University of Virginia Library

ETHWALD:

A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.

1. PART FIRST.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

MEN

• Oswal, king of Mercia.
• Edward, his nephew, and ethling or heir to the crown.
• Seagurth, father to Edward.
• Ethwald.
• Ethelbert, a noble Thane.
• Selred, elder brother to Ethwald.
• Mollo, father to Ethwald, a Thane of small consideration.
• Hexulf, a bigoted bishop.
• Alwy, an artful adventurer.
• Woggarwolfe, a rude marauding Thane.
• Ongar, a creature of Alwy's.
• Mystics and Mystic Sisters, supposed to be successors of the Druidical diviners; soldiers, attendants, &c.

WOMEN

• Elburga, daughter to king Oswal.
• Bertha, attached to Ethwald.
• Sigurtha, mother to Bertha, and niece to Mollo, living in his castle, with her daughter, as part of his family.
• Dwina, attendant on Elburga.
• Ladies, attendants, and female Druids.

The scene is supposed to be in England, in the kingdom of Mercia, and the time near the end of the Heptarchy.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The court of a Saxon castle. Ethwald is discovered lying upon the ground as if half asleep. The sound of a horn is heard without, at which he raises his head a little, and lays it down again. The gate of the castle opens at the bottom of the stage, and enter Selred, Ethelbert, and attendants, as if returned from hunting. Sel. and Eth. walk forward to the front, and the others retire by different sides of the stage.
Selred.
This morning's sport hath bravely paid our toil.
Have not my dogs done credit to their breed?

Eth.
I grant they have.

Sel.
Mark'd you that tawny hound,
With stretched nostrils snuffing to the ground,
Who still before, with animating yell,
Like the brave leader of a warlike band,
Through many a mazy track his comrades led
Right in the tainted path?
I would not for the weregild of a Thane
That noble creature barter.

Eth.
I do not mean to tempt thee with the sum.
Seest thou where Ethwald, like a cottage cur
On dunghill stretch'd, half sleeping, half awake,
Doth bask his lazy carcass in the sun?
Ho! laggard there!
[To Ethw., who just raises his head, and lays it down again. Eth. going up close to him.
When slowly from the plains and nether woods,
With all their winding streams and hamlets brown,
Updrawn, the morning vapour lifts its veil,
And through its fleecy folds, with soften'd rays,
Like a still'd infant smiling in his tears,
Looks through the early sun:—when from afar
The gleaming lake betrays its wide expanse,
And, lightly curling on the dewy air,
The cottage smoke doth wind its path to heaven:
When larks sing shrill, and village cocks do crow,
And lows the heifer loosen'd from her stall:
When heaven's soft breath plays on the woodman's brow,
And every hare-bell and wild tangled flower
Smells sweetly from its cage of checker'd dew:
Ay, and when huntsmen wind the merry horn,
And from its covert starts the fearful prey;
Who, warm'd with youth's blood in his swelling veins,
Would, like a lifeless clod, outstretched lie,
Shut up from all the fair creation offers?
(Ethw. yawns and heeds him not.)
He heeds me not.

Sel.
I will assail him now.
(In a louder voice.)
Ho! heads of foxes deck our huntsman's belt,
Which have through tangled woods and ferny moors
With many wiles shaped out their mazy flight,
Have swum deep floods, and from the rocky brows
Of frightful precipices boldly leap'd
Into the gulf below.
Nay, e'en our lesser game hath nobly done;
Across his shoulders hang four furred feet,
That have full twenty miles before us run
In little space. O, it was glorious!

Ethw.
(raising his head carelessly).
Well well, I know that hares will swiftly run
When dogs pursue them.

(Stretches himself and goes to rest again.)
Eth.
Leave him to rest, he is not to be rous'd.

Sel.
Well, be it so. By heaven, my fretted soul
Did something of this easy stupor lack,
When near the latter limits of our chace
I pass'd the frowning tower of Ruthergeld.
He hangs a helmet o'er his battlements,
As though he were the chief protecting Thane
Of all the country round.
I'll teach th' ennobled Ceorl, within these bounds,
None may pretend in noble birth to vie
With Mollo's honour'd line!

Eth.
(proudly).
Hast thou forgot?
Or didst thou never hear whose blood it is
That fills these swelling veins?

Sel.
I cry you mercy, Thane: I little doubt
Some brave man was the founder of your house.

Eth.
Yes, such an one, at mention of whose name
The brave descendants of two hundred years
Have stately ris'n with more majestic step,
And proudly smiled.

Sel.
Who was this lordly chieftain?

Eth.
A Swabian shepherd's son, who, in dark times,
When ruin dire menaced his native land,
With all his native lordship in his grasp,
A simple maple spear and osier shield,
Making of keen and deep sagacity,
With daring courage and exalted thoughts,
A plain and native warrant of command,
Around him gather'd all the valiant youth;
And, after many a gallant enterprise,
Repell'd the foe, and gave his country peace.
His grateful country bless'd him for the gift,
And offer'd to his worth the regal crown.

Sel.
(bowing respectfully).
I yield me to thy claim.

[Ethwald, who has raised himself up by degrees upon hearing the story, and listened eagerly, now starts up, impatient of the pause, and catches Eth. by the arm.
Ethw.
And did they crown him then?

Eth.
No; with a mind above all selfish wrong,
He gen'rously the splendid gift refused:
And drawing from his distant low retreat
The only remnant of the royal race,
Did fix him firmly on his father's seat;
Proving until his very latest breath
A true and loyal subject.

[Ethwald's countenance changes, then turning from Eth. he slowly retires to the bottom of the stage and exit. Eth. follows him attentively with his eye as he retires.
Eth.
Mark'd you the changes of the stripling's eye?
You do complain that he of late has grown
A musing sluggard. Selred, mark me well:
Brooding in secret, grows within his breast
That which no kindred owns to sloth or ease.
And is your father fix'd to keep him pent
Still here at home? Doth the old wizard's prophecy,
That the destruction of his noble line
Should from the valour of his youngest son,
In royal warfare, spring, still haunt his mind?
This close confinement makes the pining youth
More eager to be free.

Sel.
Nay, rather say, the lore he had from thee
Hath o'er him cast this sullen gloom. Ere this,
Where was the fiercest courser of our stalls
That did not shortly under him become
As gentle as the lamb? What bow so stiff
But he would urge and strain his youthful strength,
Till every sinew o'er his body rose,
Like to the sooty forger's swelling arm,
Until it bent to him? What flood so deep
That on its foaming waves he would not throw
His naked breast, and beat each curling surge,
Until he gain'd the far opposing shore?
But since he learnt from thee that letter'd art,
Which only sacred priests were meant to know,
See how it is, I pray! His father's house
Has unto him become a cheerless den.
His pleasant tales and sprightly playful talk,
Which still our social meals were wont to cheer,
Now visit us but like a hasty beam
Between the showery clouds. Nay, e'en the maid
My careful father destines for his bride,
That he may still retain him here at home,
Fair as she is, receives, when she appears,
His cold and cheerless smile.
Surely thy penanced pilgrimage to Rome,
And the displeasure of our holy saint,
Might well have taught thee that such sacred art
Was good for priests alone. Thou'st spoilt the youth.

Eth.
I've spoilt the youth! What thinkst thou then of me?

Sel.
I'll not believe that thou at dead of night
Unto dark spirits sayst unholy rhymes;
Nor that the torch, on holy altars burnt,
Sinks into smoth'ring smoke at thy approach;
Nor that foul fiends about thy castle yell,
What time the darken'd earth is rock'd with storms;
Though many do such frightful credence hold,
And sign themselves when thou dost cross their way.
I'll not believe—

Eth.
By the bless'd light of heaven !—

Sel.
I cannot think—

Eth.
Nay, by this well-proved sword!

Sel.
Patience, good Thane! I meant to speak thy praise.

Eth.
My praise, sayst thou?

Sel.
Thy praise. I would have said,
“That he who in the field so oft hath fought,
So bravely fought, and still in the honour'd cause,
Should hold unhallow'd league with damned sprites,
I never will believe.” Yet much I grieve
That thou with bold intrusive forwardness,
Hast enter'd into that which holy men
Hold sacred for themselves;
And that thou hast, with little prudence too,
Entrapp'd my brother with this wicked lore,
Although methinks thou didst not mean him harm.

Eth.
I thank thee, Selred; listen now to me,
And thou shalt hear a plain and simple tale,
As true as it is artless.
These cunning priests full loudly blast my fàme,
Because that I with diligence and cost,
Have had myself instructed how to read
Our sacred Scriptures, which, they would maintain,
No eye profane may dare to violate.
If I am wrong, they have themselves to blame;
It was their hard extortions first impell'd me
To search that precious book, from which they draw
Their right, as they pretend, to lord it thus.
But what thinkst thou, my Selred, read I there?
Of one sent down from heav'n in sov'reign pomp,
To give into the hands of leagued priests
All power to hold th' immortal soul of man
In everlasting thraldom? O far otherwise!
[Taking Selred 's hand with great earnestness.
Of one who health restored unto the sick,
Who made the lame to walk, the blind to see,
Who fed the hungry, and who rais'd the dead,
Yet had no place wherein to lay His head.
Of one from ev'ry spot of tainting sin
Holy and pure; and yet so lenient,
That He with soft and unupbraiding love
Did woo the wand'ring sinner from his ways,
As doth the elder brother of a house
The erring stripling guide. Of one, my friend,
Wiser by far than all the sons of men,
Yet teaching ignorance in simple speech,
As thou wouldst take an infant on thy lap
And lesson him with his own artless tale.
Of one so mighty
That He did say unto the raging sea
“Be thou at peace,” and it obeyed His voice;
Yet bow'd Himself unto the painful death
That we might live.—They say that I am proud—
O! had they like their gentle master been,
I would, with suppliant knee bent to the ground,
Have kiss'd their very feet.
But, had they been like Him, they would have pardon'd me
Ere yet my bending knee had touch'd the earth.

Sel.
Forbear, nor tempt me with thy moving words!
I'm a plain soldier, and unfit to judge
Of mysteries which but concern the learn'd.

Eth.
I know thou art, nor do I mean to tempt thee.
But in thy younger brother I had mark'd
A searching mind of freer exercise,
Untrammell'd with the thoughts of other men:
And like to one, who, in a gloomy night,
Watching alone amidst a sleeping host,
Sees suddenly along the darken'd sky
Some beauteous meteor play, and with his hand
Wakens a kindred sleeper by his side
To see the glorious sight, e'en so did I.
With pains and cost I divers books procured,
Telling of wars, and arms, and famous men;
Thinking it would his young attention rouse;
Would combat best a learner's difficulty,
And pave the way at length for better things.
But here his seized soul has wrapp'd itself,
And from the means is heedless of the end.
If wrong I've done, I do repent me of it.
And now, good Selred, as thou'st seen me fight
Like a brave chief, and still in th' honour'd cause,
By that good token kindly think of me,
As of a man who long has suffered wrong
Rather than one deserving so to suffer.

Sel.
I do, brave Ethelbert.

Eth.
I thank thee, friend.
And now we'll go and wash us from this dust:
We are not fit at goodly boards to sit.
Is not your feast-hour near?

Sel.
I think it is.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A small apartment in Mollo 's castle. Enter Ethwald very thoughtful, who leans against a pillar for some time without speaking.
Ethw.
(coming forward).
Is it delusion this?
Or wears the mind of man within itself
A conscious feeling of its destination?
What say these suddenly imposed thoughts,
Which mark such deepen'd traces on the brain
Of vivid real persuasion, as do make
My nerved foot tread firmer on the earth,
And my dilating form tower on its way?
That I am born, within these narrow walls,
The younger brother of a petty chief,
To live my term in dark obscurity,
Until some foul disease or bloody gash,
In low marauding strife, shall lay me low?
My spirit sickens at the hateful thought,
Which hangs upon it with such thick oppression,
As doth the heavy, dense, sulphureous air
Upon the breath it stifles.
[Pulling up the sleeve of his garment, and baring his right arm from the shoulder.
A firmer strung, a stronger arm than this
Own'd ever valiant chief of ancient story?
And lacks my soul within, what should impel it?
Ah! but occasion, like th' unveiling moon
Which calls the advent'rer forth, did shine on them!
I sit i' the shade! no star-beam falls on me!
[Bursts into tears, and throws himself back against the pillar. A pause; he then starts forward full of animation, and tosses his arms high as he speaks.
No; storms are hush'd within their silent cave,
And unflesh'd lions slumber in the den,
But there doth come a time!

Enter Bertha, stealing softly upon him before he is aware.
Ber.
I heard thee loud:
Conversest thou with spirits in the air?

Ethw.
With those whose answ'ring voice thou canst not hear.

Ber.
Thou hast of late the friend of such become,
And only them. Thou art indeed so strange,
Thy very dogs have ceas'd to follow thee,
For thou no more their fawning court receiv'st,
Nor callest to them with a master's voice.
What art thou grown, since thou hast lov'd to pore
Upon those magic books?

Ethw.
No matter what! a hermit an' thou wilt.

Ber.
Nay, rather, by thy high assumed gait
And lofty mien, which I have mark'd of late,
Ofttimes thou art, within thy mind's own world,
Some king or mighty chief.
If so it be, tell me thine honour's pitch,
And I will cast my regal mantle on,
And mate thy dignity.

[Assuming much state.
Ethw.
Out on thy foolery!

Ber.
Dost thou remember
How on our throne of turf, with birchen crowns
And willow branches waving in our hands,
We shook our careless feet, and caroll'd out,
And call'd ourselves the king and queen of Kent?

Ethw.
Yes, children ever in their mimic play
Such fairy state assume.

Ber.
And bearded men
Do sometimes gild the dull unchanging face
Of sombre stilly life with like conceits.
Come, an' you will we'll go to play again.

[Tripping gaily round him.
Ethw.
Who sent thee here to gambol round me thus?

Ber.
Nay, fie upon thee! for thou knowst right well
It is an errand of my own good will.
Knowest thou not the wand'ring clown is here,
Who doth the osier wands and rushes weave
Into all shapes: who chants gay stories too;
And who was wont to tell thee, when a boy,
Of all the bloody wars of furious Penda?
E'en now he is at work before the gate,
With heaps of pliant rushes round him strew'd;
In which birds, dogs, and children roll and nestle,
Whilst, crouching by his side, with watchful eye
The playful kitten marks each trembling rush
As he entwists his many cireling bands.
Nay, men and matrons, too, around him flock,
And Ethelbert, low seated on a stone,
With arms thus cross'd, o'erlooks his curious craft.
Wilt thou not come?

Ethw.
Away, I care not for it!

Ber.
Nay, do not shake thy head, for thou must come.
This magic girdle will compel thy steps.

[Throws a girdle round him playfully, and pulls it till it breaks.
Ethw.
(smiling coldly).
Thou seest it cannot hold me.

[Bertha's face changes immediately: she bursts into tears, and turns away to conceal it.
Ethw.
(soothing her).
My gentle Bertha! little foolish maid!
Why fall those tears? wilt thou not look on me?
Dost thou not know I am a wayward man,
Sullen by fits, but meaning no unkindness?

Ber.
O thou wert wont to make the hall rejoice;
And cheer the gloomy face of dark December!

Ethw.
And will, perhaps, again. Cheer up, my love!
(Assuming a cheerful voice.)
And plies the wandering clown his pleasing craft,
Whilst dogs and men and children round him flock?
Come, let us join them too.
[Holding out his hand to her, whilst she smiles through her tears.
How course those glancing drops adown thy cheeks,
Like to a whimp'ring child! fie on thee, Bertha!

[Wipes off her tears, and leads her out affectionately. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A narrow stone gallery or passage.
(Voice without.)
Enter two servants by opposite sides, one of them carrying mats of rushes in his arms.
1st serv.
Setst thou thy feet thus softly to the ground,—
As if thou hadst been paid to count thy steps?
What made thee stay so long?

2d serv.
Heard you the news?

1st serv.
The news?

2d serv.
Ay, by the mass! sharp news indeed.
And mark me well! beforehand I have said it;
Some of those spears now hanging in the hall
Will wag i' the field ere long.

1st serv.
Thou hast a marv'llous gift of prophecy.
I know it well; but let us hear thy news.

2d serv.
Marry! the Britons and their restless prince,
Join'd with West Anglia's king, a goodly host,
Are now in Mercia, threat'ning all with ruin.
And over and besides, God save us all!
They are but five leagues off.
'Tis true. And over and besides again,
Our king is on his way to give them battle.
Ay, and moreover all, if the late floods
Have broken down the bridge, as it is fear'd
He must perforce pass by our castle walls,
And then thou shalt behold a goodly show!

1st serv.
Who brought the tidings?

2d serv.
A soldier sent on horseback, all express:
E'en now I heard him tell it to the Thane,
Who caution'd me to tell it unto none,
That Ethwald might not hear it.

1st serv.
And thou in sooth obeyst his caution well.
Now hear thou this from me; thou art a lout;
And over and besides a babbling fool;
Ay, and moreover all, I'll break thy head
If thou dost tell again, in any wise,
The smallest tittle of it.

2d serv.
Marry! I can be secret as thyself!
I tell not those who blab.

1st serv.
Yes, yes, thy caution is most scrupulous;
Thou'lt whisper it in Ethwald's hither ear,
And bid the further not to know of it.
Give me those trusses.

2d serv.
Yes, this is made for my old master's seat,
And this, so soft, for gentle lady Bertha.
(Giving the mats.)
And this, and this, and this for Ethelbert.
But see thou put a sprig of mountain-ash
Beneath it snugly. Dost thou understand?

1st serv.
What is thy meaning?

2d serv.
It hath a power to cross all wicked spells;
So that a man may sit next stool to th' devil,
If he can lay but slily such a twig
Beneath his seat, nor suffer any harm.

1st serv.
I wish there were some herb of secret power
To save from daily scath of blund'ring fools:
I know beneath whose stool it should be press'd.
Get thee along! the feast smokes in the hall.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Saxon hall, with the walls hung round with armour. Mollo, Ethelbert, Selred, Ethwald, Bertha, Sigurtha, and others, are discovered sitting round a table, on which stand goblets and flaggons &c. after a feast.
Eth.
Nay, gentle Bertha, if thou followest him,
Shear off those lovely tresses from thy head,
And with a frowning helmet shade those eyes;
E'en with thy prowess added to his own,
Methinks he will not be surcharg'd of means
To earn his brilliant fortune in the field.

Ber.
Nay, rather will I fill a little scrip
With sick-men's drugs and salves for fest'ring wounds,
And journey by his side a trav'lling leech.

Sel.
That will, indeed, no unmeet comrade be
For one whose fortune must be earn'd with blows
Borne by no substitutes.

Ethw.
Well jested, Thanes!
But some, ere now, with fortune earn'd by blows
Borne by no substitutes, have placed their mates
Above the gorgeous dames of castled lords.
Cheer up, sweet Bertha!
For ev'ry drug ta'en from thy little scrip
I'll pay thee back with—

Eth.
Sticks the word in his throat.

Sel.
It is too great for utt'rance.

Eth.
Here's to your growing honour, future chief;
And here is to the lofty dame who shall be—

[They all drink ironically to Ethw. and Berth.
Mollo.
(seriously).
Here is a father's wish for thee, my son,
(To Ethw.)
Better than all the glare of fleeting greatness.
Be thou at home the firm domestic prop
Of thine old father's house, in this as honour'd
As he who bears far hence advent'rous arms!
Nor think thee thus debarr'd from warlike deeds:
Our neighb'ring chiefs are not too peaceable,
And much adventure breed in little space.

Ethw.
What! shall I in their low destructive strife
Put forth my strength, and earn with valiant deeds
The fair renown of mighty Woggarwolfe,
The flower of all those heroes? Hateful ruffian!
He drinks men's blood and human flesh devours!
For scarce a heifer on his pasture feeds
Which hath not cost a gallant warrior's life.
I cry you mercy, father! you are kind,
But I do lack the grace to thank you for it.

[Mollo leans on the table and looks sad.
Sigur.
(to Mol.)
Good uncle, you are sad! Our gen'rous Ethwald
Contemns not his domestic station here,
Though little willing to enrich your walls
With spoils of petty war.

Ethw.
(seeing his father sad, and assuming cheerfulness).
Nay, father, if your heart is set on spoil,
Let it be Woggarwolfe's that you shall covet,
And small persuasion may suffice to tempt me.
To plunder him will be no common gain.
We feasters love the flesh of well-run game:
And, faith! the meanest beeves of all his herds
Have hoof'd it o'er as many weary miles,
With goading pike-men hollaing at their heels,
As e'er the bravest antler of the woods.
His very sheep too all are noble beasts,
For which contending warriors have fought;
And thrifty dames will find their fleece enrich'd
With the productions of full many a soil.

Ber.
How so, my Ethwald?

Ethw.
Countest thou for nought
Furze from the upland moors, and bearded down
Torn from the thistles of the sandy plain,
The sharp-tooth'd bramble of the shaggy woods
And tufted seeds from the dark marsh? Good sooth;
She well may triumph in no vulgar skill
Who spins a coat from it.
And then his wardrobe, too, of costly gear,
Which from the wallets of a hundred thieves.
Has been transferring for a score of years,
In endless change, it will be noble spoil!
[A trumpet is heard without, and Ethw. starts from his seat.
Ha! 'tis the trumpet's voice!
What royal leader this way shapes his route?
[A silent pause.
Ye answer not. and yet ye seem to know.

Enter Servants in haste.
Good fellows, what say ye?
1st serv.
The king! the king! and with five thousand men!

2d serv.
I saw his banners from the battlements
Waving between the woods.

3d serv.
And so did I.
His spearmen onward move in dusky lines,
Like the brown reeds that skirt the winter pool.

Sel.
Well, well, there needs not all this wond'ring din:
He passes on, and we shall do our part.

1st serv.
The foe is three leagues off.

Sel.
Hold thy fool's tongue! I want no information.

[Ethwald remains for a while thoughtful, then running eagerly to the end of the hall, climbs up and snatches from the walls a sword and shield, with which he is about to run out.
Mollo
(tottering from his seat).
O go not forth, my rash impetuous son!
Say yet a term beneath thy father's root,
And, were it at the cost of half my lands,
I'll send thee out accoutred like a Thane.

Ethw.
No, reverend sire, these be my patrimony!
I ask of thee no more.

Ber.
And wilt thou leave us?

Mollo.
Ay, he'll break thy heart,
And lay me in the dust!

[Trumpet sounds again, and Ethw. turning hastily from them, runs out.
Ber.
Oh! he is gone for ever!

Eth.
Patience, sweet Bertha!

Sd.
The castle gates are shut by my command,
He cannot now escape. Holla, good friends!

[To those without.
Enter Followers.
All quickly arm yourselves, and be prepared
To follow me before the fall of eve.
Eth.
Send out my scout to climb the farther hill,
And spy if that my bands are yet in sight.
[Exeunt followers.
Now let us try to tame this lion's whelp.

Enter Servant in haste.
Sel.
What tidings, man? Is Ethwald at the gate?

Ser.
No, good my lord, nor yet within the walls.

Sel.
What, have they open'd to him?

Ser.
No, my lord,
Loudly he call'd, but when it was refus'd,
With glaring eyes, like an enchafed wolf,
He hied him where the lowest southern wall
Rises but little o'er the rugged rock;
There, aided by a half-projecting stone,
He scal'd its height, and holding o'er his head
His sword and shield, grasp'd in his better hand,
Swam the full moat.

Eth.
(to Sel.)
O, noble youth!
Did I not say, you might as well arrest
The fire of heav'n within its pitchy cloud
As keep him here?
[Bertha faints away.
Alas, poor maid!

[Whilst Sigurtha and Eth. &c. attend to Bertha, enter followers and retainers, and begin to take down the armour from the walls.
Enter Woggarwolfe.
Wog.
(to Sel.)
They would have shut your gate upon me now,
But I, commission'd on the king's affairs,
Commanded entrance. Oswal greets you, chiefs,
And gives you orders, with your followers,
To join him speedily.
(Seeing Bertha.)
What, swooning women here?

Sel.
Ethwald is gone in spite of all our care,
And she, thou knowst, my father's niece's child,
Brought up with him from early infancy.
Is therein much affected.

Wog.
(smiling).
O, it is ever thus, I know it well,
When striplings are concern'd! Once on a time.
A youthful chief I seiz'd in his own hall,
When, on the instant, was the floor around
With fainting maids and shrieking matrons strew'd,
As though the end of all things had been link'd
Unto my fatal grasp.

Sel.
(eagerly).
Thou didst not slay him?

Wog.
(smiling contemptuously).
Asks Selred if I slew mine enemy?

Sel.
Then, by heav'n's light, it was a ruffian's deed!

Wog.
I cry thee grace! wearst thou a virgin sword?
Maidens turn pale when they do look on blood,
And men there be who sicken at the sight,
If men they may be call'd.

Sel.
Ay, men there be,
Who sicken at the sight of crimson butchery,
Yet in the battle's heat will far out-dare
A thousand shedders of unkindled blood.

Eth.
(coming forward).
Peace, Thanes! this is no time for angry words.

[Bertha giving a deep sigh, Eth. and Sel. go to her and leave Wog., who heeds her not, but looks at the men taking the arms from the walls.—Observing one who hesitates between the swords.
Wog.
Fool, choose the other blade!
That weight of steel will noble gashes make!
Nay, rightly guided in a hand like thine,
Might cleave a man down to the nether ribs.

Sig.
(to Bertha, as she is recovering).
My gentle child, how art thou?

Ber.
And no kind hand to hold him!

Eth.
Be not cast down, sweet maid; he'll soon return;
All are not lost who join in chanceful war.

Ber.
I know right well, good Thane, all are not lost.
The native children of rude jarring war,
Full oft returning from the field, become
Beneath their shading helmets aged men:
But, ah! the kind, the playful, and the gay;
They who have gladden'd their domestic board,
And cheer'd the winter-fire, do they return?
I grieve you all: I will no more complain.
Dear mother, lead me hence. (To Sig.)
(To Sel.)

I thank you, gentle Selred, this suffices.

[Exit Bertha, supported by Sigurtha.
Sel.
(to Mollo, who has sat for some time with his face covered).
What, so o'ercome, my father?

Moll.
I am o'ercome, my son! lend me thine arm.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A forest: the view of an abbey with its spires in the background. Enter the King, attended by Seagurth and several Thanes and followers, some of them wounded, and their wounds bound up, as after a battle. A flourish of trumpets: the King stretches out his arm in the action of command; the trumpets cease, and they all halt.
King.
Companions of this rough and bloody day,
Beneath the kindly shelter of this wood
Awhile repose, until our eager youth
Shall, from the widely spread pursuit return'd,
Rejoin our standards.
Brave seneschal, thou'rt weak with loss of blood;
Forbear attendance. Ay, and thou, good Baldrick;
And thou (to another),
and all of you.

Sen.
No, gracious king;
The sight of you, unhurt, doth make the blood
That in our veins is left so kindly glow,
We cannot faint.

King.
Thanks, noble chiefs! dear is the gain I earn,
Purchas'd with blood so precious. Who are those
Who hitherward in long procession move?

Sen.
It is the pious brethren, as I guess,
Come forth to meet you from yon neighb'ring abbey,
And at their head the holy Hexulf comes.

Enter Hexulf and monks.
Hex.
Accept our humble greetings, royal sire!
Victorious be your arms! and in the dust
Low be your foes, as in this glorious day!
Favour'd of heav'n, and of St. Alban, hail!

King.
I thank your kindly zeal, my rev'rend father;
And from these holy brethren do accept
With thanks this token of good will, not doubting
That much I am beholden to your prayers.

Hex.
In truth, most gracious king, your armed host
Has not more surely in your cause prevail'd
Than hath our joint petition, offered up
With holy fervour, most importunate.
Soon as the heav'n-rais'd voices sweetly reach'd
The echoing arches of yon sacred roofs,
Saint Alban heard, and to your favour'd side
Courage and strength, the soul of battle, sent;
Fear and distraction to th' opposing foe.

King.
Ah, then, good father, and ye pious monks,
Would that ye had begun your prayers the sooner!
For long in doubtful scales the battle hung;
And of the men who, with this morning's sun,
Buckled their harness on to follow me,
Full many a valiant warrior, on his back
Lies stiff'ning to the wind.

Hex.
The wicked sprite in ev'ry armed host
Will find his friends; who doubtless for a time
May counterpoise the prayers of holy men.
There are among your troops, I question not,
Many who do our sacred rites contemn:
Many who have blasphem'd—Ay, good my lord;
And many holding baleful heresies.
Fought Ethelbert, of Sexford, in your host?

King.
He did, my rev'rend father, bravely fought:
To him and valiant Selred, Mollo's son,
Belong the second honours of the day.

[Hexulf looks abashed and is silent.
Enter Edward attended, who, after making his obeisance to the King, runs up eagerly to Seagurth.
Edw.
You are not wounded, father?

Sea.
No, my boy.

Edw.
Thanks to preserving goodness! Noble Thanes,
It grieves me much to see those swathed limbs.
War wears a horrid, yet alluring face.
(To King.)
Your friends, my lord, have done me great despite.
Had they not long detain'd me on the way,
I should have been with you before the battle.

King.
Complain not, youth; they had, in this, commands
Too high to be disputed. And 'tis well,
For we have had a rough and bloody day.

Edw.
Ha! is it so? But you have been victorious.
How went the field?

Sea.
Loud rose our battle's sound, and for a while
The Mercians bravely fought; when all at once,
From some unlook'd-for cause, as yet unknown,
A powerful panic seiz'd our better wing,
Which, back recoiling, turn'd and basely fled.
Touch'd quickly with a seeming sympathy,
Our centre-force began, in relax'd strength,
To yield contended space.—So stood the field;
When on a sudden, like those warrior spirits,
Whose scatter'd locks the streamy light'ning is,
Whose spear the bolt of heaven; such as the seer
In 'tranced gaze beholds midst hurtling storms;
Rush'd forth a youth unknown, and in a pass,
Narrow and steep, took his determin'd stand.
His beck'ning hand and loud commanding voice
Constrain'd our flying soldiers from behind,
And the sharp point of his opposing spear
Met the pale rout before.
The dark returning battle thicken'd round him.
His mighty arm deeds of amazement wrought;
Rapid, resistless, terrible.
High rose each warlike bosom at the sight,
And Mercia, like a broad increasing wave,
Up swell'd into a hugely billow'd height,
O'erwhelming in its might all lesser things,
Upon the foe return'd. Selred and Ethelbert
Fell on their weaken'd flank. Confusion, then,
And rout and horrid slaughter fill'd the field:
Wide spread the keen pursuit; the day is ours;
Yet many a noble Mercian strews the plain.

Edw.
(eagerly).
But the young hero fell not?

Sea.
No, my son.

Edw.
Then bless'd be heaven! there beats no noble heart
Which shall not henceforth love him as a brother.
Would he were come unhurt from the pursuit!
O that I had beheld him in his might,
When the dark battle turn'd!

Sea.
Your wish is soon fulfill'd, my eager boy;
For here, in truth, the youthful warrior comes,
And, captive by his side, the British Prince.

Enter Ethwald with the British Prince prisoner, accompanied by Selred and Ethelbert, and presents his prisoner to the King.
King
(to Prince).
Prince of the Britons, clear thy cloudy brow;
The varied fate of war the bravest prove.
And though I might complain that thy aggressions
Have burnt my towns, and filled my land with blood,
Thy state forbids it. Here, good seneschal,
Receive your charge, and let him know no change
Unsuited to a prince.
(To Ethwald.)
And thou, brave warrior, whose youthful arm
Has brought unto thy king so high a gift,
Say what proud man may lift his honour'd head,
And boast he is thy father.

Ethw.
A Thane, my lord, forgotten and retired;
I am the youngest son of aged Mollo,
And Ethwald is my name.

King.
Youngest in years, though not in honour, youth,
E'en though the valiant Selred is thy brother.
(Turning to Selred.)
And now be thou the first and noble root,
From which a noble race shall take its growth,
Wearing thy honours proudly!
Of Mairnieth's earldom be henceforth the lord!
For well I know the council of the states
Will not refuse to ratify my grant.
And thou, brave Ethelbert, and Selred, too,
Ye well have earn'd a noble recompense,
And shall not be forgot. Come hither, Edward;
Take thou this hero's hand; and, noble Ethwald,
Thus let the kingdom's ethling join with me
In honouring thy worth.

Edw.
(who has gazed at some distance upon Ethwald, springing forward eagerly).
Give him my hand, my lord! have you not said
That I should fold him to my burning heart?
(Embraces Ethw.)
Most valiant Ethwald,
Fain would I speak the thoughts I bear to thee,
But they do choke and flutter in my throat,
And make me like a child.

(Passing his hand across his eyes.)
Ethw.
(kissing Edward 's hand).
I am repaid beyond a kingdom's worth.

Edw.
(to Sea. bounding joyfully).
Father, have you embraced him?
Ethwald, my father is a valiant man.

(Sea. embraces Ethw., but not so eagerly as Edw.)
King.
(to Ethw.)
Brave youth, with you, and with your noble friends,
I shall, ere long, have further conference.

(Retires to the bottom of the stage with Hexulf.)
[Edward, after gazing with admiration upon Ethw., puts his hand upon his head, as if to measure his height; then upon both his shoulders, as if he were considering the breadth of his chest; then steps some paces back and gazes at him again.
Edw.
How tall and strong thou art! broad is thy chest:
Stretch forth, I pray, that arm of mighty deeds.
Ethw. smiles and stretches out his arm; Edw. looks at it, and then at his own.
Would I were nerv'd like thee!
(Taking Ethw.'s sword.)
It is of weight to suit no vulgar arm.
(Returning it.)
There, hero; graceful is the sword of war
In its bold master's grasp.

Ethw.
Nay, good my lord, if you will honour me,
It does become too well your noble hand
To be return'd to mine.

Edw.
Ha! sayst thou so? Yes, I will keep thy pledge.
Perhaps my arm—Ah, no! it will not be!
But what returning token can I give?
I have bright spears and shields and shining blades
But nought ennobled by the owner's use.

[Takes a bracelet from his arm and fastens it round Ethwald's.
King
(advancing from the bottom of the stage).
My worthy chiefs and Thanes, the night wears on,
The rev'rend bishop, and these pious men,
Beneath their fane give hospitality,
And woo us to accept it for the night.

Sea.
I thought, my lord, you meant to pass the night
With your brave soldiers in the open field:
Already they have learnt the pleasing tale.
Shall I unsay it?

King.
Nay, that were unfit.
I pray you pardon me, my rev'rend father!
I cannot house with you; it were unfit.

Hex.
Should not your greatness spend the night with those
To whom, in truth, you owe the victory?
We chant at midnight to St. Alban's praise:
Surely my lord regards those sacred things.

[Whispers the King.
King.
Brave Seagurth, there are reasons of good weight
Why I should lay aside my first intent.
Let all these wounded chieftains follow me!
The rest who list may keep the open field.
(To Edw.)
Nephew, thou must not prove a soldier's hardships,
Ere thou hast earn'd a soldier's name. Nay, nay,
It must be so.

[Exeunt King, wounded chiefs, Hexulf, and monks, followed by Edward very unwillingly.
Sea.
Who loves a soldier's pillow, follow me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The outside of Mollo's castle. Bertha, Sigurtha, and others discovered on the walls, and several servants and retainers standing by the gate below.
Berth.
O, will they ne'er appear? I'll look no more;
Mine eager gazing but retards their coming.
[Retires, and immediately returns again.
Holla, good Murdoch!
(To a servant below.)
Thou putst thy hand above thy sunned eyes.
Dost thou descry them?

1st serv.
Mercy, gentle lady,
If you descry them not from that high perch,
How should I from my level station here?

Sig.
(to Berth.)
Go in, my child, thou art worn out with watching.

[Berth. retires, and 2d servant goes at some distance from the walls and looks out another way.
2d serv.
Here comes the noble Selred.
(All call out.)
Noble Selred!

Berth.
(returning upon the wall).
What, Ethwald, say ye?

Sig.
No, it is Selred.

Enter Selred, with followers, and looks up to the walls, where Sigurtha waves her hand.
Sig.
Welcome, brave Selred! welcome all thy band!
How far are they behind for whom we watch?

Sel.
Two little miles or less. Methinks ere this
Their van should be in sight. My messenger
Inform'd you?

Sig.
Oh, he did!

Sel.
Where is my father?

Sig.
He rests within, spent with a fearful joy,
And silent tears steal down his furrow'd cheeks.

Sel.
I must confer with him. The king intends
To stop and do him honour on his march,
But enters not our walls.

[Exeunt into the castle.

SCENE III.

A chamber in the castle. Enter Sigurtha and Bertha, speaking as they enter.
Berth.
Nay, mother, say not so: was he not wont,
If but returning from the daily chase,
To send an upward glance unto that tower?
There well he knew, or late or cold the hour,
His eye should find me.

Sig.
My gentle Bertha, be not thus disturb'd.
Such busy scenes, such new unlook'd-for things
Ruffle the flowing stream of habit; men
Will then forgetful seem, though not unkind.

Berth.
Thinkst thou?
(shaking her head.)
I saw him by his sovereign stand,
And O, how graceful! every eye to him
Was turn'd, and every face smil'd honours on him!
Yet his proud station quickly did he leave
To greet his humbler friends who stood aloof.
The meanest follower of these walls, already,
Some mark of kind acknowledgment hath had—
He look'd not up—I am alone forgotten!

Sig.
Be patient, child: he will not long delay
To seek thee in thy modest privacy;
Approving more to see thee here retired,
Than, boldly to the army's eye exposed,
Greeting his first approach. I, the mean while,
Intrusted am with orders from the Thane.
Which must not be neglected.

[Exit.
Berth.
(after walking up and down, agitated, and frequently stopping to listen).
Ah, no! deceiv'd again! I need not listen!
No bounding steps approach.

[She sits down despondingly. Enter Ethwald behind, and steals softly up to her.
Ethw.
Bertha!

Berth.
(starting up).
My Ethwald!

[He holds out his arms to her joyfully, and she bursts into tears.
Ethw.
Thou dost not grieve that I am safe return'd?

Berth.
O no! I do not grieve, yet I must weep.
Hast thou in truth been kind? I will not chide:
I cannot do it now.

Ethw.
O, fie upon thee! like a wayward child:
To look upon me thus! cheer up, my love.

[He smiles upon her joyfully, and her countenance brightens. She then puts her hand upon his arm, and, stepping back a little space, surveys him with delight.
Berth.
Thou man of mighty deeds!
Thou, whom the brave shall love and princes honour!
Dost thou, in truth, return to me again,
Mine own, my very Ethwald?

Ethw.
No, that were paltry; I return to thee
A thousandfold the lover thou hast known me.
I have of late been careless of thee, Bertha.
The hopeless calm of dull obscurity,
Like the thick vapours of a stagnant pool,
Oppress'd my heart and smother'd kind affections;
But now th' enlivening breeze of fortune wakes
My torpid soul—When did I ever fold thee
To such a warm and bounding heart as this?
[Embraces her.
The king has given to me Mairnieth's earldom—
Nay, smile, my Bertha!

Berth.
So I do, my Ethwald.

Ethw.
The noble ethling greatly honours me
With precious tokens; nay, the very soldiers
Do rear their pointed weapons as I pass;
As though it were to say, “there goes the man
That we would cheerly follow.”
Unto what end these fair beginnings point
I know not—but of this I am assured,
There is a course of honour lies before me,
Be it with dangers, toil, or pain beset,
Which I will boldly tread. Smiles not my love?

Berth.
I should, in truth; but how is this? methinks
Thou ever lookst upon the things to come,
I on the past. A great and honour'd man
I know thou'lt be: but O, bethink thee, then,
How once thou wert, within these happy walls,
A little cheerful boy, with curly pate,
Who led the infant Bertha by the hand,
Storing her lap with ev'ry gaudy flower;
With speckled eggs stolen from the hedgeling's nest,
And berries from the tree; ay, think on this,
And then I know thou'lt love me!
[Trumpet sounds. Catching hold of him eagerly.
Hearst thou that sound? The blessed saints preserve thee!
Must thou depart so soon?

Ethw.
Yes, of necessity: reasons of weight
Constrain the king, and I, new in his service,
Must seem to follow him with willing steps.
But go thou with me to the castle gate.
We will not part until the latest moment.

Berth.
Yet stop, I pray, thou must receive my pledge.
Seest thou this woven band of many dyes,
Like to a mottled snake? its shiny woof
Was whiten'd in the pearly dew of eve,
Beneath the silver moon; its varied warp
Was dyed with potent herbs, at midnight cull'd.
It hath a wond'rous charm: the breast that wears it
No change of soft affection ever knows.

Eth.
(receiving it with a smile).
I'll wear it, Bertha.
[Trumpet sounds.
Hark! it calls me hence.

Berth.
O go not yet! here is another gift,
This ring, enrich'd with stone of basilisk,
Whenever press'd by the kind wearer's hand,
Presents the giver's image to his mind.
Wilt thou not wear it?

Ethw.
(receiving it).
Yes, and press it too.

Berth.
And in this purse—

[Taking out a purse
Ethw.
What! still another charm?
[Laughing.
Thou simple maid!
Dost thou believe that witched gear like this
Hath power a lover faithful to retain,
More than thy gentle self?

Berth.
Nay, laugh, but wear them.

Ethw.
I will, my love, since thou wilt have it so.
(Putting them in his breast.)
Here are they lodged, and cursed be the hand
That plucks them forth! And now receive my pledge.
It is a jewel of no vulgar worth:
(Ties it on her arm.)
Wear it and think of me. But yet, belike,
It must be steeped in some wizard's pot,
Or have some mystic rhyming mutter'd o'er it,
Ere it will serve the turn.

Berth.
(pressing the jewel on her arm).
O no! right well I feel there is no need.

Ethw.
Come, let us go: we do not part, thou knowst,
But at the castle gate. Cheer up, my Bertha!
I'll soon return, and oft return again.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

An apartment in a royal castle. Enter Ethwald and Alwy, speaking as they enter.
Ethw.
What, peace! peace, sayst thou, with these glorious arms,
In conquest red, occasion bright'ning round us,
And smiling victory, with beck'ning hand,
Pointing to future fields of nobler strife,
With richer honours crown'd? What, on the face
Of such fair prospects draw the veil of peace!
Cold blasting peace! The blackest fiend of hell
Hath not a thought more dev'lish!

Alwy.
It is indeed a flat unpleasant tale
For a young warrior's ear: but well hast thou
Improv'd the little term of bold occasion;
Short while thou wert but Mollo's younger son,
Now art thou Mairnieth's lord.

Ethw.
And what is Mairnieth's lordship! I will own
That, to my distant view, such state appear'd
A point of fair and noble eminence;
But now—what is it now? O! it is sunk
Into a petty knoll! I am as one
Who doth attempt some lofty mountain's height,
And having gain'd what to the upcast eye
The summit's point appear'd, astonish'd sees
Its cloudy top, majestic and enlarged,
Towering aloft, as distant as before.

Alwy.
Patience, brave Ethwald; ere thy locks be grey,
Thy helmed head shall yet in battle tower,
And fair occasion shape thee fair reward.

Ethw.
Ere that my locks be grey! the world ere now
Hath crouch'd beneath a beardless youth. But I—
I am as one who mounts to th' azure sky
On the rude billow's back, soon sunk again:
Like the loud thunder of th' upbreaking cloud,
The terror of a moment. Fate perverse!
'Till now, war's frowning spirit, rous'd, was wont
To urge with whirling lash his sable steeds,
Nor slack his furious speed till the wide land
From bound to bound beneath his axle shook.
But soon as in my hand the virgin spear
Had flesh'd its ruddy point, then is he turn'd
Like a tired braggart to his caves of sloth.
(Stamping on the ground.)
Peace! cursed peace! Who will again unchain
The grizly dog of war?

Alwy.
Meanst thou the British prince?

Ethw.
(eagerly).
What sayst thou, Alwy?

Alwy.
I said not aught.

Ethw.
Nay, marry! but thou didst!
And it has rais'd a thought within my mind.
The British prince releas'd, would he not prove
A dog of war, whose yell would soon be follow'd?

Alwy.
They do indeed full hard advantage take
Of his captivity, and put upon him
Conditions suited to his hapless state,
More than his princely will.

Ethw.
'Tis basely done: would that some friendly hand
His prison would unbar and free the thrall!
But no, no, no! I to the king resign'd him;
'Twere an unworthy deed.

Alwy.
It were most difficult;
For now they keep him in a closer hold,
And bind his hands with iron.

Ethw.
Have they done this? I'm glad on't! O I'm glad on't!
They promised nought unworthy of a prince
To put upon him—Now my hands are free!
And, were it made of living adamant,
I will unbar his door. Difficult, sayst thou?
No, this hath made it easy.

Alwy.
Well softly then; we may devise a way
By which the seneschal himself will seem
The secret culprit in this act.

Ethw.
No, no!
I like it not; though I must work i' the dark,
I'll not in cunningly devised light
Put on my neighbour's cloak to cause his ruin.
But let's to work apace! the storm shall rise!
My sound shall yet be heard!

Alwy.
Fear not, thou shalt ere long be heard again,
A dark'ning storm which shall not soon be lay'd.

Ethw.
Ah, thou hast touch'd where my life's life is cell'd!
Is there a voice of prophecy within thee?
[Catching hold of his arm eagerly.
I will believe there is! my stirring soul
Leapt at thy words. Such things ere now have been:
Men oft have spok'n, unweeting, of themselves;
Yea, the wild winds of night have utter'd words,
That have unto the list'ning ear of hope
Of future greatness told, ere yet the thoughts
On any certain point had fix'd their hold.

Alwy.
Thou mayst believe it: I myself, methinks,
Feel secret earnest of thy future fortune;
And please myself to think my friendly hand
May humbly serve, perhaps, to build thy greatness.

Ethw.
Come to my heart, my friend! though new in friendship,
Thou, and thou only, bearst true sympathy
With my aspiring soul. I can with thee
Unbar my mind—Methinks thou shiv'rest, Alwy.

Alwy.
'Tis very cold.

Ethw.
Is it? I feel it not:
But in my chamber burns the crackling oak,
There let us go.

Alwy.
If you are so inclin'd.

[As they are going, Ethw. stops short, and catches hold of Alwy eagerly.
Ethw.
A sudden fancy strikes me: Woggarwolfe,
That restless ruffian, might with little art
Be rous'd on Wessex to commit aggression:
Its royal chief, now leaguing with our king,
Will take the field again.

Alwy.
We might attempt him instantly: but move,
In faith I'm cold!

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A dark apartment in the same castle. Woggarwolfe is discovered asleep upon a couch of rushes, and covered with a mat. Enter Alwy and a follower, with a lad bearing a torch before them. Alwy signs with his hand, and the torch-bearer retires to a distance.
Alwy.
Softly, ere we proceed; a sudden thought,
Now crossing o'er my mind, disturbs me much.
He who to-night commands the farther watch,
Canst thou depend upon him?

Fol.
Most perfectly; and, free of hostile bounds,
The British prince ere this pursues his way.

Alwy.
I'm satisfied: now to our present purpose.
[As they advance towards the couch, Woggarwolfe is heard speaking in his sleep.
Ha! speaks he in his sleep? some dream disturbs him:
His quiv'ring limbs beneath the cov'ring move.
He speaks again.

Wog.
(in his sleep).
Swift, in your package stow those dead men's gear,
And loose their noble coursers from the stall.

Alwy.
Ay, plund'ring in his sleep.

Wog.
Wipe thou that blade:
Those bloody throats have drench'd it to the hilt.

Alwy.
O, hear the night-thoughts of that bloody hound!
I must awake him. Ho, brave Woggarwolfe!

Wog.
Hear how those women scream! we'll still them shortly.

Alwy.
Ho, Woggarwolfe!

Wog.
Who calls me now? cannot you master it?
[Alwy knocks upon the ground with his stick.
What, batt'ring on it still? Will it not yield?
Then fire the gate.

Alwy
(shaking him).
Ho, Woggarwolfe, I say!

Wog.
(starting up half awake).
Is not the castle taken?

Alwy.
Yes, it is taken.

Wog.
(rubbing his eyes).
Pooh! it is but a dream.

Alwy.
But dreams full oft are found of real events
The forms and shadows.
There is in very deed a castle taken,
In which your Wessex foes have left behind
Nor stuff, nor store, nor make of living thing.
Bind on thy sword and call thy men to arms!
Thy boiling blood will bubble in thy veins,
When thou hast heard it is the tower of Boruth.

Wog.
My place of strength?

Fol.
Yes, chief; I spoke with one new from the West,
Who saw the ruinous broil.

Wog.
By the black fiends of hell! therein is stored
The chiefest of my wealth. Upon its walls
The armour of a hundred fallen chiefs
Did rattle to the wind.

Alwy.
Now will it sound elsewhere.

Wog.
(in despair).
My noble steeds, and all my stalled kine!
O, the fell hounds! no mark of living thing?

Fol.
No mark of living thing.

Wog.
Ah! and my little arrow-bearing boy!
He whom I spared amidst a slaughter'd heap,
Smiling all weetless of th' uplifted stroke
Hung o'er his harmless head!
Like a tamed cub I rear'd him at my feet:
He could tell biting jests, bold ditties sing,
And quaff his foaming bumper at the board,
With all the the mock'ry of a little man.
By heav'n I'll leave alive within their walls
Nor maid, nor youth, nor infant at the breast,
If they have slain that child! blood-thirsty ruffians!

Alwy.
Ay, vengeance! vengeance! rouse thee like a man!
Occasion tempts; the foe, not yet return'd,
Have left their castle careless of defence.
Call all thy followers secretly to arms:
Set out upon the instant.

Wog.
By holy saints, I will! reach me, I pray!

[Pointing to his arms lying at a little distance from him.
Alwy
(giving them).
There, be thou speedy.

Wog.
(putting on his armour).
Curse on those loosen'd springs, they will not catch!
Oh, all the goodly armour I have lost!
Light curses on my head! if I do leave them
Or spear, or shield, or robe, or household stuff,
Or steed within their stalls, or horn or hoof
Upon their grassy hills! (Looking about.)
What want I now?
Mine armour-man hath ta'en away my helm—
Faith, and my target too! hell blast the buzzard!

[Exit furiously.
Alwy
(laughing).
Ethwald, we have fulfill'd thy bidding well,
With little cost of craft! But let us follow,
And keep him to the bent.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A small close grove, with a steep rocky bank at one end of it. Several Peasants are discovered standing upon the bank, as if looking at some distant sight.
1st peas.
Good lack a day! how many living souls,
In wide confused eddying motion mix'd,
Like cross set currents on the restless face
Of winter floods!

2d peas.
Where fight the Northern Mercians?

1st peas.
On the right.
The gentle ethling, as I am inform'd,
Fights likewise on the right: heav'n spare his head!
'Tis his first battle.

3d peas.
Hear, hear! still louder swells that horrid sound.

1st peas.
Ay, many voices join in that loud din,
Which soon shall shout no more.

3d peas.
Ay, good neighbour,
Full gloriously now looks that cover'd field,
With all those moving ranks and glitt'ring arms;
But he who shall return by setting sun
Will see a sorry sight.

[A loud distant noise.
1st peas.
Heav'n save us all! it is the warlike yell
Of those damn'd Britons that increaseth so.
By all the holy saints our men are worsted!
[An increasing noise heard without.
Look! yonder look! they turn their backs and flee.

3d peas.
O blasting shame! where fights brave Ethwald now?
He is, I fear, far in the distant wing.
Let us be gone! we are too near them here:
The flight comes this way: hear that horrid sound!
The saints preserve us!

[The sound of the battle increases, and is heard nearer. The peasants come hastily down from the bank, and exeunt. Enter Edward with several followers disordered and panicstricken.
1st fol.
(looking round).
They cease to follow us: this tangled grove
Has stopp'd the fell pursuit: here may we rest.

[Edward throws himself down at the root of a tree, and covers his face with his hands.
2d fol.
(filling his helmet with water from a stream, and presenting it to Edw.)
My prince, this cooling water will refresh you.

Edw.
(keeping his face still covered with one hand, and waving him off with the other).
Away, away! and do not speak to me!

[A deep pause, the noise of the battle is again heard coming nearer.
1st fol.
We must not tarry here.
(To Edw.)
My lord, the farther thickets of this wood
Will prove a sure concealment: shall we move?

Edw.
(still covering his face).
Let the earth gape and hide me.

(Another deep pause.
3d fol.
to 1st.
The sin of all this rout falls on thy head,
Thou cursed Thane! thou and thy hireling knaves
First turn'd your backs and fled.

1st fol.
to 3d.
Thou liest, foul tongue! it was thy kinsman there
Who first did turn; for I was borne away,
[Pointing to 4th fol.
Unwillingly away, by the rude stream
Of his fear-stricken bands. When, till this hour,
Did ever armed Briton see my back?

4th fol.
Arm'd Britons dost thou call them?— devils they are!
Thou knowst right well they deal with wicked sprites.
Those horrid yells were not the cries of men;
And fiends of hell look'd through their flashing eyes.
I fear to face the power of simple man
As little as thyself.

Enter more Fugitives.
1st fol.
(to Edw.)
Up, my good lord! Hence let us quickly move;
We must not stay.

Edw.
Then thrust me through and leave me.
I'll flee no more.
(Looking up wildly, then fixing his eyes wistfully upon 3d follower, and bending one knee to the ground.)
Ebbert, thy sword is keen, thy arm is strong;
O, quickly do't! and I shall be with those
Who feel nor shame nor panic.

[3d fol. and several others turn their faces away and weep. Enter more fugitives.
1st fol.
What, is all lost?

1st fug.
Yes, yes! our wing is beaten.
Seagurth alone, with a few desp'rate men,
Still sets his aged breast against the storm:
But thick the aimed weapons round him fly,
Like huntsmen's arrows round the toiled boar.
And he will soon be nothing.

Edw.
(starting up).
O, God! O, living God! my noble father!
He has no son!—Off, ye debasing fears!
I'll tear thee forth, base heart, if thou dost let me.
[Coming forward and stretching out his arms.
Companions, noble Mercians—Ah, false word!
I may not call you noble. Yet, perhaps,
One gen'rous spark within your bosom glows.
Sunk in disgrace still lower than ye all,
I may not urge—Who lists will follow me!

All with one voice.
We will all follow thee!

Edw.
Will ye, in truth? then we'll be brave men
still.
[Brandishing his sword as he goes off.
My noble father!

[Exeunt, clashing their arms.

SCENE II.

A confused noise of a battle is heard. The scene draws up and discovers the British and Mercian armies engaged. Near the front of the stage they are seen in close fight, and the ground strewed with several wounded and dead soldiers, as if they had been fighting for some time. Farther off, missile weapons and showers of arrows darken the air, and the view of the more distant battle is concealed in thick clouds of dust. The Mercians gain ground upon the Britons; and loud cries are raised by them to encourage one another. An active Mercian falls, and their progress is stopped whilst they endeavour to bear him off.
Fallen Mercian.
I'm slain, I'm slain! tread o'er me, and push forward.

Mer. Chief.
O stop not thus! to it again, brave Mercians!

[The Mercians push on, encouraging one another with cries and clashing of arms; one of their bravest soldiers is wounded on the front of the stage and staggers backwards.
Wounded Mer.
Ay, this is death; O that my life had held
To see the end of this most noble game!
[Falls down, but seeing the Mercians about to push the Britons off the stage, raises himself half from the ground and claps his hands exultingly.
Well fought, brave Mercians! On, my noble Mercians!
[Sinks down again.
I am in darkness now! a clod o' the earth!

[Dies.
Britons
(without).
Fresh succour, Britons! courage! victory!
Carwallen and fresh succour!

[The Britons now raise a terrible yell, and push back the Mercians, who yield ground and become spiritless and relaxed as their enemy becomes bolder. The Britons at last seize the Mercian standard, and raise another terrible yell, whilst the Mercians give way on every side.
1st falling Mer.
Horror and death! the hand of wrath is o'er us!

2d falling Mer.
A fell and fearful end! a bloody lair!
The trampling foe to tread out brave men's breath.

[The Britons yell again, and the Mercians are nearly beat off the stage.
(Voice without.)
Ethwald! the valiant Ethwald! succour, Mercians!
(Voice within.)
Hear ye, brave comrades? Ethwald is at hand.
Enter Ethwald with his sword drawn.
Ethw.
What, soldiers! yield ye thus, while vict'ry smiles
And bids us on to th' bent? Your northern comrades
Mock at their savage howls, and drive before them
These chafed beasts of prey. Come! to it bravely!
To it, and let their mountain matrons howl,
For these will soon be silent.
Give me the standard.

Voice.
They have taken it.

Ethw.
Taken! no, by the spirits of the brave!
Standard of ours on Snowdon winds to float!
No! this shall fetch it back!

[Taking off his helmet and throwing it into the midst of the enemy, then rushing upon them bare-headed and sword in hand. The Mercians clash their arms and raise a great shout: the Britons are driven off the stage; whilst many of the dying Mercians clap their hands and raise a feeble shout after their comrades. The scene closes.

SCENE III.

An open space before a royal tent; the curtains of which are drawn up, and show a company of warriors and dames within it. On either side of the open stage soldiers are drawn up in order. Enter two petty Thanes on the front of the stage.
1st Thane.
Here let us stand and see the ceremony.
Without the tent, 'tis said the king will crown
The gallant ethling with a wreath of honour,
As the chief agent in this victory
O'er stern Carwallen and his Britons gain'd.

2d Thane.
Thou sayest well. Within the royal tent
They wait, as I am told, the ethling's coming,
Who is full tardy. Softly, they come forth.
How like a ship with all her goodly sails
Spread to the sun, the haughty princess moves!

[A flourish of trumpets. Enter from the tent the King, with Ethelbert, Edrick, Thanes, and attendants; and Elburga, with Dwina and ladies. They advance towards the front of the stage.
King.
Nay, sweet Elburga, clear thy frowning brow;
He who is absent will not long delay
His pleasing duty here.

Elb.
On such a day, my lord, the brave I honour,
As those who have your royal arms maintain'd
In war's iron field, such honour meriting.
What individual chiefs, or here or absent,
May therein be concern'd, I little care;
I deign not to regard it.

King.
Thou art offended, daughter, but unwisely.
Plumed with the fairest honours of the field,
Such pious grief for a brave father's death,
Bespeaks a heart such as a gentle maid
In her faith-plighted lord should joy to find.

Elb.
Who best the royal honours of a prince
Maintains, best suits a royal maiden's love.

King.
Elburga, thou forgetst that gentleness
Which suits thy gentle kind.

Elb.
(with much assumed stateliness).
I hope, my lord,
I do meantime that dignity remember,
Which doth beseem the daughter of a king!

King.
Fie! clear thy cloudy brow! it is my will
Thou honour graciously his modest worth.
[Elb. bows, but smiles disdainfully.
By a well feigned flight, he was the first
Who broke the stubborn foe, op'ning the road
To victory. Here, with some public mark
Of royal favour, by the hand receiv'd,
I will to honour him; for, since the battle,
A gloomy melancholy o'er him broods,
E'en far exceeding what a father's death
Should cast upon a youthful victor's triumph.
Ah! here he comes! look on that joyless face!

Elb.
(aside to Dwina, looking scornfully to Edward as he approaches).
Look with what slow and piteous gait he comes!
Like younger brother of a petty Thane,
Timing his footsteps to his father's dirge.

Dwina.
(aside).
Nay, to my fancy it is wond'rous graceful.

Elb.
(contemptuously).
A youth, indeed, who might with humble grace
Beneath thy window tell his piteous tale.

Enter Edward followed by Ethwald and attend-ants.
King.
Approach, my son: so will I call thee now.
Here is a face whose smiles should gild thy honours
If thou art yet awake to beauty's power.

Edw.
(kissing Elburga 's hand respectfully).
Honour'd I am indeed; most dearly honour'd;
I feel it here (his hand on his heart),
and should be joyful too,
If aught could gild my gloom.
[Sighs very deeply, then suddenly recollecting himself.
Elburga, thou wert ever fond of glory,
And ever quick to honour valiant worth;
Ethwald, my friend—hast thou forgotten Ethwald?

[Presenting Ethw. to her.
Elb.
Could I forget the warlike Thane of Mairnieth,
I must have barr'd mine ears against all sound;
For every voice is powerful in his praise,
And every Mercian tongue repeats his name.

[Smiling graciously upon Ethw.
King
(impatiently).
Where go we now? we wander from our purpose.
Edward, thy youthful ardour season'd well
With warlike craft, has crown'd my age with glory;
Here be thy valour crown'd, it is my will,
With honour's wreath, from a fair hand receiv'd.

[Giving the wreath to Elburga.
Edw.
(earnestly).
I do beseech you, uncle!—pray receive
My grateful thanks! the mournful cypress best
Becomes my brow; this honour must not be.

King.
Nay, lay aside unseemly diffidence;
It must be so.

Edw.
(impressively).
My heart is much depress'd:
O do not add
The burden of an undeserved honour,
To bend me to the earth!

King.
These warlike chieftains say it is deserv'd,
And nobly earn'd. It is with their concurrence
That now I offer thee this warrior's wreath;
Yes, ethling, and command thee to receive it.
(Holding up his hand.)
There, let the trumpet sound.

[Trumpets sound.
Edw.
(holding up his hands distractedly).
Peace, peace! nor put me to this agony!
[Trumpets cease.
And am I then push'd to this very point?
Well, then, away deceit! too long hast thou
Like the incumbent monster of a dream
On the stretch'd sleeper's breast, depress'd my soul;
I shake thee off, foul mate! O, royal sire,
And you, ye valiant Mercians, hear the truth!
Ye have believ'd, that by a feigned flight,
I gain'd the first advantage o'er the foe,
And broke their battle's strength; O would I had!
That flight, alas! was real; the sudden impulse
Of a weak mind, unprov'd and strongly struck
With new and horrid things, until that hour
Unknown and unimagin'd.—
Nor was it honour's voice that call'd me back;
The call of nature saved me. Noble Seagurth,
Had I been son of any sire but thee,
I had in dark and endless shame been lost,
Nor e'er again before these valiant men
Stood in this royal presence.
In all my fortune, I am blest alone
That my brave father, rescued by these arms,
Look'd on me, smiling through the shades of death,
And knew his son. He was a noble man!
He never turn'd from danger—but his son—

(Many voices at once.)
His son is worthy of him!

(Repeated again with more voices.)
His son is worthy of him!

Ethelbert (with enthusiasm).
His son is worthy
Of the noblest sire that ever wielded sword!

Voices.
Crown him, fair princess! Crown the noble Edward!

[Elburga offers him the wreath, which he puts aside vehemently.
Edw.
Forbear! a band of scorpions round my brow
Would not torment me like this laurel wreath.

[Elb. turns from him contemptuously, and gives the wreath to the King.
Edw.
(to King).
What, good my lord! is there not present here
A Mercian brow deserving of that wreath?
Shall he, who did with an uncover'd head
Your battle fight, still wear his brows unbound?
Do us not this disgrace!

King
(fretfully).
Thou dost forget the royal dignity:
Take it away.

Giving it to an officer.)
[A confused murmuring amongst the soldiers. (Aside to the seneschal, alarmed.)
Sen.
(aside to King).
Your troops, my sire, are much dissatisfied,
For that their favourite chief by you is deem'd
Unworthy of the wreath.

King
(aside).
What, is it so? call back mine officer.
(Taking the wreath again, and giving it to Elb.)
This wreath was meant for one of royal line,
But every noble Mercian, great in arms,
Is equal to a prince.
Crown the most valiant Ethwald.

Elb.
(crowning Ethw. with great assumed majesty).
Long may thy laurels flourish on thy brow,
Most noble chief!

[Ethw. takes the wreath and presses it to his lips, bowing to Elb., then to the King.
Ethw.
They who beneath the royal banner fight,
Unto the fortunes of their royal chief
Their success owe. Honour'd, indeed, am I
That the brave ethling hath so favour'd me,
And that I may, most humbly at your feet,
My royal sire, this martial garland lay.

[He, kneeling, lays the wreath at the King's feet; the King raises him up and embraces him; the soldiers clash their arms and call out.
Sold.
Long live the king! and long live noble Ethwald!

[This is several times repeated. Exeunt King, Edward, Elburga, &c. &c.; Elburga looking graciously to Ethwald as she goes off. Manent Ethwald and Ethelbert.
Eth.
(repeating indignantly as they go off).
Long live the king, and long live noble Ethwald!
Fie on the stupid clowns, that did not join
The gen'rous Edward's name!
(To Ethw., who is standing looking earnestly after the princess.)
What dost thou gaze on?

Ethw.
The princess look'd behind her as she went.

Eth.
And what is that to thee?
[Walks silently across the stage once or twice gloomy and dissatisfied, then turning short upon Ethw.
When wert thou last to see the lovely Bertha?

Ethw.
(hesitating).
I cannot reckon it unto the day—
Some moons ago.

Eth.
Some moons! the moon in her wide course shines not
Upon a maid more lovely.

Ethw.
I know it well.

Eth.
Thou dost.

Ethw.
(after a pause, looking attentively to Eth., who stands muttering to himself).
Methinks thou holdest converse with thyself.

Eth.
(speaking aloud, as if he continued to talk to himself).
She steps upon the flowery bosom'd earth,
As though it were a foot-cloth fitly placed
Beneath the tread of her majestic step;
And looks upon the human countenance,
Whereon her Maker hath the signs impress'd
Of all that He within the soul hath stored
Of great and noble, gen'rous and benign,
As on a molten plate, made to reflect
Her grandeur and perfections.

Ethw.
Of whom speakst thou?

Eth.
Not of the gentle Bertha.

[Exit.
Ethw.
What may he mean? He mark'd, with much displeasure,
The soldiers shout my name, and now my favour
With Mercia's princess frets him. What of this?
Ha! hath his active mind outrun mine own
In shaping future consequences? Yes,
It must be so, a curtain is withdrawn,
And to mine eye a goodly prospect shown,
Extending—No, I must not look upon it.

[Exit hastily.

SCENE IV.

An open space, with arms, garments, and other spoils of the Britons heaped up on every side of the stage. Enter Soldiers, and range themselves in order; then enter Ethelbert and a Soldier, talking as they enter.
Eth.
Ethwald among his soldiers, dost thou say,
Divides his spoil?

Sol.
He does, most bountifully;
Nor to himself more than a soldier's share
Retains, he is so gen'rous and so noble.

Eth.
I thank thee, friend.
[Soldier retires. (After a pause.)
I like not this: behind those heaps I'll stand,
And mark the manner of this distribution.

[Retires.
Enter Alwy and a petty Thane.
Alwy.
Brave warriors! ye are come at his desire,
Who for each humble soldier, bold in arms,
That has beneath his orders fought, still bears
A brother's heart. You see these goodly spoils:
He gives them not unto the cloister'd priests:
His soldiers pray for him.

[Soldiers shout.
Thane
(to Alwy).
What is thy meaning?

Alwy.
Knowest thou not the king has now bestow'd
The chiefest portion of his British spoil
On Alban's abbey?

Enter Ethwald.
(Soldiers shouting very loud.)
Long live brave Ethwald! health to noble Ethwald!
Ethw.
Thanks for these kindly greetings, valiant hearts!
[Soldiers shout again very loud.
In truth I stand before you, brave companions,
Somewhat asham'd; for with my wishes match'd,
These hands are poor and empty.
[Loud acclamations.
I thank you all again; for well I see
You have respect unto the dear good will
That must enrich these heaps of homely stuff.

Soldiers.
Long live our gen'rous leader!

Ethw.
(giving a soldier a helmet filled with lots).
Here, take the lots and deal them fairly round.
Heaven send to all of you, my valiant friends,
A portion to your liking. This rough heap
[Pointing to the arms.
Will give at least to each some warlike trophy,
Which henceforth, hung upon his humble walls,
Shall tell his sons and grandsons yet to come
In what proud fields, and with what gallant mates
Their father fought. And I, methinks, well pleas'd,
Resting, as heretofore I oft have done,
My wand'ring steps beneath your friendly roofs,
Shall, looking up, the friendly token spy,
And in my host a fellow soldier hail.

Soldiers
(with loud acclamations).
God bless you, noble chief! unto the death
We'll hold to you, brave leader!

Ethw.
And if to you I hold not, valiant Mercians,
No noble chief am I. This motley gear,
[Pointing to the spoils.
Would it were all composed of precious things,
That to his gentle wife or favour'd maid,
Each soldier might have borne some goodly gift!
But tell them, British matrons cross the woof
With coarser hands than theirs.

1st sol.
Saint Alban bless his noble countenance!
'Twas fashion'd for bestowing.

2d sol.
Heav'n store his halls with wealth!

Ethw.
(going familiarly amongst the soldiers as the lots are drawing).
Well, Ogar, hast thou drawn? good luck to thee.
And thou, good Baldwin, too? Yet fie upon it!
The heaviest weapon of the British host
Lacks weight of metal for thy sinewy arm.—
Ha! health to thee, mine old and honest host!
I'm glad to see thee with thine arm unbound.
And ruddy too! thy dame should give me thanks:
I send thee home to her a younger man
Than I receiv'd thee.
(To the soldier with the lots who is passing him.)
Nay, stay thee, friend, I pray, nor pass me o'er,
We all must share alike: hold out thy cap.
[Smiling as he draws.
The knave would leave me out.

[Loud acclamations, the soldiers surrounding him and clashing their arms.
Enter Selred and Followers.
Sel.
(to sol.)
Ha! whence comes all this uproar?

Sol.
Know you not?
Your noble brother 'midst his soldiers shares
His British spoils.

Sel.
The grateful knaves! is all their joy for this?
[To his followers.
Well, go and add to it my portion also;
'Twill make them roar the louder. Do it quickly.

[Exit.
Soldiers
(looking after Sel.).
Heaven bless him
too, plain, honest, careless soul!
He gives as though he gave not.
[Loud acclamations.
Long live brave Ethwald, and the noble Selred!

Ethw.
(aside to Alwy, displeased).
How came he here?

Alwy.
I cannot tell.

Ethw.
(to sol.)
We are confined within this narrow space:
Go range yourselves at large on yon green sward,
And there we'll spread the lots.

[Exeunt; the soldiers arranging themselves as they go.

SCENE V.

An apartment in a royal castle. Enter Ethelbert, and leans his back upon a pillar near the front of the stage, as if deeply engaged in gloomy thoughts: afterwards enters Ethwald by the opposite side, at the bottom of the stage, and approaches Eth. slowly, observing him attentively as he advances.
Ethw.
Thou art disturbed, Ethelbert.

Eth.
I am.

Ethw.
Thine eyes roll strangely, as though thou beheldst
Some dreadful thing:—
On what lookst thou?

Eth.
Upon my country's ruin.
The land is full of blood: her savage birds
O'er human carcases do scream and batten:
The silent hamlet smokes not; in the field
The aged grandsire turns the joyless soil:
Dark spirits are abroad, and gentle worth
Within the narrow house of death is laid,
An early tenant.

Ethw.
Thou'rt beside thyself!
Thinkst thou that I, with these good arms, will stand
And suffer all this wreck?

Eth.
Ha! sayst thou so? Alas, it is thyself
Who rul'st the tempest!

[Shaking his head solemnly.
Ethw.
If that I bear the spirit of a man,
Thou falsely seest! Thinkst thou I am a beast;
A fanged wolf, reft of all kindly sense,
That I should do such deeds?
I am a man aspiring to be great,
But loathing cruelty: who wears a sword
That will protect and not destroy the feeble.

[Putting his hand vehemently upon his sword.
Eth.
Ha! art thou roused? blessings on thy wrath!
I'll trust thee still. But see, the ethling comes,
And on his face he wears a smile of joy.

Enter Edward, advancing gaily to Ethwald.
Edw.
A boon, a boon, great Mairnieth's Thane, I crave.

Eth.
You come not with a suppliant's face, my lord.

Edw.
Not much cast down for lack of confidence
My suit to gain. That envious braggart there,
The chief of Bournoth, says, no Mercian arm,
Of man now living, can his grandsire's sword
In warlike combat wield: and, in good sooth!
I forfeit forty of my fattest kine
If Ethwald's arm does not the feat achieve.
(To Ethw.)
What sayst thou, friend? Methinks thou'rt grave and silent:
Hast thou so soon thy noble trade forgot?
Have at it then! I'll rouse thy spirit up:
I'll soldier thee again.
[Drawing his sword playfully upon Ethwald, who defends himself in like manner.
Fie on't! that was a wicked northern push:
It tells of thine old sports in Mollo's walls.
[Pauses and fights again.
To it again! How listless thou art grown!
Where is thy manhood gone?

Ethw.
Fear not, my lord, enough remains behind
To win your forty kine.

Edw.
I'll take thy word for't now: in faith, I'm tired!
I've been too eager in the morning's chace
To fight your noonday battles.
[Putting the point of his sword to the ground, and leaning familiarly upon Ethwald.
My arm, I fear, would make but little gain
With Bournoth's sword. By arms and brave men's love!
I could not brook to see that wordy braggart
Perching his paltry sire above thy pitch;
It rais'd my fiend within. When I am great,
I'll build a tower upon the very spot
Where thou didst first the British army stay,
And shame the grandsires of those mighty Thanes
Six ages deep. Lean I too hard upon thee?

Ethw.
No, nothing hard: most pleasant and most kindly.
Take your full rest, my lord.

Edw.
In truth, I do: methinks it does me good
To rest upon thy brave and valiant breast.

Eth.
(stepping before them with great animation).
Well said, most noble Edward!
The bosom of the brave is that on which
Rests many a head: but most of all, I trow,
Th' exposed head of princely youth thereon
Rests gracefully.

[Steps back some paces, and looks at them with delight.
Edw.
You look upon us, Thane, with eager eyes
And looks of meaning.

Eth.
Pardon me, I pray!
My fancy oftentimes will wildly play,
And strong conceits possess me.
Indulge my passing freak: I am a man
Upon whose grizzled head the work of time
Hath been by care perform'd, and, with the young,
Claiming the priv'lege of a man in years.
[Taking the hands of Edw. and Ethw. and joining them together.
This is a lovely sight! indulge my fancy:
And on this sword, it is a brave man's sword,
Swear that you will unto each other prove,
As prince and subject, true.

Edw.
No, no, good Thane!
As friends, true friends! that doth the whole include.
I kiss the honour'd blade.

(Kissing the sword held out by Eth.)
Eth.
(presenting the sword to Ethw.)
And what says noble Ethwald?

Ethw.
All that the brave should say.

(Kissing it also.)
Eth.
(triumphantly).
Now, Mercia, thou art strong! give me your hands;
Faith, I must lay them both upon my breast!
[Pressing both their hands to his breast.
This is a lovely sight!

Ethw.
(softened).
You weep, good Ethelbert.

Eth.
(brushing off his tears with his hand).
Yes, yes! such tears as doth the warm shower'd earth
Show to the kindly sun.

Edw.
(to Eth., gently clapping his shoulder).
I love this well: thou like a woman weepest,
And fightest like a man. But look, I pray!
There comes my arms-man with the braggart's sword:
Let us essay it yonder.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

An apartment in a royal castle. Ethwald is discovered sitting in deep meditation by the side of a couch, with a lamp burning by him on a high stand: the rest of the stage entirely dark.
Ethw.
Why am I haunted with these thoughts?
What boots it
That from their weak and priest-beridden king
The soldiers turn distasteful, and on me
In mutter'd wishes call? What boots all this?
Occasion fairly smiles, but I am shackled;
Elsewhere I needs must turn my climbing thoughts,
But where? The youthful see around them spread
A boundless field of undetermin'd things,
Towering in tempting greatness:
But, to the closer scan of men matured,
These fade away, and in the actual state
Of times and circumstances each perceives
A path which doth to his advancement lead,
And only one; as to the dazzled eye
Of the night rev'ller, o'er his emptied bowl,
The multiplied and many whirling lights
Do shrink at last into one single torch,
Shedding a steady ray. I see my path:
But what is that to me? my steps are chain'd.
Amongst the mighty great, the earth's high lords,
There is no place for me! I must lie down
In the dark tomb with those, whose passing brightness
Shines for a while, but leaves no ray behind.

[Throws himself half upon the couch and groans heavily.
Enter Boy.
Boy.
My lord, my lord!
(Ethw. lifts up his head, and looks sternly at him.)
Are you unwell, my lord?

Ethw.
What dost thou want?

Boy.
I could not sleep: and as I list'ning lay
To the drear wind that whistles through these towers,
Methought I heard you groan like one in pain.

Ethw.
Away, and go to sleep: I want thee not:
I say, begone (sternly). [Exit boy.
[He pauses awhile, then sighs very deeply.

He hangs upon me like a dead man's grasp
On the wreck'd swimmer's neck—his boyish love
Was not my seeking; it was fasten'd on me,
And now it hath become an iron band
To fetter down my powers. O that I were
Amidst the warlike and ungentle cast
To strive uncumber'd! What have I to do
With soft affection? (Softened.)
Yet it needs must be!
His gen'rous love:—his brave ungrudging love:
His manly gentle love—O that he had
Mine equal friend been born, who in my rise
Had fair advancement found, and by my side
The next in honour stood!
He drags me to the earth! I needs must lay
My head i' the dust.—Dull hopeless privacy!
From it my soul recoils: unto my nature
It is the death of death, horrid and hateful.
(Starting up eagerly.)
No, in the tossed bark,
Commander of a rude tumultuous crew,
On the wild ocean would I rather live;
Or in the mined caverns of the earth
Untamed bands of lawless men control,
By crime and dire necessity enleagued:
Yea, in the dread turmoil of midnight storms,
If such there be, lead on the sable hosts
Of restless sprites, than say to mortal man
“Thou art my master.”

Enter Boy.
Boy.
O pardon me, my lord! I am in fear;
Strange sounds do howl and hurtle round my bed;
I cannot rest.

Ethw.
Begone, thou wakeful pest! I say, be-gone! [Exit boy.
[Ethw. walks several times across the stage and then pauses.

Yet in my mind one ever-present thought
Rises omnipotent o'er all the rest,
And says, “Thou shalt be great.”
What may this mean? before me is no way.
What deep endued seer will draw this veil
Of dark futurity? Of such I've heard,
But when the troubled seek for them, they are not.

Re-enter Boy.
(Stamping with his foot.)
What! here a third time?
Boy
(falling at his feet).
O, my noble master!
If you should slay me I must come to you;
For in my chamber fearful things there be,
That sound i' the dark; O, do not chide me back.

Ethw.
Strange sound within thy chamber, foolish wight!

Boy
(starting).
Good mercy, list!

Ethw.
It is some night-bird screaming on the tower.

Boy.
Ay, so belike it seemeth, but I know—

Ethw.
What dost thou know?

Boy.
It is no bird, my lord.

Ethw.
What wouldst thou say?

Boy
(clasping his hands together, and staring earnestly in Ethw.'s face).
At dead of night, from the dark Druid's cave
Up rise unhallow'd sprites, and o'er the earth
Hold for the term their wicked rule. Aloft,
Some mounted on the heavy sailing cloud,
Oft pour down noisome streams or biting hail
On the benighted hind, and from his home,
With wayward eddying blasts, still beat him back.
Some on the waters shriek like drowning men,
And, when the pitying passenger springs forth,
To lend his aid, the dark flood swallows him.
Some on lone marshes shine like moving lights;
And some on towers and castle turrets perch'd,
Do scream like nightly birds, to scare the good,
Or rouse the murd'rer to his bloody work.

Ethw.
The Druid's cave, sayst thou? What cave is that?
Where is it? Who hath seen it? What scar'd fool
Hath fill'd thine ears with all these horrid things?

Boy.
It is a cavern vast and terrible,
Under the ground full deep; perhaps, my lord,
Beneath our very feet, here as we stand;
For few do know the spot and centre of it,
Though many mouths it has and entries dark.
Some are like hollow pits bor'd through the earth,
O'er which the list'ning herdsman bends his ear,
And hears afar their lakes of molten fire
Swelt'ring and boiling like a mighty pot.
Some like strait passes through the rifted rocks,
From which oft issue shrieks, and whistling gusts,
And wailings dismal. Nay, some, as they say,
Deep hollow'd underneath the river's bed,
Which show their narrow op'nings through the fern
And tangling briars, like dank and noisome holes
Wherein foul adders breed. But not far hence
The chiefest mouth of all, 'midst beetling rocks
And groves of blasted oaks, gapes terrible.

Ethw.
So near? but who are they who dwell within?

Boy.
The female high Arch Druid therein holds
With many Druids tending on her will,
(Old, as they say, some hundred years or more)
Her court, where horrid spells bind to her rule
Spirits of earth and air.

Ethw.
Ay, so they tell thee,
But who is he that has held converse with her?

Boy.
Crannock, the bloody prince, did visit her,
And she did show to him the bloody end
Whereto he soon should come; for all she knows
That is, or has been, or shall come to pass.

Ethw.
Yes, in times past such intercourse might be,
But who has seen them now?

Boy.
Thane Ethelbert.

Ethw.
(starting).
What saidst thou, Ethelbert?

Boy.
Yes, truly; oft he goes to visit them
What time the moon rides in her middle course.

Ethw.
Art thou assured of this?

Boy.
A youth who saw him issue from the cave;
'Twas he who told it me.

Ethw.
Mysterious man!
(After a pause.)
Where sleeps the Thane?

Boy.
If walls and doors may hold him,
He sleeps not distant, in the southern tower.

Ethw.
Take thou that lamp, and go before me then.

Boy.
Where?

Ethw.
To the southern tower. Art thou afraid?

Boy.
No, my good lord, but keep you close behind.

[Exeunt; Boy bearing the lamp, and looking often behind to see that Ethw. is near him.

SCENE II.

A small gallery or passage with a door in front, which is opened, and enter Ethwald, and Ethelbert with a lamp in his hand.
Eth.
Then, by the morrow's midnight moon, we meet
At the Arch Sister's cave: till then, farewell!

Ethw.
Farewell! I will be punctual.

[Exit.
Eth.
(looking after him for some time before he speaks).
It ever is the mark'd propensity
Of restless and aspiring minds to look
Into the stretch of dark futurity.
But be it so: it now may turn to good.

[Exit, returning back again into the same chamber from which he came.

SCENE III.

A wide arched cave, rude but grand, seen by a sombre light, a small furnace burning near the front of the stage. Enter Ethwald and Ethelbert, who pause and look round for some time without speaking.
Ethw.
Gloomy, and void, and silent!

Eth.
Hush!

Ethw.
What hearest thou?

Eth.
Their hollow sounding steps. Lo! seest thou not? [Pointing to the further end of the stage, where, from an obscure recess, enter three Mystics robed in white, and ranged on one side of the stage, point to Ethwald: whilst from another obscure recess enter three Mystic Sisters, and ranged on the opposite side point to Ethwald: then from a mid recess enters the Arch Sister robed also in white, but more majestic than the others, and a train of Mystics and Mystic Sisters behind her. She advances half-way up the stage, then stops short, and points also to Ethwald.
(All the Mystics, &c. speaking at once.)

Who art thou?

Arch Sist.
I know thee who thou art; the hand of Mercia.
The hand that lifts itself above the head.
I know thee who thou art.

Ethw.
Then haply ye do know my errand too.

Arch Sist.
I do; but turn thee back upon thy steps,
And tempt thy fate no farther.

Ethw.
From the chaf'd shore turn back the swelling tide!
I came to know my fate, and I will know it.

1st Mystic.
Must we call up from the deep centre's womb
The spirits of the night and their dread lord?

1st Myst. S.
Must we do that which makes the entombed dead
From coffins start?

Ethw.
Raise the whole host of darkness an ye will,
But I must be obey'd.

[The Arch Sister shrieks, and, throwing her mantle over her face, turns to go away.
Ethw.
If there be power in mortal arm to hold you,
Ye stir not hence until I am obey'd.

1st Myst.
And how compellest thou?

Ethw.
With this good sword.

1st Myst.
Swords here are children's wands of no avail:
There, warrior, is thy weapon.

Ethw.
Where, Mystic? say.

1st Myst.
(pointing to the furnace).
Behold within that fire
A bar of burning iron! pluck it forth.

Ethw.
(resolutely).
I will.

[Goes to the furnace, and putting in his hand, pulls out what seems a red hot bar of iron.
Arch Sist.
(throwing off her mantle).
Thou hast subdued me; thou shalt be obey'd.

Ethw.
(casting away the bar).
Away, thou paltry terror!

Arch Sist.
(to Ethw.)
We now begin our rites: be firm, be silent.

[She stretches forth her hand with a commanding air, and the Mystics and Mystic Sisters begin their incantations at the bottom of the stage, moving round in several mazy circles one within another. Fire is at last seen flashing from the midst of the inner circle, and immediately they all begin a hollow muttering sound, which becomes louder and louder, till at length it is accompanied with dismal sounds from without, and distant music, solemn and wild.
Ethw.
(grasping Ethelbert 's hand).
What dismal sounds are these?
'Tis like a wild responsive harmony,
Tun'd to the answ'ring yells of damned souls.
What follows this? Some horrid thing! Thou smilest:
Nay, press thy hand, I pray thee, on my breast;
There wilt thou find no fear,

Eth.
Hush! hear that distant noise.

Ethw.
'Tis thunder in the bowels of the earth,
Heard from afar.

[A subterraneous noise like thunder is heard at a distance, becoming louder as it approaches. Upon hearing this, the Mystics suddenly leave off their rites; the music ceases, and they, opening their circles, range themselves on either side of the stage, leaving the Arch Sister alone in the middle.
Arch Sist.
(holding up her hand).
Mystics, and Mystic Maids, and leagued bands!
The master spirit comes: prepare.
(All repeat after her).
Prepare.

1st Mystic.
Hark! through the darken'd realms below,
Through the fiery regions glow:
Through the massy mountain's core,
Through the mines of living ore;
Through the yawning caverns wide,
Through the solid and the void;
Through the dank and through the dry,
Through th' unseen of mortal eye:
Upon the earthquake's secret course, afar
I hear the sounding of thy car:
Sulphureous vapours load the rising gale;
We know thy coming; mighty master, hail!
(They all repeat.)
Mighty master, hail!

[The stage darkens by degrees, and a thick vapour begins to ascend at the bottom of the stage.
2d Mystic.
Hark, hark! what murmurs fill the dome!
Who are they who with thee come?
Those who, in their upward flight,
Rouse the tempests of the night:
Those who ride in flood and fire;
Those who rock the tumbling spire:
Those who, on the bloody plain,
Shriek with the voices of the slain:
Those who through the darkness glare,
And the sleepless murd'rer scare;
Those who take their surly rest
On the troubled dreamer's breast:
Those who make their nightly den
In the guilty haunts of men:
Through the heavy air I hear
Their hollow trooping onward bear:
The torch's shrinking flame is dim and pale:
I know thy coming; mighty master, hail!
(All repeat again).
Mighty master, hail!

[The stage becomes still darker, and a thicker vapour ascends.
3d Mystic.
Lo! the mystic volumes rise!
Wherein are lapt from mortal eyes
Horrid deeds as yet unthought,
Bloody battles yet unfought:
The sudden fall and deadly wound
Of the tyrant yet uncrown'd;
And his line of many dyes
Who yet within the cradle lies.
Moving forms, whose stilly bed
Long hath been among the dead;
Moving forms, whose living morn
Breaks with the nations yet unborn,
In mystic vision walk the horrid pale:
We own thy presence; mighty master, hail!
(All).
Mighty master, hail!

Enter from the farther end of the stage crowds of terrible spectres, dimly seen through the vapour, which now spreads itself over the whole stage. All the Mystics and Mystic Sisters bow themselves very low, and the Arch Sister, standing alone in the middle, bows to all the different sides of the cave.
Ethw.
(to 1st Mystic).
To every side the mystic
mistress bows,
What meaneth this? mine eye no form perceives:
Where is your mighty chief?

1st Mystic.
Above, around you, and beneath.

Ethw.
Has he no form to vision sensible?

1st Mystic.
In the night's noon, in the winter's
noon, in the lustre's noon:
Of times twice ten within the century's round
Is he before our leagued bands confess'd
In dread appearance:
But in what form or in what circumstance
May not be told; he dies who utters it.

[Ethw. shrinks at this, and seems somewhat appalled. The Arch Sister, after tossing about her arms, and writhing her body in a violent agitation, fixes her eyes, like one waked from a dream, steadfastly upon Ethw.; then going suddenly up to him, grasps him by the hand with energy.
Arch Sist.
Thou who wouldst pierce the deep and awful shade
Of dark futurity, to know the state
Of after greatness waiting on thy will,
For in thy power acceptance or rejection
Is freely put, lift up thine eyes and say,
What seest thou yonder?

[Pointing to a dark arched opening in the roof of the cave, where an illuminated crown and sceptre appear.
Ethw.
(starting).
Ha! e'en the inward vision of my soul
In actual form pourtray'd!
[His eyes brightening wonderfully.
Sayst thou it shall be mine?

Arch Sist.
As thou shalt choose.

Ethw.
I ask of thee no more.
[Stands gazing upon the appearance till it fades away.
So soon extinguish'd? Hath this too a meaning?
It says, perhaps, my greatness shall be short.

Arch Sist.
I speak to thee no further than I may,
Therefore be satisfied.

Ethw.
And I am satisfied. Dread mystic maid,
Receive my thanks.

Arch Sist.
Nay, Ethwald, our commission ends not here,
Stay and behold what follows.

[The stage becomes suddenly dark, and most terrible shrieks, and groans, and dismal lamentations, are heard from the farther end of the cave.
Ethw.
What horrid sounds are these?

Arch Sist.
The varied voice of woe, of Mercia's woe:
Of those who shall, beneath thine iron hand,
The cup of mis'ry drink. There, dost thou hear
The dungeon'd captives' sighs, the shrilly shrieks
Of childless mothers and distracted maids,
Mix'd with the heavy groans of dying men!
The widow's wailings, too, and infant's cries—
[Ethw. stops his ears in horror.
Ay, stop thine ears; it is a horrid sound.

Ethw.
Forefend that e'er again I hear the like!
What didst thou say? O, thou didst foully say!
Do I not know my nature? heav'n and earth
As soon shall change—
(A voice above.)
Swear not!
(A voice beneath.)
Swear not!
(A voice on the same level, but distant.)
Swear not!

Arch Sist.
Now, once again, and our commission ends.
Look yonder, and behold that shadowy form.
[Pointing to an arched recess, across which bursts a strong light, and discovers a crowned phantom, covered with wounds, and representing by its gestures one in agony. Ethw. looks and shrinks back.
What dost thou see?

Ethw.
A miserable man: his breast is pierced
With many wounds, and yet his gestures seem
The agony of a distracted mind,
More than of pain.

Arch. Sist.
But wears he not a crown?

Ethw.
Why does it look so fix'dly on me thus?
What are its woes to me?

Arch Sist.
They are thy own.
Knowst thou no traces of that alter'd form,
Nor seest that crowned phantom is thyself?

Ethw.
(shudders, then after a pause).
I may be doom'd to meet a tyrant's end,
But not to be a tyrant.
Did all the powers of hell attest the doom,
I would belie it. Know I not my nature?
By every dreaded power and hallow'd thing—
(Voice over the stage.)
Swear not!
(Voice under the stage.)
Swear not!
(Distant voice off the stage.)
Swear not!

[Thundering noise is heard under ground. The stage becomes instantly quite dark, and Mystics and Spirits, &c. disappear, Ethw. and Eth. remaining alone.
Eth.
(after a pause).
How art thou?

Ethw.
Is it thy voice? O, let me feel thy grasp!
Mine ears ring strangely, and my head doth feel
As though I were bereaved of my wits.
Are they all gone? Where is thy hand, I pray?
We've had a fearful bout!

Eth.
Thy touch is cold as death: let us ascend
And breathe the upper air.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A forest. Enter Ethwald with a bow in his hand, and a Boy carrying his arrows.
Ethw.
(looking off the stage).
Ha! Alwy, soon return'd! and with him comes
My faithful Ongar.

Enter Alwy and Ongar with bows also, as if in quest of sport, by the opposite side.
Thou comest, Alwy, with a busy face.
(To boy.)
Go, Boy; I shot mine arrow o'er those elms,
Thou'lt find it far beyond.
[Exit boy.
Now, friend, what tidings?
Alwy.
Within the tufted centre of the wood
The friendly chiefs are met, thus, like ourselves
As careless ramblers guised, all to a man
Fix'd in your cause. Their followers too are firm;
For, much disgusted with the monkish face
Their feeble monarch wears, a warlike leader,
Far, far inferior to the noble Ethwald,
May move them as he lists.

Ethw.
That time and circumstances on me call
Imperiously, I am well assured.
Good Ongar, what sayst thou? how thrives thy part
Of this important task!

Ong.
Well as your heart could wish. At the next council,
Held in the royal chamber, my good kinsman
Commands the guard, and will not bar our way.

Ethw.
May I depend on this?

Ong.
You may, my lord.

Ethw.
Thanks to thee, Ongar! this is noble service,
And shall be nobly thank'd. There is, good Alwy,
Another point; hast thou unto the chiefs
Yet touch'd upon it?

Alwy.
Yes, and they all agree 'tis most expedient
That with Elburga's hand, since weaker minds
Are blindly wedded to the royal line,
Your right be strengthen'd.

Ethw.
And this they deem expedient?

Alwy.
You sigh, my lord; she is, indeed, less gentle—

Ethw.
Regard it not, it is a passing thought,
And it will have its sigh, and pass away.
[Turning away for a little space, and then coming forward again.
What means hast thou devised, that for a term
Selred and Ethelbert may be remov'd?
For faithful to the royal line they are,
And will not swerve: their presence here were dang'rous:
We must employ them in some distant strife.

Alwy.
I have devis'd a plan, but for the means
Brave Ongar here stands pledged. Woggarwolfe,
Who once before unweetingly has served us,
Will do the same again.

Ethw.
How so? 'tis said that since his last affray,
With the keen torment of his wounds subdu'd,
On sick bed laid, by the transforming power
Of artful monks, he has become most saintly.

Alwy.
Well, but we trust his saintship ne'ertheless
May still be lur'd to do a sinner's work.
To burn the castle of a hateful heretic
Will make amends for all his bloody deeds:
You catch the plan: nay, Hexulf and his priests
Will be our helpmates here. Smile not; good Ongar
Has pledged his word for this.

Ethw.
And I will trust to it. This will, indeed,
Draw off the Thanes in haste. But who is near?
Skulking behind yon thicket stands a man:
Seest thou?

[Pointing off the stage.
Alwy.
Go to him, Ongar, scan him well,
And if his face betrays a list'ner's guilt—
Thou hast thy dagger there?

Ong.
Yes, trust me well.

Ethw.
Nay, Ongar, be not rash in shedding blood!
Let not one drop be spilt that may be spar'd.
Secure him if he wear a list'ner's face:
We are too strong for stern and ruthless caution.
[Exit Ongar.
I'm glad he is withdrawn a little space,
Ere we proceed to join the leagued chiefs.
Hast thou agreed with Cuthbert? Is he sure?

Alwy.
Sure. 'Tis agreed when next the ethling hunts,
To lead him in the feigned quest of game
From his attendants; there, in ambush laid,
Cuthbert and his adherents seize upon him,
And will conduct him with the ev'ning's close
To Arrick's rugged tower. All is prepar'd.

Ethw.
But hast thou charged him well that this be done
With all becoming care and gentleness,
That nothing may his noble nature gall
More than the hard necessity compels?

Alwy.
Do not mistrust us so! your brow is dark:
At Edward's name your changing countenance
Is ever clouded.
[Ethw. turns from him agitated.
You are disturb'd, my lord.

Ethw.
I am disturb'd.
(Turning round and grasping Alwy by the hand.)
I'll tell thee, Alwy—yes, I am disturb'd—
No gleam of glory through my prospect breaks,
But still his image, 'thwart the brightness cast,
Shades it to night.

Alwy.
It will be always so: but wherefore should it?
Glory is ever bought by those who earn it
With loss of many lives most dear and precious.
So is it destin'd. Let that be to him
Which in the crowded breach or busy field
All meet regardless from a foeman's hand.
Do the still chamber, and the muflled tread,
And th' unseen stroke that doth th' infliction deal,
Alter its nature?

Ethw.
(pushing Alwy away from him vehemently, and putting up both his hands to his head).
Forbear! forbear! I shut mine eyes, mine ears;
All entrance bar that may into my mind
Th' abhorred thing convey. Have I not said,
Thou shalt not dare in word, in look, in gesture,
In slightest indication of a thought,
Hold with my mind such base communication?
By my sword's strength! did I not surely think
From this bold seizure of the sovereign pow'r,
A pow'r for which I must full dearly pay,
So says the destiny that o'er me hangs,
To shield his weakness and restore again
In room of Mercia's crown a nobler sway,
Won by my sword, I would as lief—Northumberland
Invites my arms, and soon will be subdu'd;
Of this full sure, a good amends may be
To noble Edward made.

Alwy
(who during the last part of Ethwald 's speech has been smiling behind his back malignantly).
O yes, full surely:
And wand'ring harpers shall in hall and bower
Sing of the marv'llous deed.

Ethw.
(turning short upon him, and perceiving his smile).
Thou smil'st methinks.
Full well I read the meaning of that look:
'Tis a fiend's smile, and it will prove a false one. [Turning away angrily, whilst Alwy walks to the bottom of the stage.
(Aside, looking suspiciously after him.)

Have I offended him? he is an agent
Most needful to me.
(Aloud, advancing to him.)
Good Alwy, anxious minds will often chide—
(Aside, stopping short.)
He hears me not, or is it but a feint?

Alwy
(looking off the stage).
Your arrow-boy returns.

Ethw.
(aside, nodding to himself).
No, 'tis a free and unoffended voice;
I'm wrong. This is a bird whose fleshed beak
The prey too strongly scents to fly away:
I'll spare my courtesies. (Aloud.)
What sayst thou, Alwy?

Alwy
(pointing).
Your arrow-boy.

Ethw.
I'm glad he is return'd.

Re-enter Boy.
Boy.
Nowhere, my lord, can I the arrow find.

Ethw.
Well, boy, it matters not; let us move on.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A narrow gallery in an abbey or cloister, with several doors opening into it. Enter Hexulf and Ongar and two monks.
Hex.
Fear not, brave Ongar, we, upon thy hint,
Will quickly act; for here our eager wishes
Are with the church's good most closely join'd.

1st monk.
This is the time when he should walk abroad.
(Listening.)
I hear him at his door.

Hex.
Leave us, good Ongar.

Ong.
To your good skill I do commit it then;
Having but only you, most rev'rend father,
To take my part against this wizard Thane.

1st monk
(still listening).
Begone, he issues forth.

[Exit Ongar.
[One of the doors opens slowly, and enters Woggarwolfe, wrapped in a cloak, and his head bound.
Hex.
Good morrow, valiant Thane, whose pious gifts
Have won heav'n's grace to renovate thy strength,
And grant thee longer life, how goes thy health?

Wog.
I thank you, rev'rend father, greatly mended.

1st monk.
The prayers of holy men have power to save,
E'en on the very borders of the tomb,
The humbled soul who doth with gifts enrich
The holy church.

2d monk.
Didst thou not feel within thee
A peaceful calm, a cheering confidence,
Soon as thy pious offering was accepted?

Wog.
(hesitating).
Yes, rev'rend fathers,—I have
thought indeed—
Perhaps you meant it so—that since that time
The devil has not scar'd me in my dreams
So oft as he was wont, when sore with wounds
I first was laid upon my bed of pain.

Hex.
Ay, that is much; but noble Woggarwolfe,
Thinkest thou not the church doth merit well
Some stable gift, some fix'd inheritance?
Thou hast those lands that are so nearly join'd
Unto Saint Alban's abbey.

Wog.
(much surprised).
My lands! give up my lands?

1st monk.
What are thy lands
Compar'd to that which they will purchase for thee?

2d monk.
To lay thy coffin'd body in the ground,
Rob'd in the garb of holy men, and bless'd?

1st monk.
To have thy tomb beneath the shading arch
Of sacred roof, where nought profane may enter;
While midnight spirits stand and yell without,
But o'er the sacred threshold dare not trespass.

Wog.
(with a rueful countenance).
What, do you think I shall be dead so soon?

Hex.
Life is uncertain; but how glorious, Thane,
To look beyond this wicked world of strife,
And for thyself a lofty seat provide
With saints and holy men, and angel bands!

Wog.
Nay, father, I am not so highly bent;
Do but secure me from the horrid fangs
Of the terrific fiend: I am not proud,
That will suffice me.

Hex.
Nay, herein thy humility we praise not,
And much I fear, at such a humble pitch,
He who so lately scar'd thee in thy dreams
May reach thee still.

1st monk.
O think of this!

Hex.
Dreadful it is, thou knowst,
To see him in thy dreams; but when awake,
Naked, and all uncloth'd of flesh and blood,
As thou at last must be; how wilt thou bear
To see him yelling o'er thee as his prey;
Bearing aloft his dark and hideous form;
Grinding his horrid jaws and darting on thee
His eyes of vivid fire?
[The monks sign themselves with great marks of fear, and Woggarwolfe looks terrified.
Ah! thinkst thou, Thane,
That many gifts, ay, half of all thou'rt worth,
Would dearly purchase safety from such terrors?

Wog.
(in a quick perturbed voice).
I have the
plunder of two neighb'ring chiefs,
Whom I surprised within their towers and slew;
I'll give you all—if that suffices not,
I'll fall upon a third, ay, though it were
My next of kin, nor spare of all his goods
One fragment for myself. O, holy fathers!
I humbly crave saintly protection of you.

Hex.
Nay, Woggarwolfe, on shrines of holy saints
No gift ere works with efficacious power
By force and violence gain'd; unless, indeed,
It be the spoil of some unsaintly Thane,
Some faithless wizard or foul heretic.
Thou hast a neighbour, impious Ethelbert;
His towers to burn and consecrate his spoils,
O'er all thy sins would cast a sacred robe,
On which nor fiend nor devil durst fix a fang.
But now thou lackest strength for such a work,
And mayst be dead ere thou hast time to do it:
Therefore I counsel thee, give up thy lands.

Wog.
O, no! I'm strong enough: my men are strong.
Give us your rev'rend blessing o'er our heads,
And we'll set out forthwith.

Hex.
Then nothing doubt that on your worthy zeal
Will fall the blessing. Let us onward move.
Where are thy followers?

[Exeunt: Hex. talking busily to Wog., and the monks smiling to one another as they go out.

SCENE VI.

The royal apartment: the King is discovered with Hexulf, the seneschal, and several friends or councillors, seated round a council table.
King
(as if continuing to speak).
It may be so: youth finds no obstacle,
But I am old.
Full many a storm on this grey head has beaten;
And now, on my high station do I stand,
Like the tired watchman in his air-rock'd tower,
Who looketh for the hour of his release.
I'm sick of worldly broils, and fain would rest
With those who war no more. One gleam of light
Did sweetly cheer the ev'ning of my day:
Edward, my son! he was the kindliest prop
That age did ever rest on—he is gone,
What should I fight for now?

Sen.
For thine own honour, for the weal of Mercia,
With weapons in our hands, and strong in men,
Who to the royal standard soon will flock,
If summon'd by thy firm and gen'ral orders.
Shall these men be our masters? Heaven forefend!
Five thousand warriors might disperse the foe,
Even with that devil Ethwald at their head;
And shall we think of granting to those rebels
Their insolent demands?

King.
Good seneschal, if that you think our strength
Permits us still in open field to strive
With hope of good, I am not yet so old
But I can brace these stiffen'd limbs in iron,
And do a soldier's service.
(To 2d coun.)
Thane of Mordath,
Thy visage light'neth not upon these hopes;
What are thy thoughts?

2d coun.
E'en that these hopes will bring us to a state
Reft of all hope.
The rebel chiefs but seek their own enrichment,
Not Ethwald's exaltation, good my lord;
Bribe them, and treat for peace. Lack you the means?
The church, for whose enriching you have rais'd
This storm, can well supply it; and most surely
Will do it cheerfully.

[Turning to Hexulf.
Hex.
No, by the holy mass! that were to bring
The curse of heav'n upon our impious heads.
To spoil the holy church is sacrilege:
And to advise such spoil in any wise
Is sacrilegious and abominable.

1st coun.
I am as faithful to the holy church
As thou art, angry priest. I do defy thee—

Sen.
What, have ye no respect unto the king?
I do command you, peace. Who now intrudes?

Enter a Servant in great terror.
Serv.
The rebel force! the castle is surprised!
They are at hand—they have o'erpower'd the guard.

2d coun.
Pray God thou liest! I think it cannot be.

[They all rise up alarmed.
Serv.
It is as true as I do tread this spot.

Enter a Soldier wounded.
King (to sol.).
Ha! what sayst thou? thou bearest for thy words
A rueful witness.

Sol.
Take arms, and save the king, if it be possible.
The rebel chieftains have the gate surprised,
And gain'd, below, the entrance of this tower.
They struggled for the pass; sharp was the broil;
This speaks for me, that I have borne my part.

[Falls down exhausted.
Hex.
(to King).
Retire, my lord, into the higher chamber.
Your arm can give but small assistance here.
Until this horrid visit be o'erpast,
You may conceal yourself.

King.
No, father, never shall the king of Mercia
Be, from his hiding-place, like a mean man
Pull'd forth. But, noble friends, it seems not wise
That this necessity should reach to you.
These rebels seek my life, and with that life
They will be satisfied. In my defence,
Thus taken as we are, all stand were useless;
Therefore, if now you will obey your king,
His last command, retire and save your lives
For some more useful end. Finding me here,
They will no farther search: retire, my friends.

2d coun.
What, leave our king to face his foes alone!

King.
No, not alone; my friend, the seneschal,
Will stay with me. We have been young together,
And the same storms in our rough day of life
Have beat upon us: be it now God's will,
We will lay down our aged heads together
In the still rest, and bid good night to strife.
Have I said well, my friend?

[Holding out his hand to the seneschal.
Sen.
(kissing his hand with great warmth, and putting one knee to the ground).
O my lov'd master! many a bounteous favour
Has shower'd upon me from your royal hand,
But ne'er before was I so proudly honour'd.
[Rising up with assumed grace.
Retire, young men, for now I must be proud;
Retire, your master will confront the foe
As may become a king.
(All calling out at once.)
No, no! we will not leave him.

[They all range themselves, drawing their swords, round the King, and the old seneschal stands, by pre-eminence, close to his master's side.
2d coun.
Here is a wall through which they first must force
A bloody way, ere on his royal head
One silver hair be scath'd.

Enter Ethwald, Alwy, and the Conspirators.
Alwy.
Now vengeance for injustice and oppression!

2d coun.
On your own heads, then, be it, miscreant chiefs!

[They fight round the King; his party defend him bravely, till many more conspirators enter, and it is overpowered.
Ethw.
(aside, angrily, to Alwy, on still seeing the King, standing in the midst, unhurt, and with great dignity, the seneschal by his side, and no one offering to attack him).
Hast thou forgot? Where are thy chosen men?
Is there no hand to do the needful work?
This is but children's play.
(To some of his party.)
Come, let us search, that in the neighb'ring chamber
No lurking foe escape.

[Exit with some followers.
Alwy
(giving a sign to his followers, and going up insolently to the King).
Oswal, resign thy sword.

Sen.
First take thou mine, thou base, ignoble traitor!

[Giving Alwy a blow with his sword; upon which Alwy and his followers fall upon the King and the seneschal, and surrounding them on every side, kill them, with many wounds, the crowd gathering so close round them, that their fall cannot be seen.
Re-enter Ethwald, and the crowd opening on each side shows the dead bodies of the King and the Seneschal.
Ethw.
(affecting surprise).
What sight is this?
Ah! ye have gone too far. Who did this deed?

Alwy.
My followers, much enraged at slight offence,
Did fall upon him.

Ethw.
All have their end decreed, and this, alas!
Has been his fated hour.
Come, chiefs and valiant friends, why stand we here
Looking on that which cannot be repair'd?
All honour shall be paid unto the dead.
And, were this deed of any single hand
The willing crime, he should have vengeance too
But let us now our task of night fulfil:
Much have we still to do ere morning dawn.

[Exeunt Ethw. and followers, and the scene closes.

SCENE VII.

A royal apartment: Enter Elburga, with her hair scattered upon her shoulders, and with the action of one in violent grief, followed by Dwina, who seems to be soothing her.
Elb.
Cease, cease! thy foolish kindness soothes me not;
My morning is o'ercast; my glory sunk;
Leave me alone to wring my hands and weep.

Dwi.
O no, my princely mistress! grieve not thus!
Over our heads the blackest clouds do pass
And brighter follow them.

Elb.
No, no, my sky is night! I was a princess,
Almost a queen: in gorgeous pomp beheld,
The public gaze was ever turn'd on me;
Proud was the highest Thane or haughtiest dame
To do my bidding, ev'ry count'nance watch'd
Each changeful glance of my commanding eye,
To read its meaning: now my state is chang'd:
Scoffing and insult and degrading pity
Abide the daughter of a murder'd king.
Heaven's vengeance light upon them all! Begone!
I hate the very light for looking on me!
Begone! and soothe me not!

Dwi.
Forgive me, princess; do not thus despair;
King Oswal's daughter many friends will find.

Elb.
Friends! hold thy peace!—Oh it doth rend my heart!
I have been wont to talk of subjects, vassals,
Dependants, servants, slaves, but not of friends.
Where shall I hide my head?

Dwi.
Surely, dear mistress, with Saint Cuthbert's nuns,
Whose convent by your father's gifts is rich,
You will protection find. There quiet rest,
And holy converse of those pious maids,
After a while will pour into your mind
Soft consolation.

[Putting her hands on Elburga 's soothingly.
Elb.
(pushing her away).
Out upon thee, fool!
Go, speak thy comforts
To spirits tame and abject as thyself:
They make me mad; they make me thus to tear
My scatter'd locks and strew them to the winds. [Tearing her hair distractedly.
Enter a Servant.

(To ser.)
What brings thee here?

Ser.
Ethwald, the king, is at the gate, and asks
To be admitted to your presence, princess.

Elb.
(becoming suddenly calm).
What, Ethwald, sayst thou? sayst thou truly so?

Ser.
Yes, truly, princess.

Elb.
Ethwald, that Thane whom thou dost call the king?

Ser.
Yes, he whom all the states and chiefs of Mercia
Do call the king.

Elb.
He enters not. Tell him I am unwell,
And will not be disturb'd.
[Exit ser.
What seeks he here? Fie, poorly fainting soul!
Rouse! rouse thee up! To all the world beside
Subdued and humbled would I rather be
Than in the eyes of this proud man.

Re-enter Servant.
Ser.
No, he will not depart, but bids me say
The entrance he has begg'd he now commands.
I hear his steps behind me.

Enter Ethwald. Elburga turns away from him proudly.
Ethw.
Elburga, turn and look upon a friend.

Elb.
(turning round haughtily, and looking on him with an assumed expression of anger and scornful contempt).
Usurping rebel, who hast slain thy master;
Take thou a look that well beseems thy worth,
And hie thee hence, false traitor!

Ethw.
Yes, I will hie me hence, and with me lead
A fair and beauteous subject to my will;
That will which may not be gainsaid. For now
High heaven, that hath decreed thy father's fall,
Hath also me appointed king of Mercia,
With right as fair as his: which I'll maintain
And by the proudest in this lordly realm
Will be obey'd, even by thy lofty self.

Elb.
Put shackles on my limbs and o'er my head
Let your barr'd dungeons low'r; then mayst thou say,
“Walk not abroad,” and so it needs must be:
But thinkst thou to subdue, bold as thou art,
The lofty spirit of king Oswal's daughter?
Go, bind the wild winds in thy hollow shield,
And bid them rage no more: they will obey thee.

Ethw.
Yes, proud Elburga, I will shackle thee.
But on the throne of Mercia shalt thou sit,
Not in the dungeon's gloom.
Ay, and albeit the wild winds refuse
To be subjected to my royal will,
The lofty spirit of king Oswal's daughter
I will subdue.

(Taking her hand.)
Elb.
(throwing him off from her vehemently).
Off with those bloody hands that slew my father!
Thy touch is horrid to me! 'tis a fiend's grasp:
Out from my presence! bloody Thane of Mairnieth!

Ethw.
Ay! frown on me, Elburga; proudly frown:
I knew thy haughty spirit, and I lov'd it,
Even when I saw thee first in gorgeous state;
When, bearing high thy stately form, thou stoodst
Like a proud queen, and on the gazing crowd,
Somewhat offended with a late neglect,
Darted thy looks of anger and disdain.
High Thanes and dames shrank from thine eye, whilst I,
Like one who from the mountain's summit sees,
Beneath him far the harmless lightning play,
With smiling admiration mark'd thee well,
And own'd a kindred soul. Each angry flash
Of thy dark eye was loveliness to me.
But know, proud maid, my spirit outmasters thine,
And heedeth not the anger nor the power
Of living thing.

Elb.
Bold and amazing man!

Ethw.
And bold should be the man who weds Elburga.

Elb.
Away! it cannot be, it shall not be!
My soul doth rise against thee, bloody chief,
And bids thy power defiance.

Ethw.
Then art thou mine in truth, for never yet
Did hostile thing confront me unsubdued;
Defy me and thou'rt conquer'd.

Elb.
Thou most audacious chief! it shall not be.

Ethw.
It shall, it must be, maiden, I have sworn it;
And here repeat it on that beauteous hand
Which to no power but with my life I'll yield
[Grasping her hand firmly, which she struggles to free.
Frown not, Elburga! 'tis in vain to strive;
My spirit outmasters thine.

Elb.
Sayst thou to me thou didst not slay my father?
Sayst thou those hands are guiltless of his death?

Ethw.
Thinkst thou I'll plead, and say I have not slain
A weak old man, whose inoffensive mind,
And strong desire to quit the warring world
For quiet religious rest, could be, in truth,
No hindrance to my greatness? were this fitting
In Mercia's king, and proud Elburga's lord?

Elb.
(turning away).
Elburga's lord? Thou art presumptuous, prince:
Go hence, and brave me not.

Ethw.
I will go hence forthwith; and, by my side,
The fair selected partner of my throne
I'll lead, where the assembled chiefs of Mercia
Wait to receive from me their future queen.

Elb.
Distract me not!

Ethw.
Resistance is distraction.
Who ever yet my fixed purpose cross'd?
Did Ethwald ever yield? Come, queen of Mercia!
This firm grasp shall conduct thee to a throne:
[Taking her hand, which she feebly resists.
Come forth, the frowning, haughty bride of Ethwald.

Elb.
Wonderful man!
If hell or fortune fight for thee I know not,
Nothing withstands thy power.

[Exeunt: Ethw. leading off Elb. in triumph, and Dwina following, with her hands and eyes raised to heaven in astonishment.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

An arched passage from a gateway in the royal castle. The sound of warlike music without. Enter Ethelbert and Selred with their followers, as if just come from a long march: enter, by the opposite side, Alwy, upon which they halt, the foremost of the followers but just appearing under the gateway.
Alwy.
Welcome, most valiant chieftains! Fame reports
That crown'd with full success ye are return'd.

Eth.
Good sooth, we boast but little of our arms;
Though Woggarwolfe, our base ignoble spoiler,
Wounded and sorely shent, we've left behind,
Again in cloister'd walls with ghostly men,
Winding his soul, with many a heavy groan,
Into a saintly frame! God speed the work!
We are but just in time to save our halls.

Sel.
It is a shame that such a ruffian thief
Should thus employ the arms of warlike Thanes.

Alwy.
In truth it is, but now there reigns in Mercia
A warlike king, who better knows to deal
With valiant men. The messenger inform'd you?

Sel.
He did; yet, be it own'd, to call him king
Sounds strangely in our ears. How died king Oswal?

Eth.
(to Sel.)
Patience, my friend! good time will show thee all.
Yet pray inform us, Alwy, ere we part,
Where is young Edward? in these late commotions
What part had he?

Alwy.
Would to the holy saints I could inform you!
Reports there are, incongruous and absurd—
Some say, in hunting from his followers stray'd,
Passing at dusk of eve a high-swoln stream,
Therein he perish'd; others do maintain
That, loathing greatness, he conceals himself
In some lone cave: but as I bear a heart
True to King Ethwald and the public weal,
I know of him no more.

Sel.
Thou liest!

Eth.
(pulling back Sel.)
Peace, art thou mad?

Alwy
(pretending not to hear).
What said brave Selred?

Eth.
A hasty exclamation of no meaning.

Alwy.
I must away, and bear the welcome tidings
Of your arrival to the royal ear.

Eth.
But stop, before thou goest I fain would know
How fared Elburga in the passing storm?
Where has she refuge found?

Alwy.
Within these walls; she is the queen of Mercia.

Eth.
I am indebted to thee.

[Exit Alwy.
Sel.
(staring with surprise upon Ethelbert).
What dost thou think of this? Did we hear truly?
To the usurper of her father's crown,
And, if our fears be true, his murd'rer too!
To him! O most unnatural!

Eth.
Ay, so it is. As one, who ventures forth
After an earthquake's awful visitation,
The country round in strange unwonted guise
Beholds; here swelling heights and herby knolls,
Where smok'd the cottage and the white flocks browz'd,
Sunk into turbid pools; there rifted rocks,
With all their shaggy woods upon their sides,
In the low bosom of the flowery vale
Resting uncouthly—even so does he,
Who looks abroad after the storms of state,
Strange changes see; unnatural and strange.

Sel.
It makes my spirit boil—the gentle Edward!
So gently brave!

Eth.
Yes, there is cause of grief
And indignation too: but Ethwald reigns,
Howe'er he gain'd his height, and he possesses
The qualities that suit his lofty station.
With them I fear he has his passions also,
Hostile to public good: be it our part
To use the influence we still retain
O'er his ambitious mind for Mercia's weal!
This is our duty now.

Sel.
I'll take thy counsel.
(To the soldiers.)
Follow, weary comrades.

[Exeunt Eth. and Sel. and their followers, marching across the stage.

SCENE II.

A royal apartment. Elburga, as queen, discovered sitting on a chair of state, with Dwina, ladies, and officers of state attending.
Elb.
We've waited long: how goes the day?
knowst thou?

(To 1st officer.)
1st off.
As comes the light across this arched roof
From those high windows, it should wear, methinks,
Upon noon-day.

Elb.
And the procession to the royal chapel
Should at this hour begin. The king, perchance,
Is with affairs detain'd: go thou and see.
[Exit 1st officer.
I am impatient now.
[Voice heard without.
What voice is that?

First SONG without.
Hark! the cock crows, and the wind blows,
Away, my love, away!
Quick, don thy weeds and tell thy beads,
For soon it will be day.
1st lady.
'Tis sadly wild.

Dwi.
'Tis sad, but wondrous sweet.
Who may it be? List, list! she sings again.

Second SONG without.
Where layst thou thy careless head?
On the cold heath is my bed,
Where the moor-cock shuts his wing,
And the brown snake weaves his ring.
Safe and fearless will I be,
The coiled adder stings not me.
Elb.
(rising, displeased, from her seat).
Call those who wait without. What may this mean?

Enter an Attendant.
Atten.
Pardon, my royal dame! be not offended!
'Tis a poor maid bereaved of her mind.
Rent are her robes, her scatter'd locks unbound,
Like one who long through rugged ways hath stray'd,
Beat with the surly blast; but never yet,
Though all so sorely shent, did I behold
A fairer maid. She aims at no despite:
She's wild, but gentle.

Dwi.
O hark again!

Third SONG without.
[A pause.
Fourth SONG.
Ah, maiden! bear the biting smart,
Nor thus thy loss deplore;
The Thane's fair daughter has his heart,
He will return no more.
1st lady.
'Tis strangely melancholy.

Dwi.
'Tis like the mournful sounds which oftentimes
The midnight watcher, in his lonely tower,
Hears with the wailing blast most sweetly mingled.

Elb.
(to attendant).
Go thou and lead her hither.

Atten.
I will, great queen.—But here she comes unbidden.

Enter Bertha, with a wild unsettled air, and her hair scattered upon her shoulders. The ladies gather about her with curiosity.
1st lady.
How fair she is!

2d lady.
Her eyes of lovely blue,
Gentle, but restless. Dost thou see that glance?
[To 1st lady.
I fear to look upon her.

Dwi.
Fie, fie upon it! press not near her thus;
She seems offended: I will speak to her.
(To Berth.)
Sweet lady, art thou sad?
[Bertha looks steadfastly at her, then drops her head upon her breast, and makes no answer.
We would be kind to thee.

[Berth. then looks more gently on her, but is still silent.
1st lady.
Dost thou not speak, thou who canst sing so well?

Dwi.
Who taught thee those sweet notes?

Berth.
The night was dark: I met spirits on my way:
They sang me sweet songs, but they were sorrowful.

Dwi.
Ah, woe is me! and dost thou wander then,
In the dark night alone, no one to tend thee?

Berth.
When the moon's dark, I follow the night-bird's cry,
And it doth guide my way.—But he'll return,
So do they tell me, when sweet violets blow,
And summer comes again.

Dwi.
And who is he?

Berth.
List, and the winds will tell thee as they pass:
The stilly air will whisper it. But softly,
Tell it to none again. They must not know
How stern he is, for he was gentle once.

Dwi.
A cruel heart had he who could forsake thee!

Ber.
(putting her hand eagerly on Dwina 's mouth).
Hush, hush! we'll not offend him. He is great,
And must not be offended.

Elb.
(coming near her).
What, sayst thou he is great?
Rent are thy weeds, and thin thy ruffled robe:
Why didst thou leave thy home thus unprotected?

Ber.
(turning hastily upon her).
I saw his banner
streaming in the air,
And I did follow it.

Elb.
His banner in the air! What is thy love?

Berth.
(looking fiercely at her).
They say he is a king.

Elb.
(smiling).
Poor maid! 'tis ever thus with such as she;
They still believe themselves of some high state,
And mimic greatness.

Berth.
Thou art a fair dame and a gay—but go;
Take off thine eyes from me; I love thee not.
[Shrinks from Elburga, walking backwards, and looking frowningly at her; then beckoning to Dwina, she speaks in her ear.
They say a royal dame has won his faith,
Stately and proud. But in a gloomy dream
I heard it first, confused and terrible:
And oftimes, since, the fiend of night repeats it,
As on my pressed breast he sits and groans.
I'll not believe it.

Dwi.
What is thy name, sweet lady?

Berth.
(rubbing her hand across her forehead as if trying to recollect).
I had a name that kind friends call'd me by;
And with a blessing did the holy man
Bestow it on me. But I've wander'd far
Through wood and wilds, and strangely on my head
The numbing winds have beat, and I have lost it.
Be not offended with me—
For, lady, thou art gentle, and I fear thee.

[Bowing submissively to Dwina.
Enter Ethelbert.
Eth.
(to Dwina, after looking at Bertha).
What maid is that so haggard and so wild?

Dwi.
A wand'ring maniac, but so fair and gentle
Thou needs must speak to her.

Eth.
(going up to Bertha).
Fair lady, wilt thou suffer—gracious heaven!
What see I here! the sweet and gentle Bertha!
Ah, has it come to this! Alas, alas!
Sweet maiden, dost thou know me?

Berth.
(after looking earnestly at him).
I know thee well enough. They call thee mad;
Thy wild and raving words oft made the ears
Of holy men to tingle.

Eth.
She somewhat glances at the truth. Alas!
I've seen her gay and blooming as the rose,
And cheerful, too, as song of early lark,
I've seen her prattle on her nurse's lap,
Innocent bud! and now I see her thus.

[Weeps.
Berth.
Ah! dost thou weep? are they unkind to thee?
[Shaking her head.
Yes, yes! from out the herd, like a mark'd deer,
They drive the poor distraught. The storms of heaven
Beat on him: gaping hinds stare at his woe;
And no one stops to bid heav'n speed his way.

Eth.
(flourish of trumpets).
Sweet maid, retire.

Berth.
Nay, nay! I will not go: there be without
Those who will frown upon me.

Eth.
(endeavouring to lead her off).
I pray thee be entreated!

[Dwina takes hold of her also to lead her off, but she breaks from them furiously.
Berth.
Ye shall not force me! Wist ye who I am?
The whirlwind in its strength contends with me,
And I o'ermaster it.

Eth.
Stand round her then, I pray you, gentle ladies!
The king must not behold her.

[The ladies gather round Bertha, and conceal her.
Enter Ethwald, followed by Thanes and Attendants.
Ethw.
(after returning the obeisance of the assembly).
This gay and fair attendance on our person,
And on our queen, most honour'd lords and dames,
We much regard; and could my heart express—
[Bertha, hearing his voice, shrieks out.
What cry is that?

Dwi.
Regard it not: it is a wand'ring maid,
Distracted in her mind, who is in search,
As she conceits it, of some faithless lover.
She sings sweet songs of wildest harmony,
And at the queen's command we led her in.

Ethw.
Seeking her love! distracted in her mind!
Have any of my followers wrong'd her? Speak!
If so it be, by righteous heaven I swear!
The man, whoe'er he be, shall dearly rue it.

[Bertha shrieks again, and, breaking through the crowd, runs up to Ethwald. He starts back, and covers his eyes with one hand, whilst she, catching hold of the other, presses it to her breast.
Berth.
I've found thee now, and let the black fiend growl,
I will not part with thee. I've follow'd thee
Through crag and moor and wild. I've heard thy voice
Sound from the dark hill's side, and follow'd thee.
I've seen thee on the gath'ring twilight clouds,
Ride with the stately spirits of the storm.
But thou lookst sternly on me.
O be not angry! I will kneel to thee;
For thou art glorious now, as I am told,
And must have worship.

(Kneeling, and bowing her head meekly to the ground.)
Ethw.
(turning away).
O God! O God! Where art thou, Ethelbert?
Thou mightst have saved me this.

[Looking round, and seeing that Ethelbert weeps, he also becomes softened, and turns to Bertha with great emotion.
Berth.
They say she's fair and glorious: woe is me!
I am but form'd as simple maidens are.
But scorn me not; I have a powerful spell,
A Druid gave it me, which on mine arm
When once enclasp'd, will make me fair as she;
So thou wilt turn to me.

Ethw.
O Ethelbert! I pray thee pity me!
This sight doth move me, e'en to agony.
Remove her hence; but O deal gently with her!

[Ethelbert endeavours again to lead her off, and the ladies crowd about her. She is then carried out, and is heard to scream as they are carrying her.
Ethw.
(in great disorder).
Come, come away! we do but linger here.

[Elburga, who, since Ethwald 's entering, has remained in the background, but agitated with passions, now advances angrily to him
Elb.
So thou hast known this maid?

Ethw.
Fie! speak not to me now.

Elb.
Away, away!
Thou hast lodg'd softer passions in thy breast
Than I have reckon'd on.

Ethw.
(shaking her off).
Fie! turn thy face aside, and shade thine eyes!
That no soft passion in thy bosom lives,
Is thy opprobrium, woman, and thy shame.

Elb.
There are within my breast such thoughts, I trust,
As suit my lofty state.

Ethw.
(aside to Elb.)
Go, heartless pageant, go,
Lead on thy senseless show, and move me not
To do thee some despite.
(Aloud to the ladies.)
Move on, fair dames.
[To Elb., who seems unwilling to go.
The king commands it.

[Exeunt Elburga and ladies.
1st off.
(to Ethw., who stands with his eyes fixed on the ground).
Please you, my lord, but if you move not also,
The ceremony will, in sooth, appear
As marr'd and cut in twain.

Ethw.
What sayst thou, marshal?

1st off.
Please you, my lord, to move?

Ethw.
Ay, thou sayst well: in the soul's agony
A meaner man might turn aside and weep.

[Exit Ethw. with part of his train, the others ranging themselves in order to follow him. A great confusion and noise is then heard without, and a voice calling out “The king is wounded.” The crowd press back again in disorder, and presently re-enter Ethw. supported.
1st off.
My lord, how is it with you?

Ethw.
I fear but ill, my friend. Where is the man
That gave me this fell stroke?

1st off.
I cannot tell: they have surrounded him.

Enter 2d Officer.
2d off.
He is secured.

Ethw.
Is it a Mercian hand?

2d off.
It is, my lord, but of no high degree.
It is the frantic stroke of a poor groom,
Who did his late lord love; and, for that crime,
Last night, with wife and children weeping round him,
Was by your soldiers turn'd into the cold,
Houseless and bare.

Ethw.
Curse on their ruffian zeal!
Torment him not, but let him die in peace.
Would I might say—. I'm very faint, my friends:
Support me hence, I pray you!

[Exeunt, Ethw. supported.

SCENE III.

A royal apartment: an open door in front, showing an inner chamber, in which is discovered Ethwald lying upon a couch, and surrounded with the Thanes and Officers of his court, Selred and Ethelbert standing on each side of him.
Sel.
(after Ethw. has said something to him in a low voice).
He is too much inclosed and longs for air:
He'll breathe more freely in the outer chamber,
Let us remove him.

[They lift him in his couch, and bring him forward to the front of the stage.
1st off.
How are you now, my lord?

Ethw.
Somewhat exhausted: and albeit, good Thanes,
I greatly am indebted to your love,
For a short space I fain would be alone.

1st off.
Farewell! God send your highness rest! meantime
We'll pray for your recovery.

2d off.
And heaven will hear our prayers.
Omnes.
Amen, amen!

Ethw.
Pray heaven to order all things for the weal
Of my good realm, and I shall be well pleased
To live or die. Adieu!
[Exeunt all but Ethw., Selred, and Ethelbert. After a pause, in which Ethw. seems agitated and uneasy.
My dearest Selred, think it not unkind,
But go thou too. [Exit Selred.
[Raising himself on the couch, and taking both the hands of Ethelbert, which he presses in his, looking up in his face expressively for some time before he speaks.

I am oppress'd. To them, even in this state,
I still must be a king: to you, my friend,
Let me put off all seeming and constraint,
And be a poor weak man. (A pause.)
Thou speakest not,
Thy face is sad and solemn. Well I see
Thou lookst upon me as a dying wretch—
There is no hope.

Eth.
Much will it profit thee
To be prepared as though there were no hope;
For if thou liv'st thou'lt live a better man,
And if thou diest, may heav'n accept it of thee!

Ethw.
O that it would! But, my good Ethelbert,
To be thus seized in my high career,
With all my views of glory op'ning round me—
The Western state e'en now invites mine arms.
And half Northumberland, in little time,
Had been to Mercia join'd.

Eth.
Nay, think not now, I pray thee, of these matters!
They mix uncouthly with the pious thoughts
That do become your state.

Ethw.
I know it well;
But they do press so closely on my heart—
O I did think to be remember'd long!
Like those grand visitations of the earth,
That on its alter'd face for ages leave
The traces of their might. Alas, alas!
I am a powerful, but a passing storm,
That soon shall be forgotten!

Eth.
I do beseech thee think of better things!

Ethw.
Thou seest I weep.—Before thee I may weep.
[Dropping his head upon his breast, and groaning deeply.
Long have I toil'd and stain'd my hands in blood
To gain pre-eminence; and now, alas!
Newly arrived at this towering height,
With all my schemes of glory rip'ning round me,
I close mine eyes in darkness, and am nothing.

Eth.
What, nothing sayst thou?

Ethw.
O no, Ethelbert!
I look beyond this world, and look with dread,
Where all for me is fearful and unknown.
Death I have daily braved in fields of fight,
And, when a boy, oft on the air-hung bough
I've fearless trod, beneath me roaring far
The deep swoln floods, with every erring step
Instant destruction. Had I perish'd then—
Would that I had, since it is come to this!

[Raising up his hands vehemently to heaven.
Eth.
Be not so vehement: this will endanger
The little chance thou still mayst have for life.
The God we fear is merciful.

Ethw.
Ay, He is merciful; but may it reach—
O listen to me!—Oswal I have murder'd,
And Edward, brave and gentle—ay, this bites
With a fell tooth!—I vilely have enthrall'd;
Of all his rights deprived. The loving Bertha:
Too well thou knowst what I have been to her—
Ah! thinkest thou a thousand robed priests
Can pray down mercy on a soul so foul?

Eth.
The inward sighs of humble penitence
Rise to the ear of heav'n, when pealed hymns
Are scatter'd with the sounds of common air;
If I indeed may speak unto a king
Of low humility.

Ethw.
Thy words bite keenly, friend. O king me not!
Grant me but longer life, and thou shalt see
What brave amends I'll make for past offences.
Thou thinkest hardly of me; ne'ertheless,
Rough as my warrior's life has been, good thoughts
Have sometimes harbour'd here.
[Putting his hand on his heart.
If I had lived,
It was my full intent that, in my power,
My people should have found prosperity:
I would have proved to them a gen'rous lord.
If I had lived—Ah! thinkst thou, Ethelbert,
There is indeed no hope?

Eth.
I may not flatter you.

Ethw.
(holding up his clasped hands).
Then heaven
have mercy on a guilty soul!
Good Ethelbert, full well thou knowst that I
No coward am: from power of mortal thing
I never shrank. O might I still contend
With spear and helm, and shield and brandish'd blade!
But I must go where spear and helm and shield
Avail not:
Where the skill'd warrior, cased in iron, stands
Defenceless as the poor uncrusted worm.
Some do conceit that disembodied spirits
Have in them more capacity of woe
Than flesh and blood maintain. I feel appall'd:
Yes, Thane of Sexford, I do say appall'd.
For, ah! thou knowst not in how short a space
The soul of man within him may be changed.

Eth.
I know it all too well. But be more calm;
Thou hast a task to do, and short perhaps
May be the time allow'd thee. True repentance
With reparation of offences past
Is ever yok'd. Declare it as thy will
That Edward do succeed unto his rights:
And for poor Bertha, she shall be my charge;
I'll tend and cheer her in my quiet home.

Ethw.
Thou dost prevent my boon: heaven bless thee for it!
I give thee power to do whate'er thou thinkst
I living should have done. 'Tis all I can,
And gracious heaven accept it at my hands!

Eth.
Amen, my friend! I'll faithfully fulfil
The important trust—Ha! how thy visage changes!
Thy mind's exertion has outrun thy strength.
He faints away. Help! who attends without?

Enter Selred with Attendants.
Sel.
Alas, my brother!

[Assisting Eth. to raise Ethw.'s head.
Eth.
Raise him gently, Selred.
For, if that life within him still remain,
It may revive him.

Sel.
Ah, see how changed he is! Alas, my brother!
Pride of my father's house, is this thy end?

Enter Elburga, Nobles, &c.
Elb.
Let me approach unto my royal lord.
Good Ethelbert, thou long hast known thy king,
Look'd he e'er thus before?

[Looking on Ethw.
Eth.
No, royal dame; and yet 'tis but a faint;
See, he revives again.

Ethw.
(opening his eyes).
Who are about me now?

Eth.
The queen and nobles.

Sel.
And Selred, too, is here, my dearest Ethwald!

Ethw.
(holding out his hand to Sel.)
Ay, noble
brother, thou wert ever kind.
Faintness returns again; stand round, my friends,
And hear my dying words. It is my will
That Ethelbert shall, after my decease,
With the concurrence of the nation's council,
The kingdom settle as may best appear
To his experienced wisdom, and retain
Until that settlement the kingly power.
Faintness returns again; I say no more.
Art thou displeas'd, my Selred?

Sel.
(kneeling and kissing his hand).
No, brother,
let your dying will bereave me
E'en of my father's lands, and with my sword
I will maintain it.

Ethw.
Thou art a gen'rous brother; fare thee well!

Elb.
What, is the queen, indeed, so poor a thing
In Mercia's state that she should be o'erpass'd,
Unhonour'd and unmention'd?

Ethw.
(to Elb., waving his hand faintly).
Be at peace!
Thou shalt have all things that become thy state.
(To attendants.)
Lower my head, I pray you.

1st off.
He faints again.

2d off.
He will not hold it long:
The kingdom will be torn with dire contentions.
And the Northumbrian soon will raise his head.

Ethw.
(raising himself eagerly with great vehemence).
Northumberland! Oh I did purpose soon,
With thrice five thousand of my chosen men,
To have compass'd his proud towers.
Death, death! thou art at hand, and all is ended!

[Groans, and falls back upon the couch.
1st off.
This is a faint from which I fear, brave Thanes,
He will awake no more.

2d off.
Sayst thou? go nearer and observe the face.

1st off.
If that mine eyes did ever death behold,
This is a dead man's visage.

2d off.
Let us retire. My good lord Ethelbert,
You shall not find me backward in your service.

1st off.
Nor me.

Omnes.
Nor any of us.

Eth.
I thank you, Thanes! 'Tis fit you should retire;
But Selred and myself, and, of your number,
Two chosen by yourselves, will watch the body.
[To Dwina, who supports Elburga, and seems soothing her.
Ay, gentle Dwina, soothe your royal mistress,
And lead her hence.
[After looking steadfastly on the body.
Think ye, indeed, that death hath dealt his blow?

1st off.
Ah, yes, my lord! that countenance is death!

[Selred kneels by the body, and hides his head.
Eth.
Then peace be to his spirit!
A brave and daring soul is gone to rest.
Thus powerful death th' ambitious man arrests,
In midst of all his great and towering hopes,
With heart high swoln; as the omnipotent frost
Seizes the rough enchafed northern deep,
And all its mighty billows, heav'd aloft,
Boldly commixing with the clouds of heaven,
Are fix'd to rage no more.

[The curtain drops.

2. PART SECOND.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

MEN

• Ethwald.
• Ethelbert.
• Selred.
• Edward.
• Alwy.
• Hereulf.
• Hexulf.
• Ongar.
• Thanes, soldiers, &c. &c

WOMEN

• Elburga.
• Dwina.
• Ladies, attendants, &c. &c.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A gloomy apartment in an old Saxon castle, with small grated windows very high from the ground. Edward is discovered, sitting by a table, and tracing figures with chalk upon it, which he frequently rubs out again; at last, throwing away the chalk, he fixes his eyes upon the ground, and continues for some time in a melancholy musing posture. Enters to him the Keeper, carrying something in his hand.
Edw.
What brings thee now? it surely cannot be
The time of food: my prison hours are wont
To fly more heavily.

Keep.
It is not food: I bring wherewith, my lord,
To stop a rent in these old walls, that oft
Hath griev'd me, when I've thought of you o' nights;
Through it the cold wind visits you.

Edw.
And let it enter! it shall not be stopp'd.
Who visits me besides the winds of heaven?
Who mourns with me but the sad sighing wind?
Who bringeth to mine ear the mimick'd tones
Of voices once belov'd, and sounds long past,
But the light-wing'd and many voiced wind?
Who fans the prisoner's lean and fever'd cheek,
As kindly as the monarch's wreathed brows,
But the free piteous wind?
I will not have it stopp'd.

Keep.
My lord, the winter now creeps on apace:
Hoar frost this morning on our shelter'd fields
Lay thick, and glanced to the up-risen sun,
Which scarce had power to melt it.

Edw.
Glanced to th' up-risen sun! Ay, such fair morns,
When ev'ry bush doth put its glory on,
Like to a gemmed bride! Your rustics, now,
And early hinds, will set their clouted feet
Through silver webs, so bright and finely wrought
As royal dames ne'er fashion'd, yet plod on
Their careless way, unheeding.
Alas, how many glorious things there be
To look upon! Wear not the forests, now,
Their latest coat of richly varied dyes?

Keep.
Yes, good my lord, the cold chill year advances;
Therefore, I pray you, let me close that wall.

Edw.
I tell thee no, man; if the north air bite,
Bring me a cloak.—Where is thy dog to-day?

Keep.
Indeed I wonder that he came not with me
As he is wont.

Edw.
Bring him, I pray thee, when thou com'st again.
He wags his tail and looks up to my face
With the assured kindliness of one
Who has not injur'd me. How goes your sport?

Keep.
Nobly, my lord; and much it pleases me
To see your mind again so sooth'd and calm.

Edw.
I thank thee: knowst thou not that man is form'd
For varied states; to top the throne of power,
Or in a toad's hole squat, shut from the light?
He can bear all things; yet, if thou hast grace,
Lead me for once into the open air
To see the woods, and fields, and country round,
In the fair light of heaven.

Keep.
I must not do it; I am sworn to this;
But all indulgence suited to this state
Of close confinement, gladly will I grant.

Edw.
A faithful servant to a wicked lord,
Whoe'er he be, art thou. Is Oswal dead?
Or does some powerful Thane his power usurp?
[A pause.
Thou wilt not answer me.

[A horn heard without.
Keep.
Ha! who is at the gate that sounds so boldly?
I'll mount this tower and see.
[Exit hastily, and Edward takes his seat again as before. Keep. (without, calling down from the tower).
It is a company of armed men,
Bearing a royal ensign.

Edw.
(starting from his seat).
Then let me rise and brace my spirits up!
They bring me death or freedom! Re-enter Keeper from the tower.

(Eagerly to him.)
What thinkst thou of it?

Keep.
I'll to the gate, and meet them instantly.

[Exit crossing over the stage hastily.
Edw.
(alone).
An it be death they'll do it speedily,
And there's the end of all. Ah, liberty!
An it be thou, enlarger of man's self!—
My heart doth strangely beat as though it were.
I hear their steps already: they come quickly:
Ah! how step they who joyful tidings bear!

Keep.
(calling without to Edw. before they enter).
My lord, my lord! you're a free man again!

Edw.
Am I? great God of heaven, how good
Thou art!

Enter two Thanes, conducted by the Keeper.
Edw.
(accosting them).
Brave men, ye come upon a blessed errand,
And let me bless you.

1st Th.
With joy unto ourselves we bring, my lord,
Your full enlargement from the highest power,
That Mercia now obeys.

Edw.
Not from king Oswal?

2d Th.
No, most noble ethling;
From the Lord Regent Ethelbert we come.

Edw.
Mine uncle, then, is dead.

2d Th.
E'en so, my lord.

Edw.
Ah! good and gentle, and to me most kind!
(Weeps, hiding his face.)
Died he peacefully?

1st Th.
He is at peace.

Edw.
Ye are reserv'd with me.
But ye are wise perhaps; time will declare it.
Give me your hands; ye are my loving friends.
And you, good guardian of this castle, too,
You have not been to me a surly keeper.

[Taking the Thanes warmly by the hand, and afterwards the keeper. [A second horn sounds without very loud.
1st Th.
Ha! at our heels another messenger
So quickly sent!

[Exit keep.
2d Th.
What may this mean?

Edw.
Nay, wait not for him here.
Let us go forth from these inclosing walls,
And meet him in the light and open day.

1st Th.
'Tis one, I hope, sent to confirm our errand:
How came he on so quickly?

Edw.
Thou hopest, Thane? Oh! then thou doubtest too.

[Pauses and looks earnestly in their faces.
Enter Ongar, conducted by the keeper.
1st Th.
(to Ongar).
Thine errand?

Ongar.
That thou shalt know, and the authority
Which warrants it. You here are come, grave Thanes,
Upon the word of a scarce-named regent,
To set this pris'ner free; but I am come
With the sign'd will of Ethwald to forbid it;
And here I do retain him.

(Laying hold of Edw.)
1st Th
Loose thy unhallow'd grasp, thou base deceiver!
Nor face us out with a most wicked tale.
We left the king at his extremity,
And long are this he must have breath'd his last.

Ongar.
Art thou in league with death to know so well
When he perforce must come to sick men's beds?
King Ethwald lives, and will live longer too
Than traitors wish for. Look upon these orders;
Knowest thou not his sign? (Showing his warrant.) (Both Thanes, after reading it.)
'Tis wonderful!

Ongar.
Is it so wonderful
A wounded man, fainting with loss of blood
And rack'd with pain, should seem so near his end,
And yet recover?

2d Th.
Ethwald then lives?

Ongar.
Ay, and long live the king!

Edw.
What words are these?
I am as one who in a misty dream,
Listens to things wild and fantastical,
Which no congruity nor kindred bear
To preconceiv'd impressions.
King Ethwald, said ye? and is Ethwald king?

1st Th.
He did succeed your uncle.

Edw.
And by his orders am I here detain'd?

1st Th.
Even so, my lord.

Edw.
It cannot be. (Turning to 2d Th.)
Thou sayst not so, good Thane?

2d Th.
I do believe it.

Edw.
Nay, nay, ye are deceiv'd.
(Turning to Ongar.)
What sayst thou?
Was I by Ethwald's orders here imprison'd?

Ongar.
Yes, yes; who else had power or will to do it?

Edw.
(holding his clasped hands).
Then hope farewell!
My gleam is dark; my rest is in the dust!
O that an enemy had done this wrong!
But Ethwald, thou, who to my heart wert press'd
As dearest brother never was by him
Who shar'd his mother's breast! Thou in whose fame
I gloried—I who spoke not of my own!—
When shouting crowds proclaim'd thy honour'd name,
I ever join'd with an ungrudging heart:
Yea, such true kindred feeling bore I to him,
E'en at his praise I wept. I pray you, sirs!
(Bursting into tears.)
This hath o'ercome me.
Ongar (to Thanes).
Why do you tarry here?
You've seen my warrant.
Depart with me and leave the prisoner.

1st Th.
What, shall we leave him in this piteous state,
Lone and uncomforted?

Ongar.
It must be so, there is no time to lose.
Come, follow me; my men are at the gate.

[As they are all about to depart, Edward, starting furiously forward to the door, flies upon Ongar, and seizes him by the throat.
Edw.
What! leave me here, fiend! Am I not a man,
Created free to breathe the circling air,
And range the boundless earth as thy base self,
Or thy more treach'rous lord? thou tyrant's slave!

[As he struggles with him, Ongar calls loudly, and immediately the apartment is filled with armed men, who separate them.
Ongar
(to his followers).
Remove that madman to the inner chamber.
Keeper, attend your duty.
(To the Thanes.)
Follow me.

[Exeunt Ongar and Thanes, &c.
Keep.
(to Edw., as some remaining armed men are leading him off by the opposite side).
Alas! alas! my lord, to see you thus,
In closer bondage! Pray! good soldiers, pray!
Let him in this apartment still remain:
He'll be secure; I'll pledge my life—

Edw.
No, no!
Let them enchain me in a pitchy gulph!
'Twere better than this den of weariness,
Which my soul loathes. What care I now for ease?

[Exeunt, Edw. led off by the men.

SCENE II.

An apartment in the royal castle. Enter Ethelbert meeting with Selred, who enters at the same time from a door at the bottom of the stage.
Eth.
How didst thou leave the king?

Sel.
Recovering strength with every passing hour.
His spirits too, that were so weak and gloomy,
From frequent fainting and the loss of blood,
Now buoyant rise, and much assist the cure
Which all regard as wonderful.

Eth.
It has deceiv'd us, yet I've heard of such.

Sel.
Thou lookest sadly on it: how is this?
With little cost of thought I could explain
In any man but thee that cloudy brow;
But well I know thou didst not prize the power
With which thou wert invested.

Eth.
Selred, this hasty gloom will prove too short
To work in Ethwald's mind the change we look'd for.
And yet he promis'd well.

Sel.
Ay, and will well perform; mistrust him not.
I must confess, nature has form'd his mind
Too restless and aspiring: and of late.
Having such mighty objects in his grasp,
He has too reckless been of others' rights.
But, now that all is gain'd, mistrust him not:
He'll prove a noble king; a good one too.

Eth.
Thou art his brother.

Sel.
And thou his friend.

Eth.
I stand reprov'd before thee.
A friend, indeed, should gentler thoughts maintain,
And so I will endeavour.

Sel.
Give me thy valiant hand; full well I know
The heart which it pertains to.

Eth.
I hear him, now, within his chamber stir.

Sel.
Thou'lt move him best alone. God speed thy zeal!
I'll stand by thee the while and mark his eye.

[Eth. remains on the front of the stage whilst Ethwald enters behind him from the door at the bottom of the stage, leaning upon an attendant.
Ethw.
(to Sel. as he goes up to Eth.)
How, Ethelbert, our friend, so deep in thought?
(To the attendant.)
Leave me awhile methinks a brother's arm
Will be a kindlier staff.
[Exit attendant, and he leans upon Sel.
How, Ethelbert, my friend!
What vision from the nether world of sprites
Now rises to thine eyes, thus on the ground
So fix'd and sternly bent?

Eth.
Pardon, my lord! my mind should now be turn'd
To cheerful thoughts, seeing you thus restor'd.
How fares it with you?

Ethw.
E'en as with one, on a rude mountain's side,
Who suddenly in seeming gloom enclos'd
Of drizzly night, athwart the wearing mist
Sees the veil'd sun break forth in heav'n's wide arch,
And showing still a lengthen'd day before him.
As with a trav'ller in a gloomy path,
Whose close o'er-shaded end did scare his fancy
With forms of hidden ill; who, wending on
With fearful steps, before his eyes beholds
On the sudden burst a fair and wide expanse
Of open country, rich in promis'd good.
As one o'erwhelmed in the battle's shock,
Who, all oppress'd and number'd with the slain,
Smother'd and lost, with sudden impulse strengthen'd,
Shakes the foul load of dead men. from his back,
And finds himself again standing erect,
Unmaim'd and vigorous. As one who stood—
But it may tire thee with such ample scope
To tell indeed how it doth fare with me.

Eth.
You truly are from a dark gloom restor'd
To cheerful day; and, if the passing shade
Has well impress'd your mind, there lies before you
A prospect fair indeed. Ay, fairer far
Than that the gloom obscured.

Ethw.
How sayst thou?

Eth.
Did not that seeming cloud of death obscure
To your keen forecast eye tumultuous scenes
Of war and strife, and conquest yet to come,
Bought with your people's blood? but now, my Ethwald,
Your chasten'd mind, so rich in good resolves,
Hath stretch'd before it future prospect fair,
Such as a god might please.

Ethw.
How so, good Ethelbert?

Eth.
And dost thou not perceive? O see before thee
Thy native land, freed from the ills of war,
And hard oppressive power, a land of peace!
Where yellow fields unspoil'd, and pastures green,
Mottled with herds and flocks, who crop secure
Their native herbage, nor have ever known
A stranger's stall, smile gladly.
See through its tufted alleys to heav'n's roof
The curling smoke of quiet dwellings rise:
Whose humble masters, with forgotten spear
Hung on the webbed wall, and cheerful face
In harvest fields embrown'd, do gaily talk
Over their ev'ning meal, and bless king Ethwald,
The valiant yet the peaceful, whose wise rule,
Firm and rever'd, has brought them better days,
Than e'er their fathers knew.

Ethw.
A scene, indeed, fair and desirable;
But, ah, how much confin'd! Were it not work
A god befitting, with exerted strength,
By one great effort to enlarge its bounds,
And spread the blessing wide?

Eth.
(starting back from him).
Ha! there it is! that serpent bites thee still!
O spurn it, strangle it! let it rise no more!

Sel.
(laying his hand affectionately on Ethwald 's breast).
My dearest brother, let not such wild thoughts
Again possess your mind!

Ethw.
Go to! go to! (To Sel.)

But, Ethelbert, thou'rt mad.

(Turning angrily to Eth.)
Eth.
Not mad, my royal friend, but something griev'd
To see your restless mind still bent on that,
Which will to you no real glory bring,
And to your hapless people many woes.

Ethw.
Thou greatly errest from my meaning, friend.
As truly as thyself I do regard
My people's weal, and will employ the power
Heav'n trusts me with, for that important end.
But were it not ignoble to confine
In narrow bounds the blessed power of blessing,
Lest, for a little space, the face of war
Should frown upon us? He who will not give
Some portion of his ease, his blood, his wealth,
For others' good, is a poor frozen churl.

Eth.
Well, then again a simple warrior be,
And thine own ease, and blood, and treasure give:
But whilst thou art a king, and wouldst bestow
On people not thine own the blessed gift
Of gentle rule, earn'd by the public force
Of thine own subjects, thou dost give away
That over which thou hast no right. Frown not:
I will assert it, crown'd and royal lord,
Though to your ears full rude the sound may be.

Ethw.
Chaf'd Thane, be more restrain'd. Thou knowest well,
That, as a warlike chieftain, never yet
The meanest of my soldiers grasp'd his spear
To follow me constrain'd; and as a king,
Thinkst thou I'll be less noble?

Sel.
Indeed, good Ethelbert, thou art too warm;
Thou dealest hardly with him.

Eth.
I know, though peace dilates the heart of man
And makes his stores increase, his count'nance smile,
He is by nature form'd, like savage beasts,
To take delight in war.
'Tis a strong passion in his bosom lodg'd,
For ends most wise, curb'd and restrain'd to be;
And they who for their own designs do take
Advantage of his nature, act, in truth,
Like cruel hinds who spirit the poor cock
To rend and tear his fellow.
O thou! whom I so often in my arms,
A bold and gen'rous boy have fondly press'd,
And now do proudly call my sov'reign lord,
Be not a cruel master! O be gentle!
Spare Mercian blood! Goodness and power make
Most meet companions. The great Lord of all,
Before whose awful presence, short while since,
Thou didst expect to stand, almighty is,
Also most merciful:
And the bless'd Being He to earth did send
To teach our soften'd hearts to call him Father,
Most meekly did confine His heavenly power
Unto the task assign'd Him. Think of this.
O! dost thou listen to me?

Ethw.
(moved and softened).
Yes, good Ethelbert.
Be thou more calm: we will consider of it.
We should desire our people's good, and peace
Makes them to flourish. We confess all this;
But circumstance oft takes away the power
Of acting on it. Still our Western neighbours
Are turbulent and bold; and, for the time,
Though somewhat humbled, they again may rise
And force us to the field.

Sel.
No, fear it not! they are inclin'd to peace;
Tidings I've learnt, sent by a trusty messenger,
Who from Caernarvon is with wondrous speed
But just arriv'd: their valiant prince is dead.
A sudden death has snatch'd him in his prime;
And a weak infant, under tutorage
Of three contending chiefs of little weight,
Now rules the state, who, thou mayst well perceive,
Can give thee no disturbance.

Ethw.
(eagerly, with his eyes lightening up, and his whole frame agitated).
A trusty messenger has told thee this?
O send him to me quickly! still fair fortune
Offers her favours freely. Send him quickly!
Ere yet aware of my returning health,
Five thousand men might without risk be led
E'en to their castle walls.

Eth.
What, meanst thou this?
Uprous'd again unto this dev'lish pitch?
Oh, it is horrid!

Ethw.
(in great heat).
Be restrained, Thane.

Eth.
Be thou restrained, king. See how thou art,
Thus feebly tott'ring on those wasted limbs?
And wouldst thou spoil the weak?

(Observing Ethw. who staggers from being agitated beyond his strength.)
Ethw.
(pushing away Selred, who supports him).
I do not want thine aid: I'm well and vig'rous:
My heart beats strongly, and my blood is warm;
Though there are those who spy my weakness out
To shackle me withal. Ho, thou without!
[Enter his attendant, and Ethw., taking hold of him, walks across the stage; then turning about to Sel. and Eth.
Brother, send quickly for your trusty messenger;
And so, good day. Good morning, Thane of Sexford.

(Looking sternly to Ethelbert.)
Eth.
Good morning, Mercia's king.

[Exeunt by opposite sides, frowningly.

SCENE III.

A grand apartment, with a chair of state. Enter Hexulf and Alwy, engaged in close conversation.
Alwy
(continuing to speak).
Distrust it not;
The very honours and high exaltation
Of Ethelbert, that did your zealous ire
So much provoke, are now the very tools
With which we'll work his ruin.

Hex.
But still proceed with caution; gain the queen;
For she, from ev'ry hue of circumstance,
Must be his enemy.

Alwy.
I have done that already,
By counterfeiting Ethwald's signature
Whilst in that still and deathlike state he lay,
To hinder Ethelbert's rash treach'rous haste
From setting Edward free, I have done that
For which, though Ethwald thanks me, I must needs,
On bended knee, for courtly pardon sue.
The queen I have address'd with humble suit
My cause to plead with her great lord, and she
Will her magnificent and high protection
Give to our party, e'en if on her mind
No other motive press'd.

Hex.
I doubt it not, and yet I fear her spirit,
Proud and aspiring, will desire to rule
More than befits our purpose.

Alwy.
Fear it not.
It is the show and worship of high state
That she delights in, more than real power:
She has more joy in stretching forth her hand
And saying, “I command,” than, in good truth,
Seeing her will obey'd.

Enter Queen, with Dwina and Attendants.
Hex.
Saint Alban bless you, high and royal dame!
We are not here, in an intruding spirit,
Before your royal presence.

Queen.
I thank you, good lord bishop, with your friend.
And nothing doubt of your respect and duty.

Alwy.
Thanks, gracious queen! This good and holy man
Thus far supports me in your royal favour,
Which is the only rock that I would cling to,
Willing to give me friendly countenance.

Queen.
You have done well, good Alwy, and have need
Of thanks more than of pardon; nevertheless,
If any trouble light on thee for this,
A royal hand shall be stretch'd forth to save you,
Whom none in Mercia, whosoe'er they be,
Will venture to oppose. I will protect thee,
And have already much inclin'd the king
To favour thee.

Alwy
(kneeling and kissing her hand).
Receive my humble thanks, most honour'd queen.
My conscience tells me I have merited,
Of you and of the king, no stern rebuke;
But that dark cunning Thane has many wiles
To warp men's minds e'en from their proper good.
He has attempted, or report speaks falsely,
To lure King Ethwald to resign his crown.
What may he not attempt! it makes me shrink!
He trusts his treasons to no mortal men:
Fiends meet him in his hall at dead of night,
And are his counsellors.

Queen
(holding up her hands).
Protect us, heaven!

Hex.
Saint Alban will protect you, gracious queen.
Trust me, his love for pious Oswal's daughter
Will guard you in the hour of danger. Hark!
The king approaches.

[Flourish of trumpets.
Queen.
Yes, at this hour he will receive in state
The bold address of those seditious Thanes,
Clam'ring for peace, when fair occasion smiles,
And beckons him to arm and follow her.

Hex.
We know it well; of whom Thane Ethelbert,
In secret is the chief, although young Hereulf
By him is tutor'd in the spokesman's office.

Enter Ethwald, attended by many Thanes and Officers of the Court, &c.
Queen
(presenting Alwy to Ethw.).
My lord, a humble culprit at your feet,
Supported by my favour, craves forgiveness.

[Alwy kneels, and Ethw. raises him graciously.
Ethw.
I grant his suit, supported by the favour
Of that warm sense I wear within my breast Of his well-meaning zeal.
(Looking contemptuously at the Queen, who turns haughtily away.)
But wherefore, Alwy,
Didst thou not boldly come to me at first
And tell thy fault? Might not thy former services
Out-balance well a greater crime than this?

Alwy.
I so, indeed, had done, but a shrewd Thane,
Of mind revengeful, and most penetrating,
Teaches us caution in whate'er regards
His dealings with the state. I fear the man.

Ethw.
And wherefore dost thou fear him?

Alwy
(mysteriously).
He has a cloudy brow, a stubborn gait;
His dark soul is shut up from mortal man,
And deeply broods upon its own conceits
Of right and wrong.

Hex.
He has a soul black with foul atheism
And heresies abominable. Nay,
He has a tongue of such persuasive art,
That all men listen to him.

Queen
(eagerly).
More than men:
Dark spirits meet him at the midnight hour,
And horrid converse hold.

Ethw.
No, more I pray you! Ethelbert I know.

Queen.
Indeed, indeed, my lord, you know him not!

Ethw.
Be silent, wife!
(Turning to Hex. and Al.)
My tried and faithful Alwy,
And pious Hexulf, in my private closet
We further will discourse on things of moment,
At more convenient time.
The leagued Thanes advance. Retire, Elburga:
Thou hast my leave. I gave thee no command
To join thy presence to this stern solemnity.
Soft female grace adorns the festive hall,
And sheds a brighter lustre on high days
Of pageant state; but in an hour like this,
Destin'd for gravest audience, 'tis unmeet.

Queen.
What, is the queen an empty bauble, then,
To gild thy state withal?

Ethw.
The queens of Mercia, first of Mercian dames,
Still fair example give of meek obedience
To their good lords. This is their privilege.
[Seeing that she delays to go.
It is my will. A good day to your highness.

Queen
(aside as she goes off).
Be silent, wife! this Mollo's son doth say
Unto the royal offspring of a king.

[Exit Queen, frowning angrily, and followed by Dwina and attendants. The Thanes, who entered with Ethwald, and during his conversation with Alwy, &c. had retired to the bottom of the stage, now come forward.
Ethw.
Now wait we for those grave and sluggish chiefs,
Who would this kingdom, fam'd for warlike Thanes,
Change into mere provision-land to feed
A dull unwarlike race.

Alwy.
Ay, and our castles,
Whose lofty walls are darken'd with the spoils
Of glorious war, to barns and pinning folds,
Where our brave hands, instead of sword and spear,
The pruning knife and shepherd's staff must grasp.

Hex.
True; sinking you, in such base toils unskill'd,
Beneath the wiser carl. This is their wish,
But heav'n and our good saint will bring to nought
Their wicked machinations.

Enter an Officer of the castle.
Off.
Th' assembled Thanes, my lord, attend without.

Ethw.
Well, let them enter.
Our seat beneath us will not shake, I trust,
[Exit off.
Being so fenced round.

(Taking his seat, and bowing courteously with a smiling countenance to the Chiefs, &c. who range themselves near him.)
Enter several Thanes, with Hereulf at their head, and presently after followed by Ethelbert.
Her.
(stretching out his hand with respectful dignity).
Our king and sire, in true and humble duty
We come before you, earnestly entreating
Your royal ear to our united voice.

Ethw.
Mine ear is ever open'd to the words
Of faithful duty.

Her.
We are all men, who in th' embattled field
Have by your side the front of danger braved,
With greater lack of prudence than of daring;
And have opposed our rough and scarred breasts
To the fell push of war, with liberality
Not yielding to the bravest of your Thanes,
The sons of warlike sires. But we are men,
Who in our cheerful halls have also been
Lords of the daily feast; where, round our boards,
The hoary headed warrior, from the toil
Of arms releas'd, with the cheer'd stranger smiled:
Who in the humble dwellings of our hinds
Have seen a numerous and hardy race,
Eating the bread of labour cheerfully,
Dealt to them with no hard nor churlish hand.
We, therefore, stand with graceful boldness forth
The advocates of those who wish for peace.
Worn with our rude and long continued wars,
Our native land wears now the alter'd face
Of an uncultur'd wild. To her fair fields,
With weeds and thriftless docks now shagged o'er,
The aged grandsire, bent and past his toil,
Who in the sunny nook had plac'd his seat,
And thought to toil no more, leads joyless forth
His widow'd daughters and their orphan train,
The master of a silent, cheerless band.
The half-grown stripling, urged before his time
To manhood's labour, steps, with feeble limbs
And sallow cheek, around his unroof'd cot.
The mother on her last remaining son
With fearful bodings looks. The cheerful sound
Of whistling ploughmen, and the reaper's song,
And the flail's lusty stroke is heard no more.
The youth and manhood of our land are laid
In the cold earth, and shall we think of war?
O, valiant Ethwald! listen to the calls
Of gentle pity, in the brave most graceful,
Nor, for the lust of more extended sway,
Shed the last blood of Mercia. War is honourable
In those who do their native rights maintain;
In those whose swords an iron barrier are
Between the lawless spoiler and the weak:
But is in those who draw th' offensive blade
For added power or gain, sordid and despicable,
As meanest office of the worldly churl.

Ethw.
Chiefs and assembled Thanes, I much commend
The love you bear unto your native land.
Shame to the son nurs'd on her gen'rous breast
Who loves her not! and be assured that I,
Her reared child, her soldier, and her king,
In true and warm affection yield to none
Of all who have upon her turfy lap
Their infant gambols held. To you her weal
Is gain and pleasure; glory 'tis to me.
To you her misery is loss and sorrow;
To me disgrace and shame. Of this be satisfied;
I feel her sacred claims, which these high ensigns
Have fastened on me, and I will fulfil them:
But for the course and manner of performance,
Be that unto the royal wisdom left,
Strengthen'd by those appointed by the state
To aid and counsel it. Ye have our leave,
With all respect and favour to retire.

Her.
We will retire, King Ethwald, as becomes
Free, independent Thanes, who do of right
Approach or quit at will the royal presence,
And lacking no permission.

Alwy.
What, all so valiant in this princely hall,
Ye who would shrink from the fair field of war,
Where soldiers should be bold?

Her.
(laying his hand on his sword).
Thou liest, mean boastful hireling of thy lord,
And shalt be punish'd for it.

1st Th.
(of Ethwald 's side).
And dar'st thou threaten, mouth of bold sedition?
We will maintain his words.

[Draws his sword, and all the Thanes on the King's side do the same. Hereulf and the Thanes of his side also draw their swords.
1st Th.
(of Hereulf 's side).
Come on, base dealers in your country's blood.

1st Th.
(of Ethwald 's side).
Have at ye, rebel cowards!

Ethw.
(rising from his seat, and standing between the two parties in a commanding posture).
I do command you: peace and silence, chiefs!
He who with word or threat'ning gesture dares
The presence of his king again to outrage,
I put without the covert of the law,
And on the instant punish.

[They all put up their swords, and Ethwald, after looking round him for some moments with commanding sternness, walks off majestically, followed by his Thanes.
Eth.
(casting up his eyes to heaven as he turns to follow Hereulf and his party).
Ah, Mercia,
Mercia! on red fields of carnage
Bleed thy remaining sons, and carrion birds
Tear the cold limbs that should have turn'd thy soil.

[Exeunt the two different parties by opposite sides.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A small cavern, in which is discovered a wizard, sitting by a fire of embers, baking his scanty meal of parched corn, and counting out some money from a bag; a book and other things belonging to his art are strewed near him on the ground.
Wiz.
(alone).
Thanks to the restless soul of Mollo's son!
Well thrives my trade. Here, the last hoarded coin
Of the spare widow, trembling for the fate
Of her remaining son, and the gay jewel
Of fearful maid, who steals by fall of eve,
With muffled face, to learn her warrior's doom,
Lie in strange fellowship; so doth misfortune
Make strange acquaintance meet. Enter a Scout.

Brother, thou com'st in haste; what news, I pray?

Scout.
Put up thy book, and bag, and wizard's wand:
This is no time for witchery and wiles.
Thy cave, I trow, will soon be fill'd with those,
Who are by present ills too roughly shent
To look through vision'd spells on those to come.

Wiz.
What thou wouldst tell me, tell in plainer words.

Scout.
Well, plainly then, Ethwald, who thought full surely
The British, in their weak-divided state,
To the first onset of his arms would yield
Their ill-defended towers, has found them strengthen'd
With aid from Wessex. and unwillingly
Led back with cautions skill the Mercian troops;
Meaning to tempt the foe, as it is thought,
To follow him into our open plains,
Where they must needs with least advantage fight.

Wiz.
Who told thee this?

Scout.
Mine eyes have seen them. Scarcely three miles off,
The armies, at this moment, are engaged
In bloody battle. On my way I met
A crowd of helpless women, from their homes
Who fly with terror, each upon her back
Bearing some helpless babe or valued piece
Of household goods snatch'd up in haste. I hear
Their crowding steps e'en now within your cave:
They follow close behind.

Enter a crowd of women, young and old, some leading children and carrying infants on their backs or in their arms, others carrying bundles and pieces of household stuff.
Wiz.
Who are ye, wretched women,
Who, all so pale and haggard, bear along
Those hapless infants, and those seeming wrecks,
From desolation saved? What do you want?

1st wom.
Nought but the friendly shelter of your cave,
For now or house, or home, or blazing hearth,
Good wizard. we have none.

Wiz.
And are the armies then so near your dwellings?

1st wom.
Ay, round them, in them the loud battle clangs.
Within our very walls fierce spearmen push,
And weapon'd warriors cross their clashing blades.

2d wom.
Ah, woe is me! our warm and cheerful hearths,
And rushed floors, whereon our children play'd,
Are now the bloody lair of dying men.

Old wom.
Ah, woe is me! those yellow thatched roofs,
Which I have seen these sixty years and ten,
Smoking so sweetly 'midst our tufted thorns,
And the turf'd graves wherein our fathers sleep!

Young wom.
Ah, woe is me! my little helpless babes!
Now must some mossy rock or shading tree
Be your cold home, and the wild haws your food.
No cheerful blazing fire and seething pot
Shall now, returning from his daily toil,
Your father cheer! if that, if that indeed
Ye have a father still.

[Bursting into tears.
3d wom.
Alack, alack! of all my goodly stuff
I've saved but only this! my winter's webs,
And all the stores that I so dearly saved!
I thought to have them to my dying day!

Enter a young man leading in an idiot.
Young wom.
(running up to him).
Ah, my dear Swithick! art thou safe indeed?
Why didst thou leave me?

Young man.
To save our idiot brother, seest thou here?
I could not leave him in that pitiless broil.

Young wom.
Well hast thou done! poor helpless Balderkin!
We've fed thee long, unweeting of our care,
And in our little dwelling still thou'st held
The warmest nook; and wheresoe'er we be,
So shalt thou still, albeit thou knowst it not.

Enter man carrying an old man on his back.
Young man.
And see here, too, our neighbour Edwin comes,
Bearing his bed-rid father on his back.
Come in, good man. How dost thou, aged neighbour?
Cheer up again! thou shalt be shelter'd still;
The wizard has receiv'd us.

Wiz.
True, good folks;
I wish my means were better for your sakes.
But we are crowded here; that winding passage
Leads us into an inner cave full wide,
Where we may take our room and freely breathe;
Come, let us enter there.

[Exeunt, all following the wizard into the inner cave.

SCENE II.

A field of battle strewed with slain, and some people seen upon the background searching amongst the dead bodies. Enter Hereulf and Ethelbert.
Her.
(stopping short, and holding up his hands).
Good mercy! see at what a bloody price
Ethwald this doubtful victory has purchased,
That, in the lofty height to which he climbs,
Will be a little step of small advantage.

Eth.
(not attending to him, and after gazing for some time on the field).
So thus ye lie, who, with the morning sun,
Rose cheerily, and girt your armour on
With all the vigour, and capacity,
And comeliness of strong and youthful men.
Ye also, taken in your manhood's wane,
With grizzled pates, from mates, whose wither'd hands
For some good thirty years had smooth'd your couch:
Alas! and ye whose fair and early growth
Did give you the similitude of men
Ere your fond mothers ceas'd to tend you still,
As nurslings of their care, ye lie together!
Alas! alas! and many now there be,
Smiling and crowing on their mother's breast,
Twining, with all their little infant ways,
Around her hopeful heart, who shall like these,
Be laid i' the dust.

Her.
Ay, so it needs must be, since Mollo's son
Thinks Mercia all too strait for his proud sway.
But here come those who search among the dead
For their lost friends; retire, and let us mark them.

[They withdraw to one side.
Enter two Ceorls, meeting a third, who enters by the opposite side.
1st Ceorl.
(to 3d).
Thou hast been o'er the field?

3d Ceorl.
I have, good friend.

2d Ceorl.
Thou hast seen a rueful sight.

3d Ceorl.
Yes, I have seen that which no other sight
Can from my fancy wear. Oh! there be some
Whose writhed features, fix'd in all the strength
Of grappling agony, do stare upon you,
With their dead eyes half open'd.—
And there be some, struck through with bristling darts,
Whose clenched hands have torn the pebbles up;
Whose gnashing teeth have ground the very sand.
Nay; some I've seen among those bloody heaps,
Defaced and 'reft e'en of the form of men,
Who in convulsive motion yet retain
Some shreds of life more horrible than death;
I've heard their groans, oh, oh!

(A voice from the ground.)
Baldwick!

3d Ceorl.
What voice is that? it comes from some one near.

1st Ceorl.
See, yon stretch'd body moves its bloody hand:
It must be he.

(Voice again.)
Baldwick!

3d Ceorl
(going up to the body from whence the voice came).
Who art thou, wretched man? I know thee not.

Voice.
Ah, but thou dost! I have sat by thy fire,
And heard thy merry tales. and shared thy meal.

3d Ceorl.
Good holy saints! and art thou Athelbald?
Woe! woe is me to see thee in such case!
What shall I do for thee?

Voice.
If thou hast any love or mercy in thee,
Turn me on my face that I may die;
For lying thus, seest thou this flooded gash?
The glutting blood so bolsters up my life
I cannot die.

3d Ceorl.
I will, good Athelbald. Alack the day!
That I should do for thee so sad a service!

[Turns the soldier on his face.
Voice.
I thank thee, friend, farewell!

[Dies.
3d Ceorl.
Farewell! farewell! a merry soul thou wert,
And sweet thy ploughman's whistle in our fields.

2d Ceorl
(starting with horror).
Good heaven forefend! it moves!

1st Ceorl.
What dost thou see?

2d Ceorl.
Look on that bloody corse, so smear'd and mangled,
That it has lost all form of what it was;
It moves! it moves! there is life in it still.

1st Ceorl.
Methought it spoke, but faint and low the sound.

3d Ceorl.
Ha! didst thou hear a voice? we'll go to it.
Who art thou? Oh! who art thou?
[To a fallen warrior, who makes signs to him to pull something from his breast.
Yes, from thy breast; I understand the sign.
[Pulling out a band or 'kerchief from his breast.
It is some maiden's pledge.

Fallen warrior
(making signs).
Upon mine arm,
I pray thee, on mine arm.

3d Ceorl.
I'll do it, but thy wounds are past all binding.

Warrior.
She who will search for me doth know this sign.

3d Ceorl.
Alack, alack: he thinks of some sad maid!
A rueful sight she'll see! He moves again:
Heaven grant him peace! I'd give a goodly sum
To see thee dead, poor wretch!

Enter a woman, wailing and wringing her hands.
2d Ceorl.
Ha! who comes wailing here?

3d Ceorl.
Some wretched mother who has lost her son:
I met her searching midst the farther dead,
And heard her piteous moan.

Mother.
I rear'd him like a little playful kid,
And ever by my side, where'er I went,
He blithely trotted. And full soon, I ween,
His little arms did strain their growing strength
To bear my burden. Ay, and long before
He had unto a stripling's height attain'd,
He ever would my widow's cause maintain
With all the steady boldness of a man.
I was no widow then.

2d Ceorl.
Be comforted, good mother.

Mother.
What sayst thou to me? Knowst thou where he lies?
If thou hast kindness in thee, tell me truly;
For dead or living still he is mine all,
And let me have him.

3d Ceorl
(aside to 2d).
Lead her away, good friend; I know her now.
Her boy is lying with the farther dead,
Like a fell'd sapling: lead her from the field.

[Exeunt mother and 2d Ceorl.
1st Ceorl.
But who comes now, with such distracted gait,
Tossing her snowy arms unto the wind,
And gazing wildly o'er each mangled corse?

Enter a young woman, searching distractedly amongst the dead.
Young wom.
No, no! thou art not here! thou art not here!
Yet, if thou be like these, I shall not know thee.
Oh! if they have so gash'd thee o'er with wounds,
And marr'd thy comely form! I'll not believe it.
Until these very eyes have seen thee dead,
These very hands have press'd on thy cold heart,
I'll not believe it.

3d Ceorl.
Ah, gentle maiden! many a maiden's love,
And many a goodly man lies on this field.

Young wom.
I know, too true it is, but none like him.
Liest thou, indeed, amongst those grisly heaps?
O thou! who ever wert of all most fair!
If heav'n hath suffer'd this, amen, amen!
Whilst I have strength to crawl upon the earth,
I'll search thee out, and be where'er thou art,
Thy mated love, e'en with the grisly dead.

[Searching again amongst the dead, she perceives the band round the arm of the fallen warrior, and uttering a loud shriek, falls senseless upon the ground. The Ceorls run to her assistance, with Eth. and Her. who come forward from the place they had withdrawn to: Her. clenches his hand, and mutters curses upon Mollo 's son, as he crosses the stage. The scene closes.

SCENE III.

A castle not far from the field of battle. Enter Ethwald and Alwy, talking as they enter.
Ethw.
(calling angrily to some one off the stage).
And see they do not linger on the road,
With laggard steps; I will brook no delay.

(To Alwy.) Why, even my very messengers, of late Slothful and sleepy-footed have become: They too must cross my will. [Throws himself upon a seat and sits for some time silent and gloomy.
Alwy.
Your highness seems disturb'd.
What though your arms, amidst those British hills,
Have not, as they were wont, victorious prov'd,
And home retreating, even on your own soil,
You've fought a doubtful battle: luckless turns
Will often cross the lot of greatest kings;
Let it not so o'ercome your noble spirit.

Ethw.
Thinkest thou it o'ercomes me?
[Rising up proudly.
Thou judgest poorly. I am form'd to yield
To no opposed pressure, nor my purpose
With crossing chance or circumstance to change.
I in my march, to this attained height
Have moved still with an advancing step,
Direct and onward;
But now the mountain's side more rugged grows,
And he who would the cloudy summit gain,
Must oft into its cragged rents descend
The higher but to mount.

Alwy.
Or rather say, my lord, that having gain'd
Its cloudy summit, there you must contend
With the rude tempests that do beat upon it.

Ethw.
(smiling contemptuously).
Is this thy fancy?
Are thy thoughts of Ethwald
So poorly limited, that thou dost think
He has already gain'd his grandeur's height?
Know that the lofty point which oft appears,
To him who stands beneath, the mountain's top,
Is to the daring climber who hath reach'd it
Only a breathing place, from whence he sees
Its real summit, bright and heav'n-illum'd,
Towering majestic, grand, above him far,
As is the lofty spot on which he stands
To the dull plain below.
The British once subdued, Northumberland,
Thou seest well, could not withstand our arms.
It too must fall; and with such added strength,
What might not be achiev'd? Ay, by this arm!
All that the mind suggests, even England's crown,
United and entire. Thou gazest on me.
I know full well the state is much exhausted
Of men and means; and those curs'd Mercian women
To cross my purposes, with hag-like spite,
Do nought but females bear. But I will onward.
Still conscious of its lofty destination,
My spirit swells, and will not be subdued.

Alwy.
I, chidden, bow, and yield with admiration
Unto the noble grandeur of your thoughts.
But lowering clouds arise; events are adverse;
Subdue your secret enemies at home,
And reign securely o'er the ample realm
You have so bravely won.

Ethw.
What! have I through the iron fields of war
Proudly before th' admiring gaze of men,
Unto this point with giant steps held on,
Now to become a dwarf? Have I this crown
In bloody battles won, mocking at death,
To wear it now as those to whom it comes
By dull and leaden-paced inheritance;
As the dead shepherd's scrip and knotted crook
Go to his milk-fed son? Like those dull images,
On whose calm, tamed brows, the faint impression
Of far preceding heroes faintly rests,
As the weak colours of a fading rainbow
On a spent cloud!
I'd rather in the centre of the earth
Inclosed be, to dig my upward way
To the far distant light, than stay me thus,
And, looking round upon my bounded state,
Say, this is all. No; lower as it may,
I'll to the bold aspirings of my mind
Still steady prove, whilst that around my standard
Harness doth clatter, or a falchion gleam.

Alwy.
What boot the bold aspirings of the great,
When secret foes beneath his footsteps work
Their treach'rous mine?

Ethw.
Ay, thou before hast hinted of such foes.

Alwy.
Fear for your safety, king, may make me err:
But these combined chiefs, it is full plain,
Under the mask of zeal for public good,
Do court with many wiles your people's hearts;
Breathing into their ears the praise of peace,
Yea, and of peaceful kings. The thralled Edward,
Whose prison-tower stands distant from this castle
But scarce a league—

Ethw.
(starting).
Is it so near us?

Alwy.
It is, my lord.
Nor is he so forgotten in the land,
But that he still serves their dark purpose well.
An easy gentle prince—so brave, yet peaceful—
With such impressions clogg'd your soldiers fight,
And therefore 'tis that with a feeble foe
Ethwald fights doubtful battles.

Ethw.
Thou art convinced of this?

Alwy.
Most perfectly.

Ethw.
I too have had such thoughts, and have repress'd them.

Alwy.
Did not those base petitioners for peace
Withhold their gather'd forces, till beset
On ev'ry side they saw your little army,
Already much diminish'd? then came they,
Like heaven-commission'd saviours, to your aid,
And drew unto themselves the praise of all.
This plainly speaks, your glory with disgrace
They fain would dash, to set their idol up;
For well they think, beneath the gentle Edward
To lord it proudly, and his gen'rous nature
Has won their love and pity. Ethelbert
Now that such fair occasion offers to them,
The prisoner's escape may well effect:
He lacks not means.

Ethw.
(after a thoughtful pause).
Didst thou not say, that castle's foggy air,
And walls with dampness coated, to young blood
Are hostile and creative of disease?
In close confinement he has been full long;
Is there no change upon him?

Alwy.
Some hardy natures will resist all change.

[A long pause, in which Ethwald seems thoughtful and disturbed.
Ethw.
(abruptly).
Once in the roving fantasies of night,
Methought I slew him.

Alwy.
Dreams, as some think, oft show us things to come.

[Another long pause, in which Ethwald seems greatly disturbed, and stands fixed to one spot, till catching Alwy 's eye fastened steadfastly upon his, he turns from him abruptly, and walks to the bottom of the stage with hasty strides. Going afterwards to the door, he turns suddenly round to Alwy just as he is about to go out.
Ethw.
What Thane was he, who, in a cavern'd vault,
His next of kin so long imprison'd kept,
Whilst on his lands he liv'd?

Alwy.
Yes, Ruthal's Thane he was; but dearly he
The dark contrivance rued; fortune at last
The weary thrall reliev'd, and ruin'd him.

Ethw.
(agitated).
Go where thy duty calls thee; I will in:
My head feels strangely; I have need of rest

[Exit.
Alwy
(looking after him with a malicious satisfaction).
Ay, dark perturbed thoughts will be thy rest.
I see the busy workings of thy mind.
The gentle Edward has not long to mourn
His earthly thraldom. I have done my task,
And soon shall be secure; for while he lives,
And Ethelbert, who hates my artful rise,
I live in jeopardy.

[Exit.

SCENE IV

A small dark passage. Enter Ethwald with a lamp in his hand: enter at the same time, by the opposite side, a domestic officer; they both start back on seeing one another.
Ethw.
Who art thou?

Off.
Baldwin, my lord. But mercy on my sight,
Your face is strangely alter'd. At this hour
Awake, and wandering thus!—Have you seen aught?

Ethw.
No, nothing. Knowst thou which is Alwy's chamber?
I would not wake my grooms.

Off.
It is that farther door; I'll lead you to it.

[Pointing off the stage.
Ethw.
No, friend, I'll go myself. Good rest to
thee.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A small dark chamber, with a low couch near the front of the stage, on which Alwy is discovered asleep. Enter Ethwald with a haggard countenance, bearing a lamp.
Ethw.
He sleeps—I hear him breathe—he soundly sleeps,
Seems not this circumstance to check my purpose,
And bid me still to pause?
(Setting down the lamp.)
But wherefore pause?
This deed must be, or, like a scared thief
Who starts and trembles o'er his grasped store
At ev'ry breezy whisper of the night,
I now must wear this crown, which I have bought
With brave men's blood, in fields of battle shed.
Ah! would that all it cost had there been shed!
This deed must be; for, like a haggard ghost
His image haunts me wheresoe'er I move,
And will not let me rest.
His love hath been to me my bosom's sting;
His gen'rous trust hath gnaw'd me like a worm.
Oh! would a swelt'ring snake had wreath'd my neck
When first his arms embraced me!
He is by fortune made my bane, my curse,
And, were he gentle as the breast of love,
I needs must crush him.
Prison'd or free, where'er he breathes, lives one
Whom Ethwald fears. Alas! this thing must be,
From th' imaged form of which I still have shrunk,
And started back as from my fancy's fiend.
The dark and silent cope of night is o'er us,
When vision'd horrors, through perturbed sleep,
Harden to deeds of blood the dreamer's breast;
When from the nether world fell demons rise
To guide with lurid flames the murd'rer's way.
I'll wake him now; should morning dawn upon me,
My soul again might from its purpose swerve.
(In a loud energetic voice.)
Alwy, awake! sleepest thou? sleepest thou, Alwy?
(Alwy wakes.)
Nay, rouse thyself, and be thou fully waking.
What I would say must have thy mind's full bent;
Must not be spoken to a drowsy ear.

Alwy
(rising quickly).
I fully am awake; I hear, I see,
As in the noon of day.

Ethw.
Nay, but thou dost not.
Thy garish eye looks wildly on the light,
Like a strange vistor.

Alwy.
So do the eyes of one pent in the dark,
When sudden light breaks on them, though he slept not.
But why, my lord, at this untimely hour,
Are you awake, and come to seek me here?

Ethw.
Alwy, I cannot sleep: my mind is toss'd
With many warring thoughts. I am push'd on
To do the very act from which my soul
Has still held back: fate doth compel me to it.

Alwy.
Being your fate, who may its power resist?

Ethw.
E'en call it so, for it, in truth, must be.
Knowst thou one who would do a ruthless deed,
And do it pitifully?

Alwy.
He who will do it surest, does it best!
And he who surely strikes, strikes quickly too,
And therefore pitifully strikes. I know
A brawny ruffian, whose firm clenched gripe
No struggles can unlock; whose lifted dagger,
True to its aim, gives not a second stroke!

Ethw.
(covering his face hastily).
Oh! must it needs be so?
(Catching Alwy eagerly by the arm.)
But hark thee well!
I will have no foul butchery done upon him.

Alwy.
It shall be done, e'en to the smallest tittle,
As you yourself shall order.

Ethw.
Nay, nay! do thou contrive the fashion of it,
I've done enough.

Alwy.
But, good my lord! cast it not from you thus:
There must be warrant and authority
For such a deed, and strong protection too.

Ethw.
Well, well, thou hast it all: thou hast my word.

Alwy.
Ay, but the murder'd corse must be inspected,
That no deceit be fear'd, nor after doubts;
Nor bold impostors rising in the North,
Protected by your treach'rous Thanes, and plum'd,
To scare you afterwards with Edward's name.

Ethw.
Have not thine eyes on bloody death oft look'd?
Do it thyself.

Alwy.
If you, my lord, will put this trust in me,
Swear that when after-rumours shall arise,
As like there may, your faith will be unshaken.

Ethw.
Yes; I will truly trust thee—
(Vehemently, after a short pause.)
No, I will not!
I'll trust to no man's vision but mine own.
Is the moon dark to-night?

Alwy.
It is, an please you.

Ethw.
And will be so to-morrow?

Alwy.
Yes, my lord.

Ethw.
When all is still in sleep—I hear a noise.

Alwy.
Regard it not, it is the whisp'ring winds
Along those pillar'd walls.

Ethw.
It is a strange sound, though. Come to my chamber,
I will not here remain: come to my chamber,
And do not leave me till the morning break.
I am a wretched man!

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A gloomy vaulted apartment in an old castle, with no windows to it, and a feeble light burning in one corner. Enter Edward from a dark recess near the bottom of the stage, with slow pensive steps, frequently stopping as he advances, and remaining for some time in a thoughtful posture.
Edw.
Doth the bright sun from the high arch of heaven
In all his beauteous robes of flecker'd clouds,
And ruddy vapours, and deep glowing flames,
And softly varied shades, look gloriously?
Do the green woods dance to the wind; the lakes
Cast up their sparkling waters to the light?
Do the sweet hamlets in their bushy dells
Send winding up to heaven their curling smoke
On the soft morning air?
Do the flocks bleat, and the wild creatures bound
In antic happiness, and mazy birds
Wing the mid air in lightly skimming bands?
Ay, all this is; all this men do behold;
The poorest man. Even in this lonely vault,
My dark and narrow world, oft do I hear
The crowing of the cock so near my walls,
And sadly think how small a space divides me
From all this fair creation.
From the wide spreading bounds of beauteous nature,
I am alone shut out; I am forgotten.
Peace, peace! He who regards the poorest worm
Still cares for me, albeit He shends me sorely.
This hath its end. Perhaps, small as these walls,
A bound unseen divides my dreary state
From a more beauteous world; that world of souls,
Fear'd and desir'd by all: a veil unseen
Which soon shall be withdrawn.
[Casts up his eyes to heaven, and turning, walks silently to the bottom of the stage, then advancing again to the front.
The air feels chill; methinks it should be night.
I'll lay me down: perchance kind sleep will come,
And open to my view an inward world
Of garish fantasies, from which nor walls,
Nor bars, nor tyrant's power, can shut me out.

[He wraps himself in a cloak and lies down. Enter a ruffian, stealing up softly to him as supposing him asleep. Edward, hearing him, uncovers his face, and then starts up immediately.
Edw.
What art thou?
Or man or sprite? Thou lookest wondrous stern,
What dost thou want? Com'st thou to murder me?

Ruff.
Yes, I am come to do mine office on thee;
Thy life is wretched, and my stroke is sure.

Edw.
Thou sayest true; yet, wretched as it is,
It is my life, and I will grapple for it.

Ruff.
Full vainly wilt thou strive, for thinkest thou
We enter walls like these with changeling hearts,
To leave our work undone?

Edw.
We, sayest thou?
There are more of you then?

Ruff.
Ay, ay, there are enow to make it sure;
But, if thou wilt be quiet, I'll do't myself.
Mine arm is strong; I'll give no second stroke;
And all escape is hopeless.

Edw.
What, thinkest thou I'll calmly stretch my neck
Until thou butch'rest me?
No, by good heaven! I'll grapple with thee still,
And die with my blood hot!

[Putting himself in a posture of defence.
Ruff.
Well, since thou'lt have it so, thou soon shalt see
If that my mates be lovelier than myself.

[Exit.
Edw.
O that I still in some dark cell could rest,
And wait the death of nature!
[Looking wildly round upon the roof and walls of the vault.
Nor stone, nor club, nor beam to serve my need!
Out from the walls, ye flints, and fill my grasp!
Nought! nought! Is there not yet within this nook
Some bar or harden'd brand that I may clutch?

[Exit hastily into the dark recess, and is followed immediately by two ruffians, who enter by the opposite side, and cross the stage after him.

SCENE II.

An apartment adjoining to the former, with a door leading to it at the bottom of the stage. Enter Alwy with a stern anxious face, and listens at the door; then enter, by the opposite side, Ethwald with a very haggard countenance.
Ethw.
Dost thou hear aught?

Alwy.
No, nothing.

Ethw.
But thou dost:
Is it not done?

Alwy.
I hope it is, my lord.

Ethw.
Thou doubtest, then.—It is long past the hour
That should have lapp'd it. Hark! I hear a noise.

[A noise heard within of people struggling.
Alwy.
They are dealing with him now. They struggle hard.

Ethw.
(turning away with horror, and putting his hands upon his ears).
Ha! are we then so near it? This is horrid!
[After a pause.
Is it not done yet? Dost thou hear them still?

Alwy.
I hear them still: they struggle harder now.

[The noise within heard more distinctly.
Ethw.
By hell's dark host, thy fiends are weak of arm,
And cannot do their task! He will break forth,
With all the bloody work half done upon him!
[Running furiously to the door, and then shuddering, and turning away from it.
No, no, I cannot go! do thou go in,
And give thy strength. Let him be still'd i' the instant.

[A noise heard within of one falling.
Alwy.
There's no need now: did you not hear him fall?
[A groan heard within.
And that groan too? List, list! The deed is done.

[They both retire from the door, and Ethw. leaning his back against the wall, looks steadfastly towards it in silent expectation, whilst it is seen to open slowly a little way, then shut, then open again, without any one appearing.
Ethw.
What may this mean? This pause is horrible!
Will they or enter quickly or forbear?

Enter 1st ruffian, with his hands and clothes bloody, and all his hair and dress in disorder, like one who has been struggling hard. Enter soon after him 2d ruffian in a similar plight.
Alwy
(eagerly).
Ye've done it: is he dead?

1st ruff.
He is still'd now; but with such horrid strength
He grappled with us! we have had fell work.

Alwy.
Then let us see the body.

1st ruff.
Yes, enter if it please ye.

Alwy.
Be pleased, my lord.

(To Ethw.)
Ethw.
Pray thee be satisfied: I cannot go.

Alwy
(to the ruffians).
Bring ye the body hither.

[Exeunt ruffians.
[A silent pause.—Re-enter ruffians bearing the body, and laying it down before Ethw.
Ethw.
(first shrinking from it with horror, then commanding himself, and looking upon it for some time steadfastly).
Yes, changed indeed! and yet I know it well.
Ah! changed indeed! Much he must needs have suffer'd
In his lone prison-house. Thou bruised flower!
And hast thou struggled all so bravely too
For thy most wretched life? Base, bloody work!
Remove it from my sight.

[Turning hastily from it.
Alwy.
What farther orders would you give these men?

Ethw.
Away! speak to me not! thou'st made me curs'd!
Would all the realm of Mercia I had lost,
Ere it had come to this!
Once in the battle's heat I sav'd his life.
And he did bless me for it.

[Beating his forehead distractedly.
Alwy.
Nay, good my lord, be not so keenly moved.
Where shall we lay the body?

Ethw.
Thou and those fiends do with it as ye will:
It is a damned work!

[Exit hastily.
Alwy
(to 1st ruf.)
Come thou with me.
(To 2d ruf.)
We will return anon;
Meanwhile remain thou here and watch the corpse.

[Exeunt Alwy and 1st ruf.
2d ruf.
(alone).
Watch it! I would not watch it here alone
For all my ruffian's hire.

[Throws a coarse cloth over the body, and exit hastily.

SCENE III.

A Saxon hall in the former castle. Enter Elb. and Dwina, talking earnestly as they enter.
Elb.
But didst thou truly question ev'ry groom,
And the stern keeper of that postern gate?

Dwi.
I have, but no one knew that he is absent.
'Twas dark night when the king went forth, and Alwy
Alone was with him. This is all I know.

Elb
Thus secretly, at night! Sexford's castle
Is not far distant.—That distracted maid—
If this be so, by the true royal blood
That fills my veins, I'll be reveng'd! What meanst thou?

[Seeing Dwina shake her head piteously.
Dwi.
Alas! you need not fear; far distant stand
The towers of Ethelbert; and that poor maid
With the quiet dead has found at last her rest.

Elb.
And is't not well? Why dost thou shake thy head,
As though thou toldst sad news?—Yet what avails it?
I ne'ertheless must be a humble mate,
With scarcely e'en the semblance of a queen,
And bow my head whilst Mollo's son doth say,
“Be silent, wife.”—Shall I endure all this?
O Edward! gentle ething! thou who once
Didst bear the title of my future lord,
Wouldst thou have used me thus? I'll not endure it.

Dwi.
Yet be more patient.

Elb.
Be patient, sayst thou? Go to, for I hate thee,
When thou so calmly talkst. Though seemingly,
I oft before his keen commanding eye
Submissive am, thinkst thou I am subdued?
No, by my royal race! I'll not endure it:
I will unto the bishop with my wrongs;
Rever'd and holy men shall do me right:
And here he comes unsent for; this my hope
Calls a good omen.

Enter Hexulf.
Hex.
Thou hast it, royal daughter. Art thou well?
Thou seemst disorder'd.

Elb.
Yes, rev'rend father, I am sorely gall'd
Beneath a heavy and ignoble yoke;
My crowned head is in subjection bow'd,
Like meanest household dame; and thinkest thou
That it becomes the daughter of a king,
The chief descendant of your royal race,
To bear all this, and say that she is well?

Hex.
My daughter, your great lord indeed is form'd
Of soul more stern than was the gentle Edward,
On whom your maiden fancy first was taught
To dwell with sanguine hope.

Elb.
O holy Hexulf! thou hast nam'd a name
Which to my conscience gives such secret pangs:
Oh! I have done such wrong to that sweet youth,
My heart bleeds at the cruel thought. I would—
Yea, there is nothing that I would not do
In reparation of the wrong I've done him.
Speak, my good father, if thou aught canst say:
Edward, 'tis said, has many powerful friends
In secret still devoted to his cause,
And not far distant stands his dreary tower.
O speak to me!—Thou turnst away thy head
Disturb'd and frowningly: hast thou no counsel
For a soul-smitten and distracted woman?

[Laying her clasped hands earnestly on his shoulder, as he turns from her much displeased.
Hex.
Daughter, forbear! you are indeed distracted.
Ethwald, by right of holy bands your lord,
Is in his seat too firmly fix'd; and Edward
Is only by some restless Thanes desired,
Under the influence of that dark wizard,
That heretic who still ensnares the young.
Be wise then, I beseech you, and in peace
Live in the meek subjection of a wife.

Elb.
(stepping back from him with haughty contempt).
And so, meek, holy man, this is your counsel,
Breath'd from the gentle spirit of your state.
I've seen the chafings of your saintly ire
Restrain'd with less concern for sober duty,
When aught pertaining to your priestly rights
Was therein touch'd.

Dwi.
Hush! Ethelbert approaches with his friends:
They come, methinks, at an unwonted hour.

Hex.
That artful heretic regards not times;
His spells still show to him the hour best suiting
His wicked purposes.

Dwi.
Heaven save us all! methinks at his approach
The air grows chill around us, and a hue
Of strange unnatural paleness spreads o'er all.

Elb.
(to Dwi.)
Peace, fool! thy fancy still o'ertops
thy wit.

Enter Selred, Ethelbert, and Hereulf.
Eth.
In your high presence, gracious dame, we are
Thus early visitors, upon our way
To crave admittance to the royal chamber.
Is the king stirring yet? Forgive my boldness.

Elb.
Good Ethelbert, thou dost me no offence;
And you, Lord Selred, and brave Hereulf too,
I bid good morrow to you all. The king
Is not within his chamber: unattended
Of all but Alwy, at the close of night
He did go forth, and is not yet return'd.

Sel.
This much amazes me: the moon was dark,
And cold and rudely blew the northern blast.

Dwi.
(listening).
Hark! footsteps sound along the secret passage:
Look to yon door, for something moves the bolt.
The king alone that sacred entry treads.

Enter Ethwald from a small secret door, followed by Alwy, and starts back upon seeing Ethelbert, &c.
Ethw.
(recovering from his confusion).
A good and early morrow to you all:
I little thought—you are astir betimes.

Eth.
The same to you, my lord, with loving duty.

Sel.
And you too, royal brother, you are moving
At an unwonted hour. But you are pale!
A ghastly hollow look is in your eyes!
What sudden stratagem of nightly war
Has call'd you forth at such untimely season?
The night was dark and cold, the north wind blew,
And if that I can read that alter'd brow,
You come not back unscath'd.

Ethw.
(confused).
No, I am well.—The blast has beat against me,
And tossing boughs my tangled pathway cross'd:
In sooth I've held contention with the night.

Sel.
Yea, in good sooth, thou lookest too like one
Who has contention held with damned sprites.
Hast thou not cross'd that glen where, as 'tis said,
The restless ghost of a dead murd'rer stalks?
Thou shudd'rest and art pale! O, thou hast seen it:
Thou hast indeed the haggard face of one
Who has seen fearful things.

Ethw.
Thou'rt wild and fanciful: I have seen nothing:
I am forespent and faint; rest will restore me.
Much good be to you all!

(Going.)
Eth.
(preventing him).
Nay, on your royal patience, gracious king.
We must a moment's trespass make, to plead
For one, upon whose brave but gentle soul
The night of thraldom hangs.—

Ethw.
(shrinking back).
I know—I know thy meaning—speak it not.
It cannot be—there was a time—'tis past.

Sel.
O say not so; the time for blessed mercy
Is ever present. For the gentle Edward,
We'll pledge our lives, and give such hostages
As shall secure your peace.

Eth.
Turn not away;
We plead for one whose meek and gen'rous soul
Most unaspiring is, and full of truth;
For one who lov'd you, Ethwald; one by nature
Form'd for the placid love of all his kind;
One who did ever in your growing fame
Take most unenvious joy. Such is our thrall:
Yea, and the boon that we do crave for him
Is but the free use of his cramped limbs,
And leave to breathe, beneath the cope of heaven.
The wholesome air; to see the cheering sun;
To be again reckon'd with living men.

[Kneeling and clasping his knees.
Ethw.
Let go, dark Thane; thou rackst me with thy words;
They are vain sounds:—the wind has wail'd as thou dost,
And pled as sadly too. But that must be
What needs must be. Reckon'd with living men!
Would that indeed—O would that this could be!
The term of all is fix'd.—Good night to you—
I—I should say good morning, but this light
Glares strangely on mine eyes.

[Breaking from Eth.
Sel.
(following him).
My dearest brother, by a brother's love!

Ethw.
(putting him away with great agitation).
My heart no kindred holds with human thing.

[Exit quickly, in great perturbation, followed by Alwy.
Sel. and Hereulf
(looking expressively at each other, and then at Ethelbert).
Good Ethelbert, what ails thee?

Her.
Thy fix'd look has a dreadful meaning in it.

Eth.
Let us begone.

Sel.
No, do not yield it so. I still will plead
The gentle Edward's cause: his frowns I fear not.

Eth.
Come, come; there is no cause; Edward is free.

Sel.
How so? thou speakst it with a woeful voice.

Eth.
Is not the disembodied spirit free?

Sel.
Ha! thinkst thou that?—No, no; it cannot be.

Her.
(stamping on the ground, and grasping his sword).
I'll glut my sword with the foul murd'rer's blood,
If such foul deed hath been.

Eth.
Hush, hush, intemp'rate boy! Let us begone.

[Exeunt Eth., Sel., and Her.
Elb.
(to Dwi.)
Heardst thou how they conceive it?

Dwi.
Ay, mercy! and it is a fearful thought!
It glanc'd e'en o'er my mind before they spoke.

Elb.
Thou'rt silent, rev'rend father; are thy thoughts
Of such dark hue?

(With solemn earnestness to Hex.)
Hex.
Heaven's will be done in all things! erring man
Bows silently. Good health attend your greatness.

Elb.
Nay, go not yet, good Hexulf: in my closet
I much desire some converse with thee. Thou,
Belike, hast misconceiv'd what I have utter'd
In unadvised passion, thinking surely
It bore some meaning 'gainst my lord the king.

Hex.
No, gracious daughter, I indeed receiv'd it
As words of passion. You are mov'd, I see:
But let not this dismay you: if the king
Has done the deed suspicion fastens on him,
We o'er his mind shall hold the surer sway.
A restless penitent will docile prove
To priestly counsel: this will be our gain.
But in your closet we'll discourse of this.
Heaven's will be done in all things!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The King's chamber. Enter Ethwald with a thoughtful miserable look, and stands silently muttering to himself, when Alwy enters in haste, followed by an Officer.
Alwy.
Pardon, my lord; we bring you pressing tidings.

Ethw.
(angrily).
Shall I ne'er rest in peace in mine own chamber?
Ha! would that peace were there!—You bring me tidings;
And from what quarter come they?

Alwy.
From Utherbald, who holds your western fortress.

Ethw.
He doth not yield, I hope, unto the foe.
It is my strongest hold, and may defy
The strength of Wessex and of Britain join'd.

Off.
True, king, but famine all things will subdue.

Ethw.
He has surrender'd, then: by heaven and hell
I'll have his head for this!

Alwy.
No, royal Ethwald,
It is not yet so bad; but this brave man,
Commission'd by himself, will tell you all.

Ethw.
Speak, warrior: then he holds the fortress still?

Off.
He does, my lord, but much he lives in fear,
He shall not hold it long, unless your highness
Will give your warrant to release the prisoners;
Those ill designing Mercians whom your wisdom
Under his guard has placed.
He bade me say the step is dangerous;
But, if it is not done, those idle mouths,
Consuming much, will starve him and his men
Into compliance with the foe's demand.
What is your sov'reign will? for on the instant
I must return.

Ethw.
Tell him this is no time for foolish hazard.
Let them be put to death.

Off.
(shrinking back).
Must I return with this?
All put to death?

Ethw.
Yes, I have said: didst thou not hear my words?

Off.
I heard, in truth, but mine ears strangely rung.
Good saints there are, my lord, within our walls,
Close pris'ners kept, of war-bred men alone.
Of whom, I trow, there scarcely is a man
Who has not some fair stripling by his side
Sharing the father's bonds, threescore and ten;
And must they all—

Ethw.
I understand thee, fool.
Let them all die! have I not said it? Go:
Linger not here, but bear thy message quickly. [Exit officer sorrowfully.
(Angrily to Alwy.)

What! thou lookest on me too, as if, forsooth,
Thou wert amaz'd at this. Perceiv'st thou not
How hardly I'm beset to keep the power
I have so dearly bought? Shall this impede me?
Let infants shrink! I have seen blood enough;
And what have I to do with mercy now?
[Stalking gloomily away, then returning.
Selred and Ethelbert, and fiery Hereulf,
Are to their castles sullenly retired,
With many other warlike Thanes. The storm
Is gath'ring round me, but we'll brave it nobly.

Alwy.
The discontented chiefs, as I'm inform'd
By faithful spies, are in the halls of Hereulf
Assembled, brooding o'er their secret treason.

Ethw.
Are they? Then let us send a chosen band,
And seize them unprepared. A nightly march
Will bring them near his castle. Let us then
Immediate orders give; the time is precious.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

An apartment in the royal castle or chief residence of Ethwald. Dwina and several of the ladies serving the Queen are discovered at work; some spinning, some winding coloured yarns for the loom, and some embroidering after a rude fashion.
Dwi.
(looking over the 1st lady's work).
How speeds thy work? The queen is now impatient;
Thou must be diligent.

1st lady.
Nine weary months have I, thou knowest well,
O'er this spread garment bent, and yet thou seest
The half is scarcely done. I lack assistance.

Dwi.
And so thou dost, but yet in the wide realm
None can be found but such as lack the skill
For such assistance. All those mingled colours,
And mazy circles, and strange carved spots,
Look, in good sooth, as though the stuff were strew'd
With rich and curious things: though much I fear
To tell you what would prove no easy task.

2d lady.
There lives a dame in Kent, I have been told,
Come from some foreign land, if that indeed
She be no cunning fiend in woman's garb,
Who, with her needle, can most cunningly
The true and perfect semblance of real flowers,
With stalk and leaves, as fairly fashion out
As if upon a summer bank they grew.

1st lady.
Ay, ay! no doubt! thou hearst strange tales, I ween.
Didst thou not tell us how, in foreign lands
Full far from this, the nice and lazy dames
Do set foul worms to spin their silken yarn?
Ha, ha!

[They all laugh.
2d lady
(angrily).
I did not say so.

1st lady.
Nay, nay, but thou didst!

(Laughing.)
2d lady.
Thou didst mistake me wilfully, in spite,
Malicious as thou art!

Dwi.
I pray you wrangle not! when ladies work,
They should tell pleasant tales or sweetly sing,
Not quarrel rudely, thus, like villains' wives.
Sing me, I pray you now, the song I love.
You know it well: let all your voices join.

Omnes.
We will, good Dwina.

Dwi.
(to 3d lady, who sits sad and pensive).
What is the matter, Ella? thy sweet voice
Was wont to join the song.

Ella.
Ah, woe is me! within these castle walls,
Under this very tower in which we are,
There be those, Dwina, who no sounds do hear
But the chill winds that o'er their dungeons howl;
Or the still tinkling of the water-drops
Falling from their dank roofs, in dull succession,
Like the death watch at sick men's beds. Alas!
While you sing cheerly thus, I think of them.

Dwi.
Ay, many a diff'rent lot of joy and grief
Within a little compass may be found.
Under one roof the woeful and the gay
Do oft abide; on the same pillow rest.
And yet, if I may rightly judge, the king
Has but small joy above his wretched thralls.
Last night I listened to his restless steps,
As oft he paced his chamber to and fro,
Right o'er my head, and I did hear him utter
Such heavy groans!

1st lady
(with all the others gathering about Dwina curiously).
Didst thou? And utter'd he no other sound?
I've heard it whisper'd, at the dead of night
He sees strange things.

All
(speaking together).
O tell us, Dwina! tell us!

Dwi.
Out on you all! you hear such foolish tales!
He is himself the ghost that walks the night,
And cannot rest.

Ella.
Belike he is devising in his mind
How he shall punish those poor prisoners,
Who were in Hereulf's tower surpris'd so lately,
And now are in these hollow vaults confin'd.

1st lady.
No marvel that it should disturb him much,
When his own brother is among the guilty.
There will be bloody doings soon, I trow!

Dwi.
Into the hands of good and pious Hexulf
The rebels will be put, so to be punish'd
As he in holy zeal shall see it meet.

Ella.
Then they will dearly suffer.

Dwi.
That holy man no tortures will devise.

Ella.
Yes, so perchance, no tortures of the flesh;
But there be those that do upon the soul
The rack and pincer's work.
Is he not grandson to that vengeful chief,
Who, with the death-axe lifted o'er his head,
Kept his imprison'd foe a live-long night,
Nor, till the second cock had crow'd the morn,
Dealt him the clemency of death? Full well
He is his child I know!

Dwi.
What aileth thee? art thou bewitched also?
Lamentest thou that cursed heretics
Are put in good men's power? The sharpest punishment
O'er-reaches not their crime.

Ella.
O Dwina, Dwina! thou hast watch'd by me
When on a sick-bed laid, and held my head,
And kindly wept to see my wasted cheek,
And lov'st thou cruelty? It cannot be!

Dwi.
No, foolish maiden! mercy to such fiends
Were cruelty.

Ella.
Such fiends! Alas! do not they look like men?
Do they not to their needful brethren do
The kindly deeds of men? Yea, Ethelbert
Within his halls a houseless Thane maintain'd,
Whose substance had been spent in base attempts
To work his ruin.

Dwi.
The blackest fiends of all most saintly forms
Oft wear. Go, go! thou strangely art deluded,
I tremble for thee! get thee hence and pray,
If that the wicked pity of thy heart
May be forgiven thee.

Enter a Lady eagerly.
Lady.
Come, damsels, come! along the gallery,
In slow procession holy Hexulf walks,
With saintly Woggarwolfe, a fierce chief once,
But now a cowled priest of marv'llous grace.
They bear some holy relies to the queen;
Which, near the royal couch with blessings laid,
Will to the king his wonted rest restore.
Come, meet them on their way and gain a blessing.

Dwi.
We will all gladly go.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A royal apartment, lighted only by the moon through the high arched windows. Enter Ethwald, as if just risen from bed, loose and disordered, but bearing a drawn sword in his hand.
Ethw.
Still must this heavy closeness thus oppress me?
Will no fresh stream of air breathe on my brow,
And ruffle for a while this stilly gloom?
O night, when good men rest, and infants sleep;
Thou art to me no season of repose,
But a fear'd time of waking more intense,
Of life more keen, of misery more palpable!
My rest must be when the broad sun doth glare;
When armour rings and men walk to and fro;
Like a tir'd hound stretch'd in the busy hall,
I needs must lie; night will not cradle me.
[Looking up anxiously to the windows.
What, looks the moon still through that lofty arch?
Will't ne'er be morn?—If that again in strength
I led mine army on the bold career
So surely shapen in my fancy's eye,
I might again have joy; but in these towers,
Around, beneath me, hateful dungeons yawn,
In every one of which some being lives
To curse me. Ethelbert and Selred too,
My father's son and my youth's oracle,
Ye too are found with those, who raise to heav'n
The prisoner's prayer against my hated head.
I am a lofty tree of growth too great
For its thin soil, from whose wide rooted fangs
The very rocks and earth that foster'd it
Sever and fall away.—I stand alone!
I stand alone! I thought, alas! to spread
My wide protecting boughs o'er my youth's friends;
But they, like pois'nous brushwood at my root,
Have chok'd my stately growth e'en more than all.
[Musing for some time gloomily.
How marr'd and stinted hath my greatness been!
What am I now of that which long ere now
I hop'd to be? O! it doth make me mad
To think of this! By hell it shall not be!
I would cut off this arm and cast it from me
For vultures' meat, if it did let or hinder
Its nobler fellow.
Yes, they shall die! I to my fortune's height
Will rear my lofty head, and stand alone,
Fearless of storm of tempest.
[Turns round his head upon hearing a noise, and seeing Elburga enter at the bottom of the stage, with a lamp in her hand, like one risen from bed, he starts back and gazes wildly upon her.
What form is that? What art thou? Speak! speak quickly!
If thou indeed be aught of living kind.

Elb.
Why didst thou start? Dost thou not know me?

Ethw.
No;
Thy shadow seem'd to me a crested youth.

Elb.
And with that trusty weapon in thy grasp,
Which thou, of late, e'en on thy nightly couch
Hast sheathless kept, fearest thou living man?

Ethw.
It was not living man I fear'd.

Elb.
What then?
Last night when open burst your chamber door
With the rude blast, which it is wont to do,
You gaz'd upon it with such fearful looks
Of fix'd expectancy, as one, in truth,
Looks for the ent'ring of some dreadful thing.
Have you seen aught?

Ethw.
Get to thy couch. Thinkst thou I will be question'd?

Elb.
(putting her hand upon his shoulder soothingly).
Nay, be not thus uncourtly! thou shalt tell me.

Ethw.
(shaking her off impatiently).
Be not a fool! get thee to sleep, I say!
What dost thou here?

Elb.
That which, in truth, degrades my royal, birth,
And therefore should be chid; servilely soothing
The fretful moods of one, who, new to greatness,
Feels its unwieldy robe sit on his shoulders
Constrain'd and gallingly.

Ethw.
(going up to her sternly and grasping her by the wrist).
Thou paltry trapping of my regal state,
Which with its other baubles I have snatch'd,
Dar'st thou to front me thus? Thy foolish pride,
Like the mock loftiness of mimic greatness,
Makes us contemned in the public eye,
And my tight rule more hateful. Get thee hence;
And be with hooded nuns a gorgeous saint,
For know thou lackest meekness for a queen.

[Elb. seems much alarmed, but at the same time walks from him with great assumed haughtiness, and exit.
Ethw.
(alone).
This woman racks me to the very pitch!
Where I should look for gentle tenderness,
There find I heartless pride. Ah! there was one
Who would have sooth'd my troubles: there was one
Who would have cheer'd—But wherefore think I now?
(Pausing thoughtfully.)
Elburga has of late been to my will
More pliant, oft assuming gentle looks:
What may this mean? under this alter'd guise
What treach'ry lurks?
(Pausing again for some time.)
And yet it should not be:
Her greatness must upon my fortune hang,
And this she knows full well. I've chid her roughly.
Some have, from habit and united interest,
Amidst the wreck of other human ties,
The steadfast duty of a wife retain'd,
E'en where no early love or soft endearments
The bands have knit. Yes; I have been too rough.
[Calling to her off the stage.
Elburga! dost thou hear me, gentle wife?
And thou com'st at my bidding: this is kindly.

Enter Elburga, humbled.
Elb.
You have been stern, my lord. You think belike,
That I have urged you in my zeal too far
To give those rebel chieftains up to Hexulf,
As best agreeing with the former ties
That bound you to those base ungrateful men,
And with the nature of their chiefest crime,
Foul heresy; but, if in this I err,
Zeal for your safety urged me to offend.

Ethw.
I've been too stern with thee, but heed it not.
And in that matter thou hast urged so strongly,
But that I much mistrust his cruelty,
I would resign those miserable men
To Hexulf's vengeful arm; for much he does
Public opinion guide, and e'en to us,
If now provok'd, might prove a dang'rous foe.

Elb.
Mistrust him not; he will by oath engage
To use no torture.

Ethw.
And yet methinks, Selred might still be saved.
A holy man might well devise the means
To save a brother.

Elb.
He will think of it.
Much do the soldiers the bold courage prize,
And simple plainness of his honest mind;
To slay him might be dangerous.

Ethw.
Ha! is it so? They've praised him much of late?

Elb.
Yes, he has grown into their favour greatly.

Ethw.
The changeful fools! I do remember well
They shouted loudly o'er his paltry gift,
Because so simply giv'n, when my rich spoils
Seem'd little priz'd. I like not this. 'Twere well
He were remov'd. We will consider this.

Elb.
Come to your chamber then.

Ethw.
No, no! into that dark oppressive den
Of horrid thoughts I'll not return.

Elb.
Not so!
I've trimm'd the smould'ring fire, and by your couch
The holy things are laid: return and fear not.

Ethw.
I thank thy kindness; I, indeed, have need
Of holy things, if that a stained soul
May kindred hold with such.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A vaulted prison. Hereulf, Selred, and three Thanes of their party, are discovered walking gloomily and silently up and down.
1st Th.
(to the 2d, who groans heavily).
Ah! wherefore, noble partner, art thou thus?
We all are brothers, equal in misfortune;
Let us endure it nobly!

2d Th.
Ay, so I would, but it o'ercometh me.
E'en this same night, in my far distant home
Fires blaze upon my towers, to guide my steps
Through woody dells which I shall pass no more.
E'en on this night I promis'd to return.

1st Th.
Yet bear it up, and do not dash us thus;
We all have pleasant homes as well as thou,
To which I fear we shall no more return.

Sel.
(to 3d Thane, who advances from the bottom of the stage).
What didst thou look at yonder? Where is Ethelbert?

3d Th.
Within yon deep recess, upon his knees,
Just now I saw him, and I turn'd aside,
Knowing the modest nature of his worship.

Enter Ethelbert from the recess, slowly advancing from the bottom of the stage.
Her.
(to Eth.)
Where has thou been, brave Ethelbert? Ah! now
Full well I see; thy countenance declares.
Didst thou remember us? A good man's prayers
Will from the deepest dungeon climb heav'n's height,
And bring a blessing down.

Eth.
Ye all are men who with undaunted hearts
Most nobly have contended for the right.
Your recompense is sure; ye shall be bless'd.

2d Th.
How bless'd? With what assurance of the mind
Hast thou pray'd for us? Tell us truly, Ethelbert;
As those about to die, or those who yet
Shall for a term this earthly state retain?
Such strong impress'd ideas oft foreshow
Th' event to follow.

Eth.
Man, ever eager to foresee his doom
With such conceits his fancy fondly flatters,
And I too much have given my mind to this;
But let us now, like soldiers on the watch
Put our soul's armour on, alike prepared
For all a soldier's warfare brings. In heav'n
He sits, who on the inward war of souls
Looks down, as one beholds a well-fought field,
And nobly will reward the brave man's struggle.
[Raising his clasped hands fervently.
O let Him now behold what His weak creatures,
With many cares and fears of nature weak,
Firmly relying on His righteous rule,
Will suffer cheerfully! Be ye prepared!

Her.
We are prepared: what say ye, noble colleagues?

1st Th.
If that I here a bloody death must meet,
And in some nook unbless'd, far from the tombs
Of all mine honour'd race, these bones be laid,
I do submit me to the will of heaven.

3d Th.
E'en so do I in deep submission bow.

2d Th.
If that no more within my op'ning gates
My children and my wife shall e'er again
Greet my return, or this chill'd frame again
E'er feel the kindly warmth of home, so be it!
His blessed will be done who ruleth all!

Her.
If these nerv'd arms, full in the strength of youth,
Must rot in the earth, and all my glorious hopes
To free this land, with which high beat this heart,
Must be cut off i' the midst, I bow my spirit
To its Almighty Lord; I murmur not.
Yet, O that it had been permitted me
To have contended in that noble cause!
Low must I sleep in an unnoted grave,
While the oppressor of my native country
Riots in brave men's blood!

Eth.
Peace, noble boy! he will not riot long.
They shall arise, who for that noble cause,
With better fortune, not with firmer hearts
Than we to the work have yoked, will bravely strive.
To future heroes shall our names be known;
And in our graves of turf we shall be bless'd.

Her.
Well then, I'm satisfied: I'll smile in death;
Yea, proudly will I smile! it wounds me not.

Eth.
How, Selred? thou alone art silent here:
To heaven's high will what off'ring makest thou?

Sel.
Nothing, good Ethelbert. What can a man,
Little enriched with the mind's rare treasure,
And of th' unrighteous turmoil of this world
Right weary grown, to his great Maker offer?
Yet I can die as meekly as ye will,
Albeit of His regard it is unworthy.

Eth.
Give me thy hand, brave man! Well hast thou said!
In truth thy off'ring far outprizes all;
Rich in humility. Come, valiant friends;
It makes my breast beat high to see you thus
For Fortune's worst prepar'd with quiet minds.
I'll sit me down awhile; come, gather round me,
And for a little space the time beguile
With the free use and interchange of thought:
Of that which no stern tyrant can control.

[They all sit down on the ground.
Her.
(to Eth.)
Nay, on my folded mantle do thou sit.

Eth.
I thank thee, but I feel no cold. My children!
We do but want, methinks, a blazing fire,
To make us thus a friendly chosen circle
For converse met. Then we belike would talk
Of sprites, and magic power, and marv'llous things,
That shorten weary hours; now let us talk
Of things that do th' inquiring mind of man
With nobler wonder fill; that state unseen,
With all its varied mansions of delight,
To which the virtuous go, when like a dream
Struck by the beams of op'ning day, this life,
With all its shadowy forms, fades into nothing.

1st Th.
Ay, Ethelbert, thou'rt full of sacred lore;
Talk thou of this, and we will gladly heart thee.
How thinkst thou we shall feel, when, like a nestling
Burst from its shell, we wake to this new day?

Eth.
Why e'en, methinks, like to the very thing
To which, good Thane, thou hast compared us;
For here we are but nestlings, and I trow,
Pent up i' the dark we are. When that shall open
Which human eye hath ne'er beheld, nor mind
To human body linked, hath e'er conceiv'd,
Grand, awful, lovely:—O! what form of words
Will body out my thoughts!—I'll hold my peace.
[Covers his head with his hand and is silent for a moment.
Then like a guised band, that for awhile
Has mimick'd forth a sad and gloomy tale,
We shall these worthless weeds of flesh cast off,
And be the children of our Father's house.

Her.
(eagerly).
But what sayst thou of those who doff these weeds
To clothe themselves in flames and endless woe?

Eth.
Peace to thee! what have we to do with this?
Let it be veil'd in night!

Her.
Nay, nay, good Ethelbert!
I fain would know what foul oppression earns;
And please my fancy with the after-doom
Of tyrants, such as he beneath whose fangs
Our wretched country bleeds. They shall be cursed:
O say how deeply!

Eth.
Hereulf, the spirit of Him thou call'st thy master,
Who died for guilty men, breathes not in thee.
Dost thou rejoice that aught of human kind
Shall be accursed?

Her.
(starting up).
If not within the fiery gulf of woe
His doom be cast, there is no power above!

Eth.
For shame, young man! this ill beseems thy state:
Sit down and I will tell thee of this Ethwald.

Sel.
(rising up greatly agitated).
O no! I pray thee do not talk of him!
The blood of Mollo has been Mercia's curse.

Eth.
Sit down; I crave it of you both; sit down
And wear within your breasts a manlier spirit.
[Pointing to Her. to sit close by him.
Nay here, my son, and let me take thy hand.
Thus by my side, in his fair op'ning youth,
Full oft has Ethwald sat and heard me talk,
With, as I well believe, a heart inclined,
Though somewhat dash'd with shades of darker hue,
To truth and kindly deeds.
But from this mixed seed of good and ill
One baleful plant in dark strength rais'd its head,
O'ertopping all the rest; which fav'ring circumstance
Did feed and strengthen to a growth so monstrous,
That underneath its wide and noxious shade
Died all the native plants of feebler stem.
O I have wept for him, as I have lain
On my still midnight couch! I tried to save him,
But ev'ry means against its end recoil'd.
Good Selred, thou rememb'rest well that night
When to the female Druid's awful cave
I led thy brother.

Sel.
I remember well.

All the Thanes
(speaking at once, eagerly.)
Ay, what of that? We've heard strange tales of it.

Eth.
At my request the Arch Sister there receiv'd him:
And though she promis'd me she would unfold
Such things as might a bold ambitious mind
Scare from its wishes, she, unweetingly,
Did but the more inflame them.

Her.
Ha! what sayst thou?
Did she not show the form of things to come
By fix'd decrees, unsubject to her will?

Eth.
She show'd him things, indeed, most wonderful;
Whether by human arts to us unknown,
Or magic, or the aid of powerful spirits
Call'd forth, I wot not. Hark! I hear a noise.

1st Th.
I hear without the tread of many feet.
They pull our dungeon's bars: ha, see who come!
Wear they not ruffians brows?

2d Th.
And follow'd still by more: a num'rous crew.
What is their business here?

[Enter a band of armed men, accompanied by two priests, and carrying with them a block, an axe, and a large sheet or curtain, &c.
Eth.
Do not the axe and block borne by those slaves
Tell thee their errand? But we'll face them bravely.
They do not come upon us unawares:
We are prepar'd.—Let us take hands, my friends!
Let us united stand, a worthy band
Of girded trav'llers, ready to depart
Unto a land unknown, but yet undreaded.

[They all take hands, facing about, and waiting the approach of the men with a steady countenance.
1st priest.
Why look you on us thus with lowering brows?
Can linked hands the keen-edg'd steel resist?

Her.
No, priest, but linked hearts can bid defiance
To the barb'd lightning, if so arm'd withal
Thou didst encounter us. Quick do thine office!
Here six brave heads abide thee, who ne'er yet
Have meanly bow'd themselves to living wight.

1st priest.
You are too forward, youth: less will suffice:
One of those guilty heads beneath our axe
Must fall, the rest shall live. So wills our chief.
Lots shall decide our victim: in this urn
Inclosed are your fates.
[Setting down an urn in the middle of the stage upon a small tripod or stand, whilst the chiefs instantly let go hands, and stand gazing upon one another.
Ha! have I then so suddenly unlink'd you?
[With a malicious smile.
Put forth your hands, brave chiefs; put forth your hands;
And he who draws the sable lot of death,
Full speedy be his doom!
[A long pause: the chiefs still look upon one another, none of them offering to step forward to the urn.
What pause ye thus, indeed? This hateful urn
Doth but one death contain, and many lives,
And shrink ye from it, brave and valiant Thanes?
Then lots shall first be cast, who foremost shall
Thrust in his hand into this vase of terrors.

Eth.
(stepping forth).
No, thou rude servant of a gentle master,
Doing disgrace to thy much honour'd garb,
This shall not be: I am the eldest chief,
And I of right should stand the foremost here.
[Putting his hand into the urn
What heaven appoints me, welcome!

Sel.
(putting in his hand).
I am the next: heav'n send me what it lists!

1st Th.
(putting in his hand).
Here also let me take. If that the race
Of noble Cormac shall be sunk in night,
How small a thing determines!

2d Th.
(putting in his hand).
On which shall fix my grasp? (hesitating)
or this? or this?
No, cursed thing! whate'er thou art, I'll have thee.

3d Th.
(putting out his hand with purturbation, misses the narrow mouth of the urn).
I wist not how it is: where is its mouth?

1st priest.
Direct thy hand more steadily, good Thane,
And fear not thou wilt miss it.
(To Hereulf.)
Now, youthful chief, one lot remains for thee.

[Hereulf pauses for a moment, and his countenance betrays perturbation, when Ethelbert steps forth again.
Eth.
No, this young chieftain's lot belongs to me;
He shall not draw.
[Putting in his hand quickly and taking out the last lot.
Now, priest, the lots are finish'd.

1st priest.
Well, open then your fates.

[They each open their lots, whilst Hereulf stands looking eagerly in their faces as they open them.
2d Th.
(opening his, and then holding up his hands in ecstasy).
Wife, children, home! I am a living man!

1st Th.
(having opened his).
I number still with those who breathe the air,
And look upon the light! blest heaven so wills it.

3d Th.
(looking at his joyfully).
Fate is with me! the race of Cormac lives!

Her.
(after looking anxiously first upon Ethelbert and then upon Selred).
Selred, what is thy lot? is it not dark?

Sel.
No, Hereulf.

Her.
Oh, Ethelbert! thou smilest on me! alas!
It is a dismal smile! thou art the victim!
Thou shalt not die: the lot of right is mine.
A shade of human weakness cross'd my soul,
Such as before, not in the horrid fields
Of crimson slaughter did I ever feel;
But it is past; now I can bravely die,
And I will have my right.

Eth.
(pushing him affectionately away).
Away, my son! It is as it should be.

Her.
O if thou wilt entreat me as a man,
Nor slur me with contempt! I do beseech thee
Upon my bended knee! (Kneeling.)
O if thou diest,
I of all living things most wretched am!

Eth.
Be temperate, my son! thou art reserv'd
For what the fervid strength of active youth
Can best perform. O take him from me, friends!
[The Thanes take Hereulf forcibly from clinging round Ethelbert, and he then assumes a softened solemnity.
Now, my brave friends, we have together fought
A noble warfare; I am call'd away!
Let me in kind and true affection leave you.

Thanes
(speaking together).
Alas, thou art our father and our friend!
Alas, that thou shouldst meet this dismal end!

Eth.
Ay, true indeed, it is a dismal end
To mortal feeling; yet within my breast
Blest hope and love, and heav'nward confidence,
With human frailty so combined are,
That I do feel a wild and trembling pleasure.
E'en on this awful verge, methinks I go,
Like a chid infant, from his passing term
Of short disgrace, back to his father's presence.
[Holding up his hands with a dignified exultation.
I feel an awful joy!—Farewell, my friends!
Selred, we've fought in many a field together,
And still as brothers been; take thou, I pray,
This token of my love. And thou, good Wolfere,
I've ever priz'd thy worth, wear thou this ring.
(To the two other chiefs, giving them also tokens.)
And you, brave chiefs, I've ever loved you both.
And now, my noble Hereulf,
Of all the youth to whom my soul e'er knit,
As with a parent's love, in the good cause,
Thee have I found most fervent and most firm;
Be thine my sword, which in my native hall
Hung o'er my noble father's arms thou'lt find,
And be it in thy hands what well thou knowst
It would have been in mine. Farewell, my friends!
God bless you all!

[They all crowd about him, some kissing his hands, some taking hold of his clothes, except Hereulf, who, starting away from him, throws himself upon the ground in an agony of grief. Ethelbert lifts up his eyes and his hands as if he were uttering a blessing over them.
1st priest.
This may not be! down with those impious hands!
Dar'st thou, foul heretic, before the face
Of hallow'd men, thus mutter prayers accurst?

Eth.
Doth this offend you?—O it makes me feel
A spirit for this awful hour unmeet,
When I do think on you, ye hypocrites!

1st priest.
Come, come! we waste our time, the headsman waits.
(To Eth.)
Prepare thee for the block.

Eth.
And will you in the sight of these my friends
Your bloody task perform? Let them retire.

1st priest.
Nay, nay, that may not be, our pious Hexulf
Has given his orders.

2d priest.
O be not so cruel!
Though he has ordered so, yet, ne'ertheless,
We may suspend this veil, and from their eyes
The horrid sight conceal.

1st priest.
Then be it so; I grant it.

[A large cloth or curtain is suspended upon the points of two spears, held up by spearmen, concealing the block and executioner, &c. from the Thanes.
1st priest
(to the men behind the curtain, after a pause).
Are ye ready?
(Voices behind.)
Yes, we are ready now.

1st priest
(To Eth.).
And thou?

Eth.
God be my strength! I'm ready also.
[As the priest is leading Ethelbert behind the curtain, he turns about to give a last look to his friends; and they, laying their hands devoutly upon their breasts, bow to him very low. They then go behind the curtain, leaving the Thanes on the front of the stage, who stand fixed in silent and horrid expectation; except Selred, who sits down upon the ground with his face hid between his knees, and Hereulf, who, rising suddenly from the ground, looks wildly round, and seeing Ethelbert gone, throws himself down again in all the distraction of grief and despair.

A voice behind
(after some noise and bustle of preparation has been heard).
Now doff his garment, and undo his vest.
Fie on it, there! assist the prisoner.

2d voice.
Let some one hold his hands.

3d voice.
Do ye that office.
[A pause of some length.

Voice again.
Headsman, let fall thy blow, he gives the sign.

[The axe is seen lifted up above the curtain, and the sound of the stroke is heard.
Thanes
(shrinking involuntarily. and all speaking at once).
The stroke of death is given!

[The spearmen let fall the curtain, and the body of Ethelbert is discovered upon the ground, with a cloth over it; whilst his head is held up by the executioner, but seen very indistinctly through the spears and pikes of the surrounding soldiers. The Thanes start back and avert their faces.
1st priest.
(coming forward).
Rebellious Thanes, ye see a deed of justice.
Here rest ye, and another day of life
Enjoy together: at this hour to-morrow
We'll visit you, and then, by lot determin'd,
Another head must fall. So wills the king.

1st Th.
What words are these?

2d Th.
Do thine ears catch their sense?

3d Th.
I cannot tell thee; mine confus'dly sound.

1st priest
(raising his voice louder).
To-morrow at this hour we'll visit you.
And here again, selected by the lot,
Another head must fall. Till then, farewell!
Another day of life enjoy securely:
Much happiness be with you.

[An involuntary groan bursts from the Thanes, and Hereulf, starting furiously from the ground, clenches his hands in a menacing posture as the priests and spearmen, &c. retire. The scene closes.

ACT V

SCENE I.

An open space on the walls of the castle. Enter Alwy and Hexulf, talking as they enter with violent gesture.
Hex.
Escap'd, sayst thou, with all the rebel chiefs?
Hereulf escap'd? th' arch fiend himself hath done it,
If what thou sayst be true.—It is impossible.
Sayst thou they are escap'd?

Alwy.
In very truth they are.

Hex.
Then damned treachery has aided them!

Alwy.
Nay, rather say, thy artful cruelty
Arm'd them with that which to the weakly frame
Lends a nerved giant's strength, despair. From out
The thick and massy wall, now somewhat loose
And jagged grown with time, cemented heaps,
Which scarce two teams of oxen could have mov'd,
They've torn, and found a passage to the moat.
What did it signify in what dire form
Death frown'd upon them, so as they had died?

Hex.
Who can foresee events? As well as thou
I would that one swift stroke had slain them all
Rather than this had been. But Ethelbert
And Selred are secur'd. Was it not Selred
Who on the second night our victim fell?

Alwy.
It was, but better had it been for us
Had they been left alive: had they been still
In their own castles unmolested left.
For like a wounded serpent, who, aloft,
The surgy volumes of his mangled length
In agony the more terrific rears
Against his enemy, this maimed compact
Will from thy stroke but the more fiercely rise,
Now fiery Hereulf is their daring leader.
And what have we to look for?

Hex.
Dire, bloody vengeance.—O some damned traitor
Hath done this work! it could not else have been!

Alwy.
Well, do thou find him out then, if thou canst,
And let thy vengeance fall where lies the sin.

Hex.
Doth the king know of this?

Alwy.
He doth not yet.

Hex.
Then must he be inform'd without delay.

Alwy.
As quickly as you please, if that you please
To take that office on yourself, good father;
But as for me, I must right plainly say
I will not venture it: no, faith! of late
The frame and temper of King Ethwald's mind
Is chang'd. He ever was in former times
Cheerful, collected, sanguine; for all turns
Of fate prepar'd, like a fair ample lake,
Whose breast receives the azure hue of heaven,
And sparkles gaily in the breezy noon:
But now, like a swoln flood, whose course has been
O'er rude opposing rocks and rugged shelves;
Whose turbid waters wear the sullen shade
Of dark o'erhanging banks, and all enchaf'd
Round ev'ry little pebble fiercely roars,
Boiling in foamy circles, his chaf'd spirit
Can bear th' encounter of no adverse thing
To his stern will oppos'd. I may not tell him.

Hex.
Be not so fearful! art thou not a man
Us'd to the sudden turns of great men's humours?
Thou best can do it, Alwy.

(Soothingly.)
Alwy.
Nay, father, better will it suit your age
And rev'rend state. And he has need, I ween,
Of ghostly counsel too; night after night
He rises from his tossing sleepless couch,
Oft wildly staring round the vacant chamber,
As if his fancy peopled the dark void
With horrid shapes. The queen hath told me this.
Come, look to it, for something must be done.

Hex.
I will accompany your homeward steps,
Whilst we consider of it.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A royal apartment, and a servant discovered busily employed in lighting it up. Enter to him another servant.
2d serv.
Wilt thou ne'er finish lighting these grim walls?
Will not those lamps suffice?

1st serv.
No, by my faith, we want as many more;
For still, thou seest, that pillar'd corner's dark,
[Pointing to a gloomy recess on the other side of the stage.
Wherein the eye of conscience-scared folks
Might fearful things espy. I am commanded
To lighten each apartment of this tower
To noon-day pitch.

2d serv.
Ay, Uthbert, these are fearful, bloody times!
Ethwald, God knows, has on his conscience laid
A weight of cruel deeds: the executioner
Works for him now in the grim holds of death,
Instead of armed warriors in the field;
And now men steal abroad in twilight's gloom,
To talk of fearful things, not by the blaze
Of cheerful fires, in peaceful cottage, heap'd
With sparkling faggots from the winter store.

1st serv.
Ay, thou sayst well; it is a fearful time;
No marvel Ethwald should not love the dark
In which his fancy shapes all fearful things.

2d serv.
What, dost thou think it is his fancy's shapes
He looks upon? No, no: believe me, friend,
Night and the darkness are inhabited
By those who move near neighbours to the living;
Close by their very sides, yet unperceiv'd
By all, but those whose eyes unveiled are
By heavenly power, in mercy or in wrath.
Such proofs of this I've heard.—Last night thou knowst
The royal grooms who near their master sleep,
In the adjoining chamber much were scar'd
With fearful sounds.

1st serv.
I know it not.—Who was it told it thee?
At midnight was it?

(Eagerly.)
2d serv.
Yes, come with me to Baldwick, he will tell thee;
He heard it all: thou wilt return in time
To finish, here, thy task. We'll have a horn
Of foaming ale, and thou shalt hear it all.
Good foaming ale: ay, mercy on us all'
We live in fearful times!

(Listening.)
1st serv.
(listening also).
What shall I do?
I hear the king a speaking angrily,
And coming hitherward. What shall I do?
Shall I remain and face him? nay, good faith!
I'll shun the storm; he is engag'd, perchance,
Too much to notice my unfinish'd task.

[Exeunt hastily.
Enter Ethwald, talking angrily to a noble Thane.
Ethw.
Nay, nay, these are excuses, noble Edmar,
Not reasons; all our northern troops ere now
Might well have been in readiness. 'Tis plain
Such backward sloth from disaffection springs.
Look to it well:—if with the waning moon,
He and his vassals have not join'd our standard,
I'll hold him as a traitor.

Th.
My royal lord, be not so wrathful with him,
Nor let your noble mind to dark suspicion
So quickly yield. This is the season still,
When unbraced warriors on the rushy floor
Stretch them in pleasing sloth; list'ning to tales
Of ancient crones, or merry harpers' lays,
And batt'ning on the housewife's gusty cheer:
Spring has not yet so temper'd the chill sky
That men will change their warm and shelt'ring roofs
For its cold canopy.

Ethw.
O foul befall their gluttony and sloth!
Fie on't! there is no season to the brave
For war unfit. With this moon's waning light
I will, with those who dare their king to follow,
My northern march begin.

Th.
Then, faith, my lord,
I much suspect your army will be small:
And what advantage may you well expect
From all this haste? E'en three weeks later, still
You will surprise the foe, but ill prepar'd
To oppose invasion. Do then, gracious king,
Listen to friendly counsel, and the while,
Within these walls, where ev'ry pleasure courts you,
Like a magnificent and royal king,
Your princely home enjoy.

Ethw.
Out on it, man, thou knowst not what thou sayst!
Home hath he none who once becomes a king!
Behind the pillar'd masses of his halls
The dagger'd traitor lurks; his vaulted roofs
Do nightly echo to the whisper'd vows
Of those who curse him; at his costly board
With grinning smile the damned pois'ner sits;
Yea, e'en the void recesses of his chamber,
Void though they be unto all eyes but his,
Are peopled—

[Stopping short.
Th.
(eagerly).
Good my lord! what do you mean?

Ethw.
In the confusion of tumultuous war,
'Midst the terrific shouts of closing foes,
And trampling steeds, and din of bick'ring arms;
Where dying warriors groan unheard, and things
Horrid to nature are as though they were not,
Unwail'd, unheeded:
Where the rough chance of each contentious day
Blots out all irksome mem'ry of the past,
All fear of that to follow: where like herds,
Of savage beasts, on the bleak mountain's side,
Drench'd with the rain, the weary warriors lie,
Whilst nightly tempests howling o'er their heads
Lull them to rest; there is my home, good Thane.

Th.
No marvel, then, my lord, if to the field
You turn your eager thoughts! I only fear
Your royal arms will in Northumberland
Find no contention worthy of their force;
For rumour says, the northern prince is gone
With his best troops against the Scottish king.

Ethw.
If this be true, it is unto my fortune
Most fair occasion; master of the north
I soon shall be, and on the west again
Pour like a torrent big with gather'd strength.
Who told thee this? it breaks upon me, friend,
Like bright'ning sunbeams thwart a low'ring sky.

Th.
A northern villain brought to me the tale,
And told with circumstances of good credit.

Ethw.
Run thou and find him out; I'll wait thee here;
I must have more assurance of this matter.
Quickly, my worthy Edmar! [Exit Thane.
(Alone.)

If that this rumour bear a true report,
Th' opposing rocks on which my rising tide
So long has beat, before me now give way,
And through the beach my onward waves shall roll
To the wide limits of their destin'd reach.
Full day, although tempestuous it may prove,
Now breaks on me! now come the glorious height,
And the proud front, and the full grasp of power!
Fly, gloomy thoughts, and hideous fantasies,
Back to the sprites that sent you! England's king
Behind him casts the fears of Mercia's lord.
The north subdued, then stretching to the west
My growing strength—
[Stretching out his arms in the vehemence of action, he turns himself round, directly facing the gloomy recess on the opposite side of the stage.
Ha! doth some gloomy void still yawn before me,
In fearful shade?
[Turning his eyes away hastily from it.
No; I saw nothing: shall I thus be moved
With ev'ry murky nook? I'll look again.
[Steals a fearful look to the recess, and then starting back, turns away from it with horror.
O they're all there again! and ev'ry phantom
Mark'd with its grisly wounds, e'en as before.
Ho! who waits there? Hugon! I say, ho, Hugon!
Come to me! quickly come!

Enter a Groom of his chamber.
Groom.
Save you, my royal lord! What is your pleasure?
Are you in pain? Your voice did sound, methought,
With strange unnatural strength.

Ethw.
Bring me lights here.

Groom.
A hundred lamps would scarce suffice, I ween,
To light this spacious chamber.

Ethw.
Then let a thousand do it; must I still
In ev'ry shady corner of my house
See hideous—quickly go, and do my bidding.
Why star'st thou round thee thus? Dost thou see aught?

Groom.
No, nothing.

[Looking round fearfully.
Ethw.
Thou needst not look; 'tis nothing; fancy oft
Deceives the eye with strange and flitting things.
Regard it not, but quickly bring more lamps

Groom.
Nay, good my lord, shall I remain with you,
And call my fellow?

Ethw.
(angrily).
Do as thou art commanded.
[Exit groom.
This man perceives the weakness of my mind.
Am I, indeed, the warlike king of Mercia?
[Re-enter two grooms with lamps, which they place in the recess. Ethwald, not venturing to look on it again till the lights are placed, now turns round to it, and seems relieved.
Ye have done well.
[After a pause, in which he walks several times across the stage, stopping short, and seeing the grooms still there.
Why do ye linger here? I want ye not.
Begone.
[Exeunt grooms.
But that I would not to those fools
Betray the shameful secret of my mind,
I fain would call them back.
What are these horrors?
A fearful visitation of a time
That will o'erpass? O might I so believe it!
Edmar, methinks, ere this might be return'd:
I'll wait for him no more: I'll go myself
And meet him.
[Going towards the large arched door by which he entered, he starts back from it with horror.
Ha! they are there again!
E'en in the very door-way do they front me!
Still foremost Ethelbert and Selred tower
With their new-sever'd necks, and fix on me
Their death-strain'd eye-balls: and behind them frowns
The murder'd youth, and Oswal's scepter'd ghost:
While seen, as if half-fading into air,
The pale distracted maid shows her faint form.
Thrice in this very form and order seen
They have before me stood. What may it mean?
I've heard that shapes like these will to the utterance
Of human voice give back articulate sound,
And having been adjured so, depart.
[Stretching out both his hands, and clenching them resolutely.
I'll do it, though behind them hell should yawn,
With all its unveil'd horrors.
[Turning again to the doorway with awful solemnity.
If aught ye be but flitting fantasies,
But empty semblance of the form ye wear;
If aught ye be that can to human voice
Real audience give, and a real sense receive
Of that on which your fix'd and hollow eyes
So stern and fix'dly glare; I do conjure you
Depart from me, and come again no more!
From me depart! Full well those ghastly wounds
Have been return'd into this tortur'd breast:
O drive me not unto the horrid brink
Of dire distraction!
Speak, Ethelbert! O speak, if voice thou hast!
Tell me what sacrifice can soothe your spirits;
Can still the unquiet sleepers of the grave:
For this most horrid visitation is
Beyond endurance of the boldest mind,
In flesh and blood enrob'd.—It takes no heed,
But fix'dly glares upon me as before.
I speak to empty air: it can be nothing.
Is it not some delusion of the eyes?
[Rubbing his eyes very hard, and rousing himself.
Ah! still the hideous semblance is before me,
Plain as at first. I cannot suffer this!
[Runs to the lamps, and taking one in each hand, rushes forward in despair to the doorway.
They are all gone! Before the searching light
Resolv'd to nothing!

Enter Hexulf and Alwy.
Ethw.
(turning hastily upon hearing them enter behind him).
Ha! is it you? Most happily you come!
Welcome you are, most welcome!

Alwy.
Thanks to you, good my lord! but on my life
This holy bishop and myself are come,
Unwillingly, with most untoward tidings.

Ethw.
Well, use not many words: what now befalls?

Hex.
The rebel Hereulf and his thralled mates
Have, with more strength than human hands may own,
For that the holy church—

Ethw.
Well, well, what meanest thou?
And what should follow this?

Alwy.
They've brok'n their prison walls and are escap'd.

Ethw.
I am glad on't! be it so! in faith I'm glad!
We have shed blood enough.

Alwy.
Nay, but my lord, unto their towers of strength
They will return; where bruiting abroad
Their piteous tale, as 'nighted travellers
To the false plainings of some water fiend,
All men will turn to them; nor can your troops
In safety now begin their northern march
With such fell foes behind them.

Ethw.
(roused).
Ay, thou sayst true; it is a damned let!
Here falls another rock to bar my way.
But I will on! Come, let us instantly
Set out, and foil them ere they gather strength.

Alwy.
This would be well, but that within these walls
Some of their faithful friends are still confin'd,
Who in our absence might disturbance breed,
As but a feeble guard can now be spar'd
To hold the castle. How shall this be settled?
Shall we confine them in the stronger vaults?

Ethw.
(fiercely).
No, no! I'll have no more imprisonments!
Let them be slain; yea all: even to a man!
This is no time for weak uncertain deeds.
Saw you not Edmar as you hither came?

Alwy.
We saw him with a stranger much engaged,
By a faint lamp, near to the eastern tower.

Ethw.
Then follow me, and let us find him out.

Hex.
We follow you, my lord.

Ethw.
(as he is about to go out, turning hastily round to Alwy).
Bear thou a light.
My house is like a faintly mooned cave,
And hateful shadows cross each murky aisle.

[Exeunt, Alwy bearing a light.

SCENE III.

The evening: a wood with a view of Ethwald's castle seen through the trees. Enter Hereulf disguised like a country hind: enter to him, by another path, a Thane, disguised also.
Her.
Welcome, my friend! art thou the first to join me?
This as I guess should be th' appointed time:
For o'er our heads have passed on homeward wing
Dark flights of rooks and daws and flocking birds,
Wheeling aloft with wild dissonant screams;
And from each hollow glen and river's bed
The white mist slowly steals in fleecy wreaths
Up the dark wooded banks. And yet, methinks,
The deeper shades of ev'ning come not after,
As they are wont, but day is lengthen'd out
Most strangely.

Th.
Seest thou those paly streams of shiv'ring light
So widely spread along the northern sky?
They to the twilight grey that brightness lend
At which thou wonderest. Look up, I pray thee!

Her.
(turning and looking up).
What may it mean? it is a beauteous light.

Th.
In truth I know not. Many a time have I
On hill and heath beheld the changeful face
Of awful night; I've seen the moving stars
Shoot rapidly athwart the sombre sky,
Red fiery meteors in the welkin blaze,
And sheeted lightnings gleam, but ne'er before
Saw I a sight like this. It is, belike,
Some sign portentous of our coming fate:
Had we not better pause and con awhile
This daring scene, ere yet it be too late?

Her.
No, by this brave man's sword! not for an hour
Will I the glorious vengeful deed delay,
Though heav'n's high dome were flaming o'er my head,
And earth beneath me shook. If it be aught
Portentous, it must come from higher powers:
For demons ride but on the lower clouds,
Or raise their whirlwinds in the nether air.
All blessed spirits still must favour those
Who war on virtue's side: therefore, I say,
Let us march boldly to the glorious work:
It is a sign foretelling Ethwald's fall.
Now for our valiant friends; they must be near.
Ho! holla, ho!
[Enter by different paths in the wood, the other chiefs, disguised, and gather round Hereulf, he receiving them joyfully.
Welcome! all welcome! you good Thane, and you,
And ev'ry valiant soul, together leagued
In this bold enterprise. Well are we met.
So far we prosper; and my glowing heart
Tells me our daring shall be nobly crown'd.
Now move we cheerly on our way: behold
Those frowning towers, where, ere the morning watch,
That shall be done, for which, e'en in our graves,
Full many a gen'rous Mercian, yet unborn,
Shall bless our honour'd names.

Chiefs
(speaking all together).
We follow you, brave Hereulf.

1st chief.
Ay, with true heart, or good or ill betide,
We'll follow you.

Her.
Come on! ere this, with fifty chosen men,
Our trusty colleague, near the northern gate,
Attends our signal. Come, ye gen'rous few;
Ye who have groan'd in the foul dungeon's gloom,
Whose gen'rous bosoms have indignant heav'd
To see free men beneath th' oppressor's yoke
Like base-born villains press'd! Now comes the hour
Of virtuous vengeance: on our side in secret
Beats ev'ry Mercian heart: the tyrant now
Trusts not to men: nightly within his chamber
The watch-dog guards his couch, the only friend
He now dare trust, but shall not guard it long.
Follow my steps, and do the gen'rous deeds
Of valiant freemen: heaven is on our side.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

An open space within the walls of the castle, fronting one of the gates: the stage darkened, and the sky lighted up with the aurora borealis, very bright. Enter by opposite sides two Officers of the castle.
1st off.
Ha! is it thou, my friend?
Thou'st left thy post, I guess, as well as I,
To view this awful sky. Look over head,
Where like a mighty dome, from whose bright centre
Shoot forth those quiv'ring rays of vivid light,
Moving with rapid change on every side,
Swifter than flitting thought, the heavens appear!
While o'er the west in paler brightness gleam
Full many a widely undulating tide
Of silver light: and the dark low'ring east,
Like to a bloody mantle stretched out,
Seems to conceal behind its awful shade
Some dread commotion of the heavenly powers,
Soon to break forth—some grand and unknown thing.

2d off.
It is an awful sight! what may it mean?
Doth it not woes and bloody strife foretell?
I've heard my father talk of things like this.—
When the king's passing sickness shall be gone,
Which has detain'd him from his purpos'd march
Against the rebel chiefs, doubt not, my friend,
We shall have bloody work.

1st off.
Ay, but ere that, mayhap, the man of blood
May bleed; and Mercia from the tyrant's grasp—

2d off.
Hush, hush! thou art unwise: some list'ning ear—

1st off.
And if there should, what danger? all men now
Harbour such secret thoughts; and those who once
His youthful valour lov'd and warlike feats,
Now loathe his cruelty. I'll tell thee something—

[Drawing nearer him mysteriously.
2d off.
(frightened).
Hush, hush! I will not hear thee! hold thy tongue!
What will't avail, when on the bloody stake
Thy head is fix'd, that all men think as thou dost:
And he who fix'd thy cruel doom to-day
Shall die to-morrow?

1st off.
I'm mute, my friend: and now I plainly see
How he may lord it o'er a prostrate land,
Who trembles in his iron tower the while,
With but a surly mastiff for his friend.

2d off.
Nay, do not speak so loud. What men are these
Who pass the gate just now? shall we not stop them?

[Enter some of the leagued chiefs in disguise through the gate.
1st off.
No, do not trouble them. They are, I guess,
Some 'nighted rustics frighten'd with the sky,
Who seek the shelter of man's habitation.
In such an awful hour men crowd together,
As gath'ring sea-fowl flock before a storm.
With such a welkin blazing o'er our heads,
Shall men each other vex? e'en let them pass.

[Enter a crowd of frightened women and children.
2d off.
See what a crowd of women this way come,
With crying children clinging to their knees,
And infants in their arms! How now, good matrons?
Where do you run?

1st wom.
O do not stop us! to St. Alban's shrine
We run: there will we kneel, and lift our hands,
For that his holy goodness may protect us
In this most awful hour.

2d wom.
On, sisters, on!
The fiery welkin rages o'er our heads,
And we are sinful souls: O quickly move!

[Exeunt women and children.
2d off.
I also am, alack! a sinful soul:
I'll follow them and pray for mercy too.

1st off.
I'll to the northern wall, from whence the heavens
In full expanse are seen.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE V.

Ethwald's apartment: he is discovered sitting by his couch, with his elbows resting upon his knees, and supporting his head between both his hands; the Queen standing by him.
Queen.
Why sit you thus, my lord? it is not well:
It wears your strength: I pray you go to rest.
[A pause, and he makes no answer.
These nightly watchings much retard your cure;
Be then advis'd!
[A pause, and he still takes no notice.
Why are you thus unwilling?
The tower is barr'd, and all things are secure.

Ethw.
How goes the hour? is it the second watch?

Queen.
No, near the window now, I heard the guard
Exchange the word: the first is but half spent.

Ethw.
And does the fearful night still lie before me
In all its hideous length?
(Rising up with emotion.)
O ye successive terms of gloomy quiet!
Over my mind ye pass like rolling waves
Of dense oppression; while deep underneath
Lie all its noble powers and faculties
O'erwhelmed. If such dark shades must henceforth cross
My chequer'd life with still returning horrors,
O let me rest in the foul reptile's hole,
And take from me the being of a man!

Queen.
Too much thou givest way to racking thought:
Take this: it is a draught by cunning skill
Compounded curiously, and strongly charm'd;
With secret virtue fill'd—it soothes the mind,
And gives the body rest.

[Offering him a cup.
Ethw.
Sayst thou? then in good sooth I need it much.
I thank thee too; thou art a careful wife.
[Takes the cup, and as he is about to put it to his lips, stops short and looks suspiciously at her.
It has, methinks, a strange unkindly smell.
Taste it thyself; dost thou not take my meaning?
Do thou first drink of it.

Queen.
I am in health, my lord, and need it not.

Ethw.
By the dread powers of darkness, thou shalt drink it!
Ay, to the very dregs!

Queen.
What, would you cast on me such vile suspicions,
And treat a royal princess like your slave?

Ethw.
And so thou art. Thou rearst thy stately neck,
And while I list, thou flarest in men's eyes
A gorgeous queen; but unto me thou art—
I do command thee, drink it to the dregs.

Queen (subdued, and lifting the cup to her lips). Then be convinced how wrongful are thy thoughts.
Ethw.
(preventing her).
Forbear, I am too slightly mov'd to anger.
I should have known the being of thy state
Is all too closely with my fortune link'd.
Give me the cup. Thou sayst it soothes the mind?
If I indeed could rest-(Tastes it).
It tastes not well;
It is a bitter drug.

Queen.
Then give it me again; I'll hie to Dwina,
And get from her that which shall make it sweet.

[She walks to the door of another apartment, but as she is about to go out, Ethwald hurries after her, and catches her by the arm.
Ethw.
Thou shalt not go and leave me thus alone.

Queen.
I'll soon return again, and all around thee
Is light as noon-day.

Ethw.
Nay, nay, good wife, it rises now before me
In the full blaze of light.

Queen.
Ah! what meanst thou?

Ethw.
The faint and shadowy forms,
That in obscurity were wont to rise
In sad array, are with the darkness fled.
But what avails the light? for now since sickness
Has press'd upon my soul, in my lone moments,
E'en in the full light of my torch-clad walls,
A horrid spectre rises to my sight,
Close by my side, and plain and palpable,
In all good seeming and close circumstance,
As man meets man.

Queen.
Merey upon us! what form does it wear?

Ethw.
My murder'd brother's form.
He stands close by my side; his ghastly head
Shakes horridly upon its sever'd neck
As if new from the headsman's stroke; it moves
Still as I move; and when I look upon it,
It looks—No, no! I can no utterance find
To tell thee how it looks on me again.

Queen.
Yet, fear not now: I shall not long be absent;
And thou mayst hear my footsteps all the while,
It is so short a space.

[Exit Queen.
Ethw.
(returning to the middle of the stage).
I'll fix my steadfast eyes upon the ground,
And turn to other things my tutor'd thoughts
Intently. (After pausing for a little while, with his clenched hands crossed upon his breast, and his eyes fixed upon the ground.)
It may not be; I feel upon my mind
The horrid sense that preludes still its coming.
Elburga! ho, Elburga!

(Putting his hand before his eyes, and calling out with a strong voice of fear.)
Enter Queen in haste.
Queen.
Has't come again?

Ethw.
No; but I felt upon my pausing soul
The sure and horrid sense of its approach.
Hadst thou not quickly come, it had ere now
Been frowning by my side. The cup, the cup!

[Drinks eagerly.
Queen.
Heaven grant thee peace!
Wilt thou not send unto the holy priest,
To give thee ghostly comfort?

Ethw.
(shaking his head).
Away, away! to thee and to thy priests
I have, alas! lent too much heed already.

Queen.
Let not your noble spirit thus be shent!
Still bear good heart! these charmed drugs full soon
Will make you strong and vig'rous as before;
And in the rough sport of your northern war,
You will forget these dreadful fantasies.

Ethw.
Ay, thou speakst wisely now: methinks I still,
In the embattled field, 'midst circling hosts,
Could do the high deeds of a warlike king;
And what a glorious field now opens to me!
But, oh! this cursed bar; this ill-timed sickness;
It keeps me back ev'n like a bitted steed.
But it was ever thus! What have avail'd
My crimes, and cares, and blood, and iron toil?

Queen.
What have avail'd! art thou not king of Mercia?

Ethw.
Ay, ay, Elburga! 'tis enough for thee
To tower in senseless state and be a queen;
But to th' expanded and aspiring soul,
To be but still the thing it long has been
Is misery, e'en though enthron'd it were
Under the cope of high imperial state.
O cursed hind'rance! blasting fiends breathe on me.
Putst thou not something in thy damned drugs
That doth retard my cure? I might ere this
With cased limbs have stridden the clanging field,
And been myself again.—Hark! some one comes.

[Listening with alarm.
Queen.
Be not disturb'd, it is your faithful groom.
Who brings the watch-dog; all things are secure.

Ethw.
Nay, but I heard the sound of other feet.
[Running to the door, and pushing in a great bar.
Say, who art thou without?

Voice without.
Your groom, my lord, who brings your faithful dog.

Ethw.
(to Queen).
Didst thou not hear the sound of other feet?

Queen.
No, only his; your mind is too suspicious.

Ethw.
I in his countenance have mark'd of late
That which I liked not: were this dreary night
But once o'ermaster'd, he shall watch no more.
[Opens the door suspiciously, and enters an armed man leading in a great watch-dog: the door is shut again hastily and the bar is replaced. (To the dog.)
Come, rough and surly friend!
Thou only dost remain on whom my mind
Can surely trust. I'll have more dogs so train'd.
[Looking steadfastly at the groom.
Thy face is pale: thou hast a haggard look:
Where hast thou been?
[Seizing him by the neck.
Answer me quickly! Say, where hast thou been?

Gr.
Looking upon the broad and fearful sky.

Queen.
What sayst thou?

Gr.
The heaven's are all a flaming o'er our heads,
And fiery spears are shiv'ring through the air.

Ethw.
Hast thou seen this?

Gr.
Ay, by our holy saint!

Queen.
It is some prodigy, dark and portentous.

Gr.
A red and bloody mantle seems outstretch'd
O'er the wide welkin, and—

Ethw.
Peace, damned fool!
Tell me no more: be to thy post withdrawn.

[Exit groom by a small side-door, leading the dog with him.
Ethw.
(to himself, after musing for some time).
Heaven warring o'er my head! there is in this
Some fearful thing betoken'd.
If that, in truth, the awful term is come,
The fearful bound'ry of my mortal reach,
O'er which I must into those regions pass
Of horror and despair, to take my place
With those who do their blood-earn'd crowns exchange
For ruddy circles of devouring fire:
Where hopeless woe and gnashing agony
Writhe in the dens of torment; where things be
Yet never imaged in the thoughts of man,
Dark, horrible, unknown—
I'll mantle o'er my head, and think no more.

[Covers his head with his cloak, and sinks down upon the couch.
Queen.
Nay, rather stretch you on the fleecy bed.

Ethw.
Rest, if thou canst, I do not hinder thee.

Queen.
Then truly I will lean my head awhile.
I am o'erspent and weary.

[Leans on the couch.
Ethw.
(hastily uncovering his face).
Thou must not sleep: watch with meand be silent:
It is an awful hour!
[A long pause; then Ethwald starting up from the couch with alarm.
I hear strange sounds ascend the winding stairs.

Queen.
I hear them too.

Ethw.
Ha! dost thou also hear it?
Then it is real. (Listening.)
I hear the clash of arms.
Ho, guard! come forth.

Re-enter Groom.
Gr.
(disappears and then re-entering).
He sleeps so sound, my lord, I cannot rouse him.

Ethw.
Then, villain, I'm betray'd! thou hast betray'd me!
But set thy brawny strength against that door,
And bar them out: if thou but seemst to flinch,
This sword is in thy heart.

[A noise of armed men is now heard at the door endeavouring to break it open, whilst Ethwald and the groom set their shoulders to it to prevent them. Enter Dwina hastily from an inner apartment, and with the Queen assists in putting their strength also to the door, as the force without increases. The door is at last broken open, and Hereulf, with the rebel chiefs, burst in sword in hand.
Her.
(to Ethwald).
Now, thou fell ruthless lion, that hast made
With bloody rage thy native forest waste!
The spearmen are upon thee! to the strife
Turn thy rough breast: thou canst no more escape.

Ethw.
Quick to thy villain's work, thou wordy coward,
Who in the sick man's chamber seekst the fame
Thou dar'st not in th' embattled field attain!
I am prepar'd to front thee and thy mates,
Were ye twice numbered o'er.

[Sets his back to a pillar, and puts himself into a posture of defence.
Her.
The sick man's chamber! darest thou, indeed,
Begrimed as thou art with blood and crimes
'Gainst man committed, human rights assume?
Thou art a hideous and envenom'd snake,
Whose wounded length even in his noisome hole,
Men fiercely hunt, for love of human kind;
And wert thou scotch'd to the last ring of life,
E'en that poor remnant of thy curs'd existence
Should be trod out in the dust.

Ethw.
Come on, thou boasting fool! give thy sword work,
And spare thy cursed tongue.

Her.
Ay, surely will I!
It is the sword of noble Ethelbert:
Its master's blood weighs down its heavy strokes;
His unseen hand directs them.

[They fight: Ethwald defends himself furiously, but at last falls, and the conspirators raise a loud shout.
1st ch.
Bless heaven, the work is done!

2d ch.
Now Mercia is reveng'd, and free-born men
May rest their toil'd limbs in their peaceful homes.

3d ch.
(going nearer the body).
Ha! does he groan?

2d ch.
No, he dies sullenly, and to the wall
Turns his writh'd form and death-distorted visage.

[A solemn pause, whilst Ethwald, after some convulsive motions, expires.
Her.
Now hath his loaded soul gone to its place,
And ne'er a pitying voice from all his kind
Cries, “God have merey on him!”

3d ch.
I've vow'd to dip my weapon in his blood.

st ch.
And so have I.

[Several of them advancing with their swords towards the body, a young man steps forth, and stretches out his arm to keep them off.
Young man.
My father in the British wars was seiz'd
A British prisoner, and with all he had
Unto a Mercian chief by lot consign'd;
Mine aged grandsire, lowly at his feet,
Rent his grey hair; Ethwald, a youthful warrior,
Receiv'd the old man's pray'r and set him free;
Yea, even to the last heifer of his herds
Restor'd his wealth.
For this good deed, do not insult the fallen.
He was not ruthless once.

[They all draw back, and retire from the body. The Queen, who has, during the fight, &c., remained at a distance, agitated with terror and suspense, now comes forward to Hereulf with the air of one who supplicates for mercy, and Dwina, following close behind her, fulls upon her knees, as if to beseech him in favour of her mistress.
Queen.
If thou of good king Oswal, thine old master.
Aught of remembrance hast—

Her.
I do remember:
And deeply grieve to think a child of his
Has so belied her mild and gentle stock.
Nothing hast thou to fear: in some safe place,
In holy privacy, mayst thou repent
The evil thou hast done; for know, proud dame,
Thou art beneath our vengeance.
But as for thine advisers, that dark villain,
The artful Alwy, and that impious man,
Who does dishonour to his sacred garb,
Their crimes have earn'd for them a bitter meed,
And they shall have it.

2d ch.
Shall we not now the slumb'ring Mercians rouse,
And tell our countrymen that they are free
From the oppressor's yoke?

Her.
Yes, thou sayst well: through all the vexed land
Let every heart bound at the joyful tidings!
Thus from his frowning height the tyrant falls
Like a dark mountain, whose interior fires,
Raging in ceaseless tumult, have devour'd
Its own foundations. Sunk in sudden ruin
To the tremendous gulf, in the vast void
No friendly rock rears its opposing head
To stay the dreadful crash.
The joyful hinds, with grave and chasten'd joy,
Point to the traveller the hollow vale
Where once it stood, and the now sunned cots,
Where, near its base, they and their little ones
Dwelt trembling in its deep and fearful shade.

[Exeunt.