University of Virginia Library

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.