd in thy Weakness.
For tho' the Structure of a Tyrant's Throne
Rise on the Necks of half the suff'ring World;
Fear trembles in the Cement: Prayers and Tears,
And secret Curses sap its mould'ring Base,
And steal the Pillars of Allegiance from it;
Then, let a single Arm but dare the Sway,
Headlong it turns, and drives upon Destruction.
Troll.
Profane, and alien to the Love of Heav'n!
Art thou still harden'd to the Wrath divine
That hangs o'er thy Rebellion?—Know'st thou not
Thou art at Enmity with Grace? Cast out,
Made an Anathema, a Curse enroll'd
Among the faithful, thou and thy Adherents
Shorn from our holy Church, and offer'd up
As sacred to Damnation?
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Yes, I know,
When such as thou with sacrilegious Hand
Seize on the Apostolic Key of Heav'n,
It then becomes a Tool for crafty Knaves
To shut out Virtue, and unfold those Gates,
That Heav'n itself had barr'd against the Lusts
Of Avarice and Ambition—soft, and sweet,
As Looks of Charity, or Voice of Lambs
That bleat upon the Morning, are the Words
Of Christian Meekness! Mission all divine!
The Law of Love sole Mandate—but your Gall,
Ye Swedish Prelacy! Your Gall hath turn'd
The Words of sweet, but indigested Peace,
To Wrath and Bitterness—Ye hallowed Men!
In whom Vice sanctifies, whose Precepts teach
Zeal without Truth, Religion without Virtue,
Who ne'er preach Heav'n but with a downward Eye
That turns your Souls to Dross; who shouting loose
The Dogs of Hell upon us. Thefts, and Rapes,
Sack'd Towns, and midnight Howlings thro' the Realm
Receive your Sanction—O 'tis glorious Mischief!
When Vice turns holy, puts Religion on,
Assumes the Robe pontifical, the Eye
Of saintly Elevation, blesseth Sin,
And makes the Seal of sweet offended Heav'n
A Sign of Blood, a Label for Decrees,
That Hell wou'd shrink to own.—
Crist.
No more of this.
Gustavus, wou'd'st thou yet return to Grace,
And hold thy Motions in the Sphere of Duty,
Acceptance might be found.
Gust.
Imperial Spoiler!
Give me my Father, give me back my Kindred,
Give me the Fathers of ten thousand Orphans,
Give me the Sons in whom thy ruthless Sword
Has left our Widows childless: Mine they were,
Both mine, and ev'ry Swede's, whose Patriot Breast
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Thou hast out-sinn'd all Reck'ning! Give me then
My all that's left, my gentle Mother there,
And spare yon little Trembler!
Crist.
Yes, on Terms
Of Compact, and Submission.
Gust.
Ha! with thee?
Compact with thee! and mean'st thou for my Country?
For Sweden! No—so hold my Heart but firm,
Altho' it wring for't; tho' Blood drop for Tears,
And at the Sight my straining Eyes start forth—
They both shall perish first.
Crist.
Slaves, do your Office.
Gust.
Hold yet,—Thou can'st not be so damn'd? My Mother!
I dare not ask thy Blessing—Where's Arvida?
Where art thou? Come, my Friend, thou'st known Temptation—
And therefore best can'st pity, or support me.
Arv.
Alas! I shall but serve to weigh thee downward,
To pull thee from the dazzling, sightless Height,
At which thy Virtue soars. For, O Gustavus,
My Soul is dark, disconsolate and dark;
Sick to the World, and hateful to myself,
I have no Country now; I've nought but thee,
And shou'd yield up the Int'rest of Mankind,
Where thine's in Question.
Agusta.
See, my Son relents;
Behold, O King! yet spare us but a Moment;
His little Sister shall embrace his Knees,
And these fond Arms, around his duteous Neck,
Shall join to bend him to us.
Crist.
Cou'd I trust ye—
Arv.
I'll be your Hostage.
Crist.
Granted.
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Hold, my Friend.
[Here Arvida breaks from Gustavus, and passes to Cristiern's Party, while Agusta and Gustava go over to Gustavus.
Agusta.
Is it then giv'n, yet giv'n me, 'ere I die
To see thy Face, Gustavus? thus to gaze,
To touch, to fold thee thus!—My Son, my Son!
And have I liv'd to this? It is enough.
All arm'd, and in thy Country's precious Cause
Terribly beauteous, to behold thee thus!
Why, 'twas my only, hourly Suit to Heav'n,
And now 'tis granted. O my glorious Child,
Bless'd were the Throes I felt for thee, Gustavus!
For from the Breast, from out your swathing Bands
You stepp'd the Child of Honour.
Gust.
O my Mother!
Agusta.
Why stands that Water trembling in thy Eye,
Why heaves thy Bosom? Turn not thus away,
'Tis the last Time that we must meet, my Child,
And I will have thee whole. Why, why, Gustavus,
Why is this Form of Heaviness? For me
I trust it is not meant; you cannot think
So poorly of me: I grow old, my Son,
And to the utmost Period of Mortality,
I ne'er shou'd find a Death's Hour like to this,
Whereby to do thee Honour.
Gust.
Roman Patriots!
Ye Decii self-devoted to your Country!
You gave no Mothers up! Will Annals yield
No Precedent for this, no elder Boast
Whereby to match my Trial?
Agusta.
No, Gustavus;
For Heav'n still squares our Trial to our Strength,
And thine is of the foremost—Noble Youth!
Ev'n I, thy Parent, with a conscious Pride,
Have often bow'd to thy superior Virtues.
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One only Sting—
Gust.
Speak, speak!
Agusta.
'Tis felt for thee.
Too well I know thy Gentleness of Soul,
Melting as Babes; ev'n now the Pressure's on thee,
And bends thy Loveliness to Earth—O, Child!
The dear but sad Foretaste of thy Affliction
Already kills thy Mother—But behold,
Behold thy valiant Followers, who to thee,
And to the Faith of thy protecting Arm
Have giv'n ten thousand Mothers, Daughters too;
Who in thy Virtue yet may learn to bear
Millions of free-born Sons to bless thy Name,
And pray for their Deliverer—O farewel!
This, and but this, the very last, Adieu!
Heav'n sit victorious on thy Arm, my Son!
And give thee to thy Merits!
Crist.
Ah, thou Trait'ress!
Gustava.
O Brother, a'n't you stronger than that Man?
Don't let him take my Mother.
Agusta.
See, Gustavus,
My little Captive waits for one Embrace.
Gust.
Come to my Arms, thou Lamb-like Sacrifice;
O that they were of Force to fold thee ever,
To let thee to my Heart! there lock thee close,
And circle thee with Life! But 'twill not be!
Gustava.
I'll stay with you, my Brother.
Gust.
Killing Innocence!
That I was born to see this Hour!
The Pains of Hell are on me!—Take her Mother!
Gustava.
I will not part with you, indeed, I will not!
Gust.
Take her—Distraction! Haste, my dearest Mother:
Oh—else I shall run mad—quite mad and save ye.
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Hold, Madam;—Hear me, thou most dear Gustavus!
Thus low I bend my Pray'r, reject me not:
If once, if ever thou didst love Arvida,
O leave me here to answer to the Wrath
Of this fell Tyrant. Save thy honour'd Mother,
And that sweet Lamb from Slaughter!
Gust.
Cruel Friendship!
Crist.
And by my Life I'd take thee at thy Word,
Thou doubly damn'd! but that I know 'twou'd please thee.
Agusta.
No, gen'rous Prince, thy Blood shall never be
The Price of our Dishonour. Come, my Child;
Weep not, sweet Babe, there shall no Harm come nigh thee.
Crist.
'Tis well, proud Dame; you are return'd I see—
Each to his Charge—Here break we off, Gustavus;
For to the very Teeth of thy Rebellion
We dash Defiance back.
Gust.
Alas, my Mother!
Grief choaks up Utt'rance, else I have to say
What never Tongue unfolded—Yet return,
Come back, and I will give up all to save thee;
For on the Cov'ring of thy sacred Head
My Heart drops Blood. Thou Fountain of my Life!
Dearer than Mercy is to kneeling Penitence,
My early Blessing, first and latest Joy;
Return, return, and save thy lost Gustavus!
Crist.
No more, thou Trifler!
Agusta.
O farewel for ever!
[Exeunt Cristiern and his Party. Gustavus and his Party remain.
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Then she is gone—Arvida! Anderson!
For ever gone—Arnoldus, Friends, where are ye?
Help here, heave, heave this Mountain from me—O—
Heav'n keep my Senses!—So—We will to Battle;
But let no Banners wave—Be still thou Trump!
And ev'ry martial Sound that gives the War
To Pomp or Levity; for Vengeance now
Is clad with heavy Arms, sedately stern,
Resolv'd, but silent as the slaughter'd Heaps
O'er which my Soul is brooding.
Arn.
O Gustavus!
Is there a Swede of us, whose Sword and Soul
Grapples not to thee, as to all they hold
Of earthly Estimation? Said I more,
It were but half my Thought.
And.
On thee we gaze,
As one unknown 'till this important Hour;
Pre-eminent of Men!
Siv.
Accurs'd be he,
Who, in thy Leading, will not fight, and strive,
And bleed, and gasp with Pleasure!
And.
We are thine;
All, all, both we and ours; whom thou this Day
Hast dearly purchas'd.
Arn.
Tho', to yield us up,
Had scarce been less than Virtue.
Gust.
O my Friends!
I see, 'tis not for Man to boast his Strength
Before the Trial comes—This very Hour,
Had I a thousand Parents, all seem'd light
When weigh'd against my Country; and but now,
One Mother seem'd of Weight to poize the World;
Tho' conscious Truth and Reason were against her.
For, O, howe'er the partial Passions sway,
High Heav'n assigns but one unbiass'd Way;
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Where Shelves decline, and many a Steep impedes.
Here hold we on—tho' thwarting Fiends alarm,
Here hold we on—tho' devious Syrens charm;
In Heav'n's disposing Pow'r Events unite,
Nor aught can happen Wrong to him who acts aright.
| Gustavus Vasa, The Deliverer of his Country | |