University of Virginia Library

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.