University of Virginia Library

To OLGAR, Earl of Devon, a proud thane,
With endless miles of tributary lands,
And countless hosts of tributary serfs,
Reigning supreme within his castle strong,
Among fair Devon's sunny blooming lands,
Unto Earl Olgar was a daughter born,
A daughter, beauteous as the light of day,
Who budded into childhood's happy age,
And blossomed into maidenhood, and still
Each year grew fairer with new blooming charms,
Though e'en before she seemed a perfect flower;
Until her beauty's praise was noised abroad
Through all the land, from Northern Tweed's far banks
Down to the isle of Guith, and each voice,
Praiseful for her, proclaimed her England's gem.
Unlike to all the blue-eyed Saxon maids,
With yellow-waving hair and rose-leaf cheeks,
Elfrida was. Her eyes were black as night.
Her flushed cheek olive dark, and her long hair
Streamed down in waves a sea of glossy brown,
With here and there a little gleam of gold,
As though the sun, in playing 'mongst her locks
Had lost itself, and only could escape
At times to shine from out the tresses dark.
Amid the gentle Saxon maids she bloomed,
Like a rich, gorgeous tulip rising proud
Above a field of daisies pallid pink.
Sweet Ethel, Olgar's tender, weakly wife,
Died in the anguish of Elfrida's birth,
So that another star arose in heaven,
As a new flower blossomed forth on earth.
No mother-hand could guide the childish steps,
No mother-tongue could soothe the childish fears,
Nor chide the growing faults with gentle tones.
And by proud Olgar, full of strange caprice,
Now fondled with a father's tender love,
Now spurned in petty tyranny of strength,
The maid, divinely gifted, grew at last
To love alone the beauty that had wrought
Her joy and power, and had spread her fame.
And strange wild dreams arose within her mind,
And strange wild hopes arose within her heart,
Of something greater than she yet had known.
Restless ambition tortured all her soul,
And e'en as though the longed-for height were reached,
She scorned the gentle maidens of her race,
And spurned the noble thanes who came to seek
Her precious hand, from all the shires round.
But all her pinings left no saddened trace
Upon her glorious face—her bright eyes gleamed
Only the brighter for the secret tears,
And her dark cheek but flushed a richer hue.
Scarce had she counted her first maiden year,
Passing from childhood, when were harshest tales
Heard of her fickle smiles and heartless breast.
A youth of noble race and gentle blood,
Oswald of Mercia, had she once ensnared,
And with her siren smiles she lured him on,
With whispered words, with sweet-sung Saxon songs,
With sunny glances, and low mellow laugh,
Until he thought no beauty so like Heaven
Could e'er belong to aught save Truth alone.
One summer-day, these two were seated in
A bower, where the sun came gently down
To play with shadows, twixt fair trembling leaves.
Elfrida's form was draped in snowy white,
That fell in graceful folds about her shape.
Within the glossy tresses of her hair,
Around her brow, was wound a golden snake,
That gleaming shone from out the rich dark curls.
One cheek she rested languid on a hand
That needed not a gem to make it white,
And dreamily half closed her wondrous eyes,
As though she wearied, hearing her own praise.
And Oswald, as he looked upon her face,
Thus in the sunlight so divinely fair,
Felt Love's hot poison coursing through his veins.
That burned and throbbed as with a fever glow,
And passion-faint he knelt down at her feet.
“Elfrida, O Elfrida, unto thee
God hath resigned my fate. I ne'er have had
Strength to look up and read it in thine eyes.
Oh, calm my madness with thy soothing tones,
Speak, with thy heart's voice say thou lovest me.”
And then Elfrida, laughing her low laugh,
So soft and sweet, it thrilled through all his blood.
Turned scornfully her wonderful dark eyes
Full on his quivering form, and answered him,—
“Oswald, I have no heart—I only have
To sting, my beauty, and to spurn, my pride.
You men have hearts and passions as you say,—
Two things that long have ruined trusting fools.
Go, with your pretty words and ready love,
Some simple Saxon girl you soon will win,
The daughter of the Thane needs nobler suit.”
All trembling with his wounded love and pride,
And livid with his wrath, did Oswald rise,
And choking with his passion, made reply,—
“With your proud scorn, Elfrida, of all men,
E'en should you reach a royal throne, your name
Will go down black with curses to all years,
Stained with your sins, with murder and with blood,
And men will scorn and hate and curse you then,
As I do now.” And then the youth went forth
Into the world, to judge all womankind
By this dark Circe with her fatal wiles,
Upon whose ears the bitter words of scorn
Had fallen lightly as the words of love.

Such were the tales that wide around were spread
Of fair Elfrida, and yet none the less
Came all the noble thanes to seek her hand,
And worship the proud glory of her face.
And none the less her fame and name were noised
Through all the land, until they reached the King,
Edgar the Peaceful, in his royal court,
Who marveled much that 'mongst the Saxon maids
Where were so many fair, this one alone
Should challenge praise, so far above them all.
Young, amorous, and nobly featured was the King,
With lion-like gold mane of yellow hair,
Whereon the crown burned with a dimmer ray,
And fair smooth face formed in a royal mold,
And full blue eye that lightened all his smile.
Peaceful and happy were the merry days
Of his calm reign; no fierce invading Dane
Dared mar its blissful quiet, and within
The realm were stillness and content and joy,
With golden harvests and with teeming lands.
An easy, merry, jovial prince was he,
Sworn worshiper of beauty and of maids,
Yet with a haughty royal temper too,
Slow to inflame but passionate in wrath,
Fanatically pious. In the court
The saintly Dunstan ruled supreme, the same
As he had swayed the sceptres and the minds
Of persecuted Edwy and his heir.
But Edgar, though the monkish Dunstan's slave,
Ne'er loved the insolent, encroaching priest,
But poured the fullest stream from out his heart.
With all the rich strong love of man for man,
More pure, more perfect and more unalloyed,
Than ever man's for woman, or maid's for man,
On a young thane who dwelt within his court.
The noble Athelwold of princely blood,
Like Edgar yellow-haired and azure-eyed,
But with a face cut pure and soft and fair
As a young maiden's, and a boyish smile,
Open and bright and beautiful as Truth.
All honors and all riches did the King
Lavish on Athelwold, and at each feast
Placed the young Earl beside his royal seat,
And pledged him with the foaming flagon full,
And in the chase rode ever by his side,
And in their Saxon games but challenged him.
And not unworthy seemed the youthful Earl
Of his proud master's love, but ever strove
To prove his answering loyal fealty,
And was so nobly mannered, and so free
Of pride or scorn, so open and so true,
That all the court did love him as the King.
No maiden fair had ever won his heart,
Where loyalty and friendship only shed
Their pure soft moonlight, and the glowing sun
Of burning love had never beamed and shone.
And yet did many a gentle Saxon maid
Favor the merry, youthful, laughing thane,
And dream upon his manly, noble form.
But mostly one, a maiden pure as heaven,
The fairest lady in King Edgar's court,
Had fixed her heart upon the heedless youth,
And made his eyes the home of all her dreams.
Bound unto him by ties of blood was she,
His cousin—and for this one cause mayhap,
As Athelwold had ever known her face,
And seen it day by day, until at last,
The wonder of its beauty grew no more
A wonder for him; mayhap for this alone
He passed her by nor granted her a thought,
Nor noted how she hung upon his face
And treasured up his lightly-flowing words,
And flushed with pleasure when he gazed on her
But others marked it well, unknown to her,
And many an envious maid less fair than she,
Prattled with careless gossip of the love
The Lady Edith bore Earl Athelwold.
And Edgar marked it too, and in his heart,
All joyous for his favorite, thought to wed
These two so suited and so nobly dowed.
But Editha knew not the royal thought,
And yearning hopelessly with secret love
She pined and drooped, until the roses left
The lilies all alone upon her cheek.
Daily she sanctified his name with prayers,
And set it round with blessings and with dreams,
And wishes e'er more fervent for his weal.

One day—a golden one for Editha—
The King and Athelwold sat in the court
With her, apart from all the courtiers there,
By an embowered oriel where the sun
Came brightly down and glimmered on her face
Dimpling with rosy joy, as beautiful
As fancied angel's or as pictured saint's.
Well pleased did Edgar look upon the twain,—
The merry noble, and the gentle maid.
Flexile and tall the Thane, while on his face
Beamed youth's bright smile that had not yet deceived,
And youth's bright hope that had not yet belied,
With courtly bearing and with faultless grace.
And Edith, pensive, tender gazed on him,
As though she loved the very sunny light
That gleamed upon him, flickering through the leaves.
Lissome and lithe was she, with slender form,
Girlishly delicate, exquisitely fair,
Mannered with perfect and unconscious grace.
While all the maids had waving yellow hair,
Edith's alone was golden, streaming down
And resting on her swan-like snowy neck,
Like sunlight on a lily. While all eyes
Were brightest azure, were her eyes alone
All violet dark and soft with liquid depths.
And the bright sun did kiss so lovingly
Her beauteous face, and lingered on the waves
Of gold of her long hair so gorgeously,
That it appeared an aureole of grace.
And Athelwold sat by, and lightly spoke
Gay, thoughtless words, yet sweet and dear to her;
And each word fell within her happy heart,
And there was treasured, as the precious pearl
Is treasured 'neath the ocean's pulsing waves.
But as they thus sat here, the courtiers' talk
Within the chamber reached their careless ear,
And amongst their words one name was tost about,
Now glorified with praise now stained with blame,
And the three, seated in the oriel, heard
The name “Elfrida.” And fair Editha
Shuddered, she knew not why, at the strange sound
Suddenly breaking thus their happy talk
Like a harsh discord clashing in a song.
But Athelwold and Edgar both did smile,
And Edgar spoke and said, “What of this maid,
Whose name is ever sounded in mine ears?”
Then gazing with a noble pride around
Upon his noble court, “It seems,” he cried,
“Till now my maidens have been fair enough;
My court has been the garden of all flowers.
Is she then fairer than my lily pure,
My Editha, or than my daisy sweet,
Gentle Elgiva, or the pansy-eyed
Fair Ethelburga, or the primrose-cheeked
Bright Adelthrid? What flower equals these?”
“Ah!” whispered Athelwold unto the King,
“The rose is fairer far than all of these.”
“Nay, if she be so fair,” then spoke the King.
“Myself will see her. By my troth not all
Unworthy might she prove to share my throne.”
Thus half in jest, half serious, the King,
And still the thanes her wondrous beauty praised,
Till Edgar, e'en as though he weary grew
Of hearing of Elfrida, lightly said,—
“Nay, nay, I did but jest in naming her
My queen, the maidens here are fair enough.”
And once again he talked with Athelwold
And Editha within the oriel deep.
But Editha had grown all pale and weak,
As though with some presentiment of ill;
And Athelwold said gently, “Why so pale
My cousin fair? Art envious of this praise?
Envy is but for those with cause to fear
That they can be outshone.” A tender blush,
Fair as the sea-foam's, spread o'er Edith's face.
The sunlight of the merry Thane's bright smile
Chased all the gloomy shadow from her heart,
And the sweet harmony of his soft voice
Seemed all the sweeter for that discord harsh,
That sounded with the strange unwelcome name.

When the young King had parted with his train,
And found himself alone with Athelwold,
Then did he speak again, and said, “Not all
In jest were my few lightly-spoken words.
My heart and head are not yet old enough
To be without their dreams and hopes of love.
Long have I searched my court to find there one
Worthy to wed, but my strange wayward heart
Has never yet discovered her to me.
And if Elfrida be so beautiful,
Well would it please me now to crown her mine,
And own the richest jewel in my realm.”
“Aye,” the Thane answered, “if she be so fair,
Well might the fairest with the noblest wed,
And sweetly would her beauty's moonlight shine,
Beside your glory's sunlight, O my King.”
“Well spoken are thy words, my Athelwold,”
Replied the King, “and now because I trust
Thee mostly 'mongst all nobles in my court,
And since I long ago did place my heart
Within thy breast, I deem thou well canst see
With my own eyes, and therefore unto thee
Do I intrust the mission of my love.
Go thou to Devon—Olgar's daughter see,
And if thou find her beauteous as is said,
Then will I crown her beauty with my love,
And with proud England's stainless Saxon crown.”
Then Athelwold, “Heart free am I my liege,
And ne'er am dazzled with this sun of love.
Be she as beauteous as the light of heaven,
Beauty alone can never win my heart,
And I will only pay the wondrous maid
The honor due to noble Edgar's queen.
Sacred and holy will she be to me
As though the consecrating priestly oil
Had been already poured upon her brow.”
“Thee can I trust my Athelwold,” replied
The King, “and now mark well my words—the day
Thou dost return to name her as my queen,
That day unto a maid will I wed thee,
Whose waxing love for thee I long have marked,—
Thy gentle cousin, Lady Editha.”
“My cousin Edith!” cried Earl Athelwold,
“Nay, nay, my liege, you do but jest in sooth.
She loves me not save with a sister's love,
And this do I return as brother should.
Is she then fair? I ne'er have marked her face;
Sweet, gently-mannered she is known to be,
But the deep love of man for maid I ne'er
Can feel for her, and know full well, the love
Of maid for man she ne'er can feel for me.”
“And well know I she loves thee with all love,”
Answered then Edgar, “search but thy own heart,
And strive to let her love awaken thine,
As 'mongst the stilly hills, one voice awakes
An answering voice, where was no sound before.
And as a star above a quiet stream
Lighteth another underneath the waves.
True, faithful, and most fair is Editha,
And worthily could bear the title proud,
Nearest my heart, of Lady Athelwold.”
Thus Edgar spake, and waiting not reply,
Left Athelwold to ponder o'er his words.
Strange, mixed, and new were all the thoughts that swelled
Within the mind then of the wondering Thane.
The Lady Edith—did she truly love,
As the King said? he ne'er had looked on her
Save as a sister, but when now he mused
Upon his cousin, and joined one by one,
Her trembling words to him, her answering smiles,
Her downcast eyes, her blush at his approach,
When he joined these within his mind, he knew
The little links all formed a golden chain
Of love, that bound her unto him, and now
Already he half deemed that it might bind
Him unto her, so gently was he moved
By this pure love that he had never guessed.
For she had loved him as the flower doth
The sun, and dares not hope to win from him
Aught save the light and smile he grants to all.
And Athelwold then mused upon her form
So wondrous fair, and on her noble grace
That won all hearts, and on her gentle soul
That cared for each and all beneath God's blue,
And then upon the love she had bestowed
On his ungrateful and unseeing heart,
That did not e'en accept the priceless gift.
And full of generous thoughts and pure resolves,
The Thane went to his chamber, and he slept.

But strange dark dreams did haunt his troubled sleep,
With Edith and Elfrida vaguely blent,
He dreamed he saw the beauty of the land—
Elfrida, e'en more fair than she was named.
And with dark eyes fixed ever on his own,
With poisoned glances darting from their depths,
She drew him toward her irresistibly.
Slow, slow, but ever nearer did he move,
And looking backward he saw Editha
Weeping and moaning, stretching praying hands,
And waving arms to bring him back to her.
And then he saw that where stood Editha
All was bright light, and where Elfrida was,
Did all seem black as night, but still he moved
Nearer Elfrida, feeling those dark eyes
Burning within his soul, with snake-like power
Drawing him on, until he reached her form.
And then he marked upon her beauteous head,
Circling above her brow, a gleaming crown,
Shadowy, strange, that now appeared a crown,
And now a glittering, gliding snake of gold,
Glowing upon her hair with mystic light.
And suddenly she stretched forth whitest arms
Around him close, and pierced him to the heart
With a sharp dagger of bright flashing steel.
Then starting from his vision he awoke
With a vague horror chilling all his blood,
And vainly tried to keep his wearied lids
From shadowing his eyes in dreamful sleep.

Bright was the morn that rose upon that night.
The sun upon the roses never burned
More gorgeous, gleaming to their crimson hearts,
And the blue sky ne'er smiled a softer blue
Upon the harebells and the violets,
Colored like it with sweetest azure tinct,
And all impearled with glistening drops of dew,
While the clear sun-bathed fields of morning air
Were vocal with a thousand happy birds.
Then Athelwold arose, and when the hours
Had burned themselves to noon, he bade farewell
To royal Edgar and to Editha.
But as he passed into the outer court,
He heard a lightsome step behind his own,
And turning, saw that Edith followed him.
And when he looked upon her, standing there
All purely fresh, in the bright, dazzling light,
With her long hair that streamed in yellow waves,
Mantling her form in sunlight all around,
And casting golden shadows on the robe
Of purest white that draped her graceful frame,
With her blue eyes all veiled with tearful mist,
And her fair face as pale and colorless
As the white snowdrop, when he saw her thus,
Then the Thane knew that she was beautiful,
And felt he loved her more than he had known.
Then he bent down and took her yielding hand
Within his own, and pressed it with his lips,
And murmured soft and low, “Fair Editha,
The word Farewell is hard to speak, and still
E'er must I bless it, for it teacheth me
What I most loved, yet seeing day by day,
Knew not was dear. Farewell—the hours for me
Will seem all slow and sad until again
I kiss for greeting this dear lily hand.”
Then once more gazed he on her beauteous face,
That burned now with a rosy joy, for he
Had lit the lamp of hope within her heart,
And the bright flame now kindled all her cheek.
Then did he mount his steed and leave the maid
With a new, wondrous bliss, nor could she know
Whether to weep that he had left her now,
Or smile with joy at those few, thrilling words.
And chastely happy, innocently glad
In thinking she had bided well her time,
Nor once betrayed her love, like April day,
She wept through smiles, and smiled through happy tears.

O'er grassy meadows Athelwold rode on,
Checkered by sun and shade, with boundary hills
Of melting purple setting them around,
By soft bright streams, by peaceful villages,
By busy towns bustling with noisy trade,
By wastes and wolds, and woods and treeless downs,
With purple furze, and soft and plumy fern,
By waveless lakes with flowers round the edge,
Like silver mirrors chased in wondrous gems.
Now drawing in his steed to give it rest,
Now pausing long to gaze upon some scene
Of brighter beauty than had charmed him yet,
And musing now on Edith whom he left,
Now on Elfrida whom he rode to greet,
He journeyed till the West arrayed itself
In gold and purple for the setting sun,
And pallid Twilight with her shadowy eyes,
And her fair brow crowned with the evening star,
Reigned o'er the plain. Then paused the Thane at night
To sleep the dreamless sleep of tired youth.
Thus day by day did Athelwold ride on,
Until he reached fair Devon's blooming lands,
And saw the great hereditary seat
Of noble Olgar, rising with its towers,
Massive and bold, and green with ivy leaves,
Against the misty blue of English sky.
Then rode he on through avenues of elms,
Whose leaves close intertissued far above,
All formed mosaics bright of blue and green,
As azure heaven glimmered down through them.
Then reaching the great drawbridge, Athelwold
Knocking, gained entrance unto Olgar's home.
Noble the Castle, with the greater hall
Tapestried, curtained with proud luxury,
Adorned with trophies of the chase—with horns
Silvered and polished, and with shaggy skins
Of hapless victims, hanging on the walls.
Unto the guest-room, furnished with the pomp
Of Saxon wealth, was Athelwold then led.
There came Earl Olgar with his snow-fringed chin,
But with his eye still bright, and form unbent,
Venerable, haughty, with a stately pride,
And, with a courtly, hospitable grace
Welcomed the stranger and his mission asked.
And Athelwold,—“I come from Edgar's court,
Earl Athelwold, the son of Hereward,
To see the beauteous wonder of the land,
And offer her such homage as a heart,
Loyal and ever true, may prompt to one
With little save his heart to speak for him.”
“Earl Athelwold the son of Hereward!”
Cried Olgar, “Nay, an thou be truly he,
Welcome! thou art the son of Olgar too.
Thy father was the friend most near my heart,
Brothers-in-arms were we, and many a time
Fought we together the marauding Dane.
At the dread fray of Bunsbury, my life
He saved at the near peril of his own.
Nay hold, and I will call my daughter here,
To give thee worthy welcome to my home.”
And ere the Thane could crave a moment's rest,
To summon fair Elfrida Olgar went.
Then when the young Earl raised his downcast eyes
She stood before him, so divinely formed,
So radiantly beautiful, so proud,
And yet with such a perfect queenly grace,
That Athelwold half thought it was a dream,
And that no child of earth could be so fair.
In purest white her noble form was draped,
All colorless save where upon her breast,
One dewy rosebud fastened in the folds,
Heaved with her breath, in fragrant answering sighs.
From off her temples, her rich glossy hair
Grew waving in a graceful sinuous line,
Now forward to kiss lovingly the brow,
Now farther back to show still more the face.
Upon her head no Saxon coif of silk
Concealed the wonderous locks, but in their waves,
Twisted the golden, emerald-eyed snake.
Only one rich dark curl escaped to fall,
And linger on her neck, while all the rest
Were wound behind in one great massy coil.
From under curling lashes burned her eyes,
Dewy as morning, dazzling as the noon,
Soft as the twilight, starry as the night,
And the fair lids drooped o'er them dreamily,
Languid as though their fringes held them down,
While under them was traced a darker line,
As though their black intense this shadow cast,
That made them burn with a still brighter glow.
Upon her cheek there bloomed a pale pink flush,
In color like the tenderest inmost leaf
From out the heart of a white rose. Her mouth
Crimsoned with richest beauty, formed a smile
Such as in Paradise must Eve have smiled.
Each trait was perfect, to the little ear,
Shell-like in form and tipped with palest rose,
While the proud head, so beautifully cut,
Was placed in queenly grace upon a form
That needed so much beauty to complete
Its wondrous majesty and noble shape.
Thus did she stand before the dazzled youth,
And with a voice thrilling and mellow rich.
Sweeter than sweetest music, did she say,—
“Welcome to Olgar's daughter is his friend;
And if the noble Earl can feel but half
The pleasure that he grants in tarrying,
I need not bid him stay.” And Athelwold,
All lost in gazing on her form divine,
Made answer—“Thanks, Elfrida only speaks
With my heart's voice when she thus bids me stay.”
Then Olgar led away the youthful Thane,
By sounding corridors and winding stairs,
Unto the richest chamber 'neath the roof,
To be his home while there.
Swift flew the hours
That with Elfrida Athelwold did pass.
And the winged hours lengthened into days,
And the days grew to weeks, and then the weeks
Had almost rounded to a perfect month,
And still he lingered, faithless to his king,
Faithless to friendship, faithless to his word,
Faithless to Edith, faithless to himself,
Forgetful of all else within the world,
Save that Elfrida looked upon his face
Yearning with passion, with her wondrous eyes
Softer than morning's blue, yet black as night,
And that she whispered to him with her voice
Mellowed to music, and that now he might
Worship and gaze upon, for hours long,
The glory and the wonder of her face.
And proud Elfrida seemed to favor too
The courtly Thane, with his most manly grace,
And noble manner, and soft flowing words;
And while he dwelt with her, in the fleet chase
She brooked no rider by her star-browed steed
Save him, and in the hawking ne'er would trust
Her falcon-gentil unto other hands,
Nor danced with any noble in the hall,
Nor walked with any youth within the woods,
Save the King's thane, the courtly Athelwold.
And Athelwold, with youth's credulity,
Ne'er dreamed those sunny glances could be false,
Nor that rose-mouth say what the heart meant not,
But deemed the inner soul a worthy gem
For such a casket as her beauteous form.
And thus he grew to love her day by day
More wildly and more passionately, till
A short and happy month drew near its close.
And then one twilight as they both did sit
Within the bower where Oswald had been spurned.
As Athelwold like him looked on her face,
And felt her form so near his own, and grew
Slowly more mad with gazing on her eyes,
He took her melting hand within his own,
And kneeling at her feet he told his love.
“Listen, Elfrida,” did he murmur low,
“Ere I knew thee, I knew not happiness.
I cannot plead with wordy eloquence,
I cannot sue for thee with honeyed tones,
I can but say I love thee with all love.
And if the truest love that ever burned
Is still unworthy to be crowned by thee,
And if I cannot win, and live for thee,
I needs must die for thee.” And then the maid
Looked down upon him kneeling at her feet,
And whispered soft and sweet, “Rise, Athelwold,
Fear neither for thy happiness nor life,
If my love is to guard them.” Trembling all
With new-born joy did Athelwold arise,
And kissed Elfrida on her beauteous brow,
And blessed her as his own. But suddenly
While he was lost thus in his perfect bliss,
A vision passed before him of the King
Waiting and watching, trustful in his heart.
Not yet was Athelwold's young, noble soul
Won over from its honor and its truth,
By the dark fiend who took so fair a shape,
And all his joy did pale as he recalled
The treachery that brought it; quivering then,
Torn by the bitter conflict in his heart,
A mighty anguish shadowed all his face.
In that dread hour the angels of his life,
The Good and Evil Ones, the Light and Dark,
Fought for the mastery o'er his tortured soul.
And for a moment did the Radiant One
Conquer, and Athelwold spake out and said,
“Elfrida, all my heart doth yearn and cry
For thee—thou art as good and pure and true
As thou art fair—oh show me what is right.
I came to thee not for myself alone,
But for a cherished friend, who bade me sue
For thy most precious hand to grace his own.
All honor must I lose in taking it
For mine. I offered thee erewhile
My life and love and heart—thou hast them all,
And e'er must have them, but I tremble now
In offering my soul.” But the proud maid
Rose scornfully and answered then the Thane:
“If love for me be not more strong within
Thy breast than friendship, and the worthless love
Of Honor, world-begotten and worldly-prized,
Unworthy is it of my answering love,
And well can I unsay my thoughtless words.”
And while she answered thus, her scorn did sit
Upon her face all gorgeous, like a cloud,
Through which the sunset flashes angrily,
Gleaming more radiant through its kindled veil.
Then the Dark Angel conquered, and the Thane
Fell down, and craved her pardon for his words,
And with his wooings, passionful and mad,
And with his yearning voice, he won her back,
And calm once more she plighted him her troth.

All had gone by—the last long happy day,
The last sweet eve, and now the last fair morn
Arose all dewy fresh on Athelwold
And on Elfrida, as they both stood there,
Gazing with tearful eyes on tearful eyes,
With farewell in their hearts, without the strength
To frame it on their lips. Until at last
The Thane with soothing tones, all sad and slow,
Murmured unto her,—“Grieve thou not, my love,
The parting makes the greeting but more sweet.
Last night the waxing moon did show to us
Her silver crescent gleaming in the sky.
Before she waneth to that form again,
Will I return to greet thee as my wife,
And bless thee as mine own for evermore.”
And passionately did he burn farewells
In kisses on her brow and on her lips,
And mounting his fleet steed he sped away.
Then he rode back by peaceful villages,
And busy towns, and wastes, and wolds, and woods,
But all the beauty blooming round his path
Was lost unto his absent mind and heart.
Weary and long the journey seemed to him
Who had before gazed charmed upon each scene
With admiration of impulsive youth,
For what doth kindling touch his fancy rich.
But love had now inflamed his inmost heart,
And fancy paled before that dazzling light.
So pining for Elfrida journeyed he,
Wearied at night, finding no rest in sleep,
Drearily onward till he reached at last
The city and the palace of the King.

Slowly and dully had the hours passed on
For Edith, while awaiting Athelwold.
But the sweet thought still lightened all her heart,
That he did love her, and his last soft words
Still rang their gentle music in her ears.
And day by day she rose from dreams of him
Expectant e'er to see his welcome form,
And his bright face smiling upon her own;
But a vague shadow clouded o'er her brow,
And a dull weight oppressed her heavy heart,
As each day rose and deepened into noon,
Faded to twilight, died into the night,
And still he came not, and the maiden paled
With undefined, vague fears for Athelwold.
And Edgar too watched anxious for his friend,
And missed his merry voice, and boyish laugh,
And saddened for his favorite, and the court
All seemed to be less bright without his smile.
But one alone in all King Edgar's court,
Was freër and more glad when Athelwold
Moved not therein,—the monkish Dunstan stern,
Who looked upon the Thane with jealous eye,
And ever sought to poison Edgar's mind,
With dark tales of the cherished favorite.
But smooth-faced, flattering, and fair in words,
The Earl ne'er knew him other than a friend.
One morn while Edith by the casement sat,
Watching and waiting, daring not to hope,
She caught afar the reflex of the sun,
Glimmering brightly on some glittering thing.
And watching it she saw a rider soon
Upon a steed with flashing ornaments.
Fears changed to hopes within her throbbing heart,
And hopes again to fears, and on her cheek
Were traced by pallid white and rosy red.
And all at once her face broke in a smile
That kindled all her blushes, as the sun
Brings out the roses' colors with its light;
And joining in mute thankfulness to God
Two whitest hands, she murmured low, “'T is he!”
Aweary with his journey, Athelwold
Dismounting entered in the chamber there
Where Edith sat, who trembling with her joy,
Rose smilingly to greet him, and exclaimed,
“Welcome, my cousin, to thy home again.”
And she stretched forth her little lily hand
To meet his own, but Athelwold saw not
The heart-sprung gesture, and he made reply:
“Thanks for thy welcome, Lady Editha;
Where is the King? Then Editha, all pale,
As though she had received a mortal hurt,
And drawing hurriedly and proudly back
The poor unnoticed little hand, replied,
“I know not, Athelwold,”—and choking with
The tears that rose in thinking this was all
That she had yearned and watched for all these hours,
Turned quickly off, and to her chamber went,
To weep unseen her bitter-flowing tears.
Welcome to royal Edgar was the sight
Of his friend's face, and gladly greeted he
His cherished favorite once more in his court,
Nor noted that a change had come upon
The merry Thane. Less bright and gay his smile,
Less open his blue eyes, less free his brow
Of shadow and of cloud. He left, a youth,
And he returned, a man. Through an ordeal
Bitter and fiery had he passed, nor came
Scathless and spotless from the conflict dread.
The battle of his life had now been fought,
And he had conquered not; he had been tried
By Passion and by Sin, and Passion left
Its fire, and Sin its stain upon his heart.
But Edgar, happy, seeing once again
His favorite, noted not the darksome change,
And welcomed him more gladly o'er and o'er.
And then he asked him how his mission fared,
And if the world-praised maiden he had seen
Was noble or was beautiful enough
To reign a queen. And Athelwold replied,
Indifferent seeming, though the royal words
Pierced through his heart,—“She was o'erpraised, my liege;
Her beauty is not worthy of her fame;
In your own court is many a fairer maid.
A country maiden she with no proud charms,
And courtly grace that England's queen must own,
And whose slight beauty never would be marked
In one of meaner birth or less degree.”
Thus spoke the Thane, while fair Elfrida's form
Arose before him with its noble grace,
And maddened him to think on. Then the King:
“Nay, if this wondrous beauty be no more,
Soon can I find a worthier to crown
Among my gentle Saxon maidens here.
Fain would I thou hadst found her beautiful,
That Athelwold might sue for Edgar's queen;
But we will think of her no more. Thou hast
Thy mission well performed, and brought me back
The truth I longed for; now will I fulfil
The promise that I made thee ere thou left,
And wed thee with the Lady Editha.”
But Athelwold, who had forgotten quite
His short-lived fancy for fair Editha,
And yearning for Elfrida, grew all pale
At the mere thought of being bounden thus,
And he made answer,—“O my King, much thought
In my long journey did I give to her.
No sister and no brother have I known,
Then take not this pure holy love away.
Ne'er can she be my wife, then let her be
What she has ever been, and must remain,
Nor more nor less;” and Edgar made reply:
“In this thou grievest me, my Athelwold.
Fain would I see thee wedded unto one
Whom I could trust to love and cherish thee;
But if fair Edith suits thee not, seek through
My court, and choose the one who suits thee best,
And worthily the King will dower her
To have thee wed her.” Then the wily Thane:
“Thanks, O my liege, for this your care of one
So poor as I; but if I am to wed
I can recall no maid who suits me more
Than this Elfrida, albeit she is not fair
Like Lady Edith. I have ever said,
Beauty alone could never win my heart.
And if the King would smile upon my suit,
Her would I wed.” Then said the noble King,
“My Athelwold, go ever where thy heart
Doth lead thee. 'T is too good and pure and true
Ever to lead thee wrong. If thou art pleased
With this Elfrida, wed, and know, no prayers
Will e'er more fervent for thy weal arise,
Than thy true friend the King's.” And every word
Of undeservèd praise that Edgar spoke,
Cut the Thane's heart, as though of sharpest steel.
And when the King did press his hand and look
Within his eyes, as though to read his heart,
For the first time then Athelwold did shrink
From friendship's gaze, for his tried heart had now
Its secret and its stain, and he cast down
The curtains o'er the windows of his soul,
And felt the red shame burn upon his cheek.

Two leaden-footed days for Athelwold
Passed by, ere he again prepared himself
To journey unto Devon, to be wed.
And all the time the shadow of his sin
Darkened his joy, and lay all heavily
Upon his heart, erst free of every care.
And once in looking on fair Editha,
All sad since his harsh greeting unto her,
Sudden he thought to ease his troubled mind,
Confessing all his treachery and sin,
Unto the maid; and gently he advanced
With lightly spoken words to where she sat.
But when she looked on him all trustfully,
With eyes that ne'er had known the shadow dark
Of an untruth, open as cloudless heaven,
His courage failed him, and he thought deceit
Had served so well, 't would serve him longer still,
And spurned he his resolve as girlish-weak.
Then greeted he the maid with tender words,
Soft spoken low, that fed her dying hopes;
And in his mind he placed Elfrida dark
By this sweet maid, and to himself he said:
“Pale Editha, thou art no more like her,
Than is the morning-star like to the sun.”
But still he whispered in soft thrilling tones
Unto the maid, nor did he once betray
A word of his new love, and his intent
To wed her ere once more he came to court.
Then the third day from his return, again
He bade farewell unto the noble King
And gentle Edith, even to the last
Fanning her glowing love for him with words
Faithless and false as was his sin-stained heart.

Sad had Elfrida missed the youthful Earl,
Noble and courtly 'mongst the Devon thanes,
And her ambitious soul now yearned and longed
More wildly to make real its restless dreams,
As visions of the pomp and splendor rose
Before her of the Saxon court, and so
She waited, all impatient, the return
Of the King's thane, who was to bring to her
What she had longed and hoped for all her life.

Madly did Athelwold spur on his steed,
Each day, and endless seemed each night of rest,
Until at last he reached the castle proud
Of Olgar, at the close of a long day,
As the bright, glittering, golden doors of heaven,
Gemmed with all hues, were opened in the west
For the Sun's chariot, and the wearied steeds.
Quick throbbed his heart, and brightly burned his cheek
As he rushed in the castle, and there found
Elfrida anxious waiting his return.
With a glad cry she rose to welcome him,
And madly on her beauteous cheek and brow
Greeting, he kissed her, but the maiden proud
Flushing, drew back, and proffered him her hand.
Then passionate he gazed on her as though
To drink her beauty in his very soul,
And sat beside her, and they talked of love,
Till twilight silvered into moonlight bright,
And, crowned with stars, calm rose the summer night.

Bright shone the sun upon the Devon lands,
Fresh glowed the dew on all the fragrant blooms,
Clear, sunny-soft was the sweet summer air,
And all the leaves and flowers and trees of earth
Sent up their messenger, the lark, to heaven,
To bear their praises to the bounteous God.
Slowly the morning deepened into noon,
And the gold sun burned brightly in the sky,
When in Earl Olgar's home, all joyful sounds
And lovely sights were blended happily.
Proud thanes and gentle maids appareled rich
With broidered tunics and fair mantles long,
And sparkling gems and fringes of bright gold,
Had met to see the proud Elfrida wed
With the King's thane, the noble Athelwold.
Most dazzling fair the beauteous maiden looked
In her rich robe of spotless samite white,
Heavy with pearls broidered upon its folds.
Before her face down from the bridal wreath
Fell the pure tissue waving to her feet,
That draped her like a veil of moonlight soft,
Which into mellow beauty silvers all.
And noble and most proud by his fair bride
Seemed Atheldwold; all shadow of remorse
Had left his face, lit by a perfect joy.
Well was his manly, noble form displayed
In the fair Saxon tunic fringed with gold
And glittering with gems, and proud he gazed
Upon his bride, the wonder of all eyes.
Then, in the breathless hush, the priest did join
Elfrida, daughter of the Devon Earl,
To Athelwold, the son of Hereward,
Immutably together bounden fast,
To move through all the shadow and the shine
Of life, unto the darkness of the grave.
Then Athelwold upon her noble brow
Sealed with a kiss his promises to her,
And on her hand he placed the golden ring,
That with its glittering circlet bound them both.
Merrily clashed the music in the hall,
Gracefully danced the maidens and the thanes,
As Athelwold did greet his beauteous bride.
Happy and short was that bright marriage-day,
For all in Olgar's wide estate, and e'en
Unto the lowest ceorle it was a time
Of gladness and of peace and liberty.
Fair blooming flowers were braided then for her
Who could outshine them all, and luscious fruits,
And golden flowing wines, and juicy meats,
And largess rich, were lavished unto all.
And far into the night the feast was held,
With music and with wassail and with song.

Swift flew the golden hours and happy days,
Swift they flew by as though on fleetest wings.
Thus Time, for man created, must partake
His hurrying restlessness, his anxious haste,
A mockery to God's Eternity,
Calm in its grandeur, as unchangeable,
As He to whom its majesty pertains.

In Devon there was feasting and glad joy,
But in the palace of King Edgar, all
Did miss the bright face of the youthful Thane.
Edith, who ne'er had guessed the Earl's intent,
Still fed her hopes, and thought to win his heart,
And once more waited anxious his return,
Until one day the King announced to all
That his young favorite had betrothed himself
Unto Elfrida, and had gone to wed.
No cry escaped from Lady Edith's lips,
Nor any tear from out her calm blue eye,
Only a faint blush that had tinged her cheek
When she had heard his name, did fade away
And leave her deathly pale, and a bright smile
That lit her face, suddenly died away.
And nevermore upon her beauteous traits
Did that glad, hopeful, thoughtless smile return.
Sometimes its flitting ghost appeared, to make
Only the sadder her sad, pallid face.
No word then did she utter, though she felt
A sharp quick pang within her heavy heart,
That never could be light and gay again.
But burdened with the weight of sighs unsighed
And tears unwept.
Unto another one
Within the court were Edgar's tidings then
Of import.—to the priestly Dunstan shrewd,
Who in an instant the whole truth divined,
Of Athelwold's betrayal of the King.
No word then did he speak, but softly smiled,
As doth a man who seizeth his revenge.
Then on the morrow did he send a monk
Privily down to Devon, there to see
The bride of Athelwold, and bring to him
The truth about her beauty.
One bright day,
Four quiet weeks since Athelwold was wed,
Did Dunstan lead the youthful King apart,
Down a green alley of high arching trees,
Within the royal garden, craving then
His ear, some weighty secret to impart.
“My liege,” began the monk, “you cherished erst
An aspic in your bosom—it has stung,
Although you feel no pain. Humbly have I
Oft warning spoke to you of Athelwold,
And read deceit in his frank seeming eye.”
“Nay, nay,” exclaimed the King, “if this be all,
If thou but bringest me another tale,
Slanderous and poisoned, of my Athelwold,
I will not grant to thee my listening ear;
I know him frank, and I have proved him true.”
“And I,” replied the monk, “have proved him false.
No groundless tale, impossible of proof,
Bring I to you, but one which the whole court,
Erelong, must hear, with wonder that their king,
Noble and royal, is so easily duped.”
Then as the King flushed with an angry pride
At the bold words, the wily monk went on:
“My King, the bride of Athelwold is fair
As she was named—most radiantly fair.
None can withstand the beauty of her face,
Her royal dignity, her perfect form,
Her noble manner, all her queenly charms.
And Athelwold, insnared in toils of love,
Bought with his honor this most precious gem,
Betraying his king's trust and faith and love.”
A royal anger rose in Edgar's heart,
And flushed his cheek, and darted from his eye;
But nobly open as the truth itself
For but an instant did he grant belief
Unto the tale of treachery and sin,
And quickly answered, “Nay, the Thane e'er said
Beauty alone could never win his heart.”
“And not alone did beauty win his heart,”
Replied the monk; “the maid hath other charms
Beside her face; so wondrous in their spell
That all men fall and worship.” And the King
As though he spoke and reasoned with himself
To check the dark suspicious thoughts that rose:
“Heart-free was he, my noble Athelwold.”
“My liege, 't were better he had been heart-bound,”
Answered the monk. Then said the King, “Myself
Will go to Devon, and this goddess see,
Who is so wondrous fair. More readily
Can I believe that she is over-praised,
Than that my Athelwold is over-loved.
Oh the dark curse of kings! Is then the crown
So dear a treasure that it can be bought
But at the price of all men's love, and he
Who wears it ne'er can know or trust or faith,
Naught but the flattery, meaningless and vile.
That man doth yield to those he crouches 'neath!
O Dunstan, sooner would I thou hadst come
With tidings that my whole glad, happy land,
Rebellious turned from me, than this one youth
To whom I gave my trust and faith and heart.
Nay, nay, it cannot be! Those frank blue eyes,
Open as heaven, could ne'er be false as hell.
They gazed on me with such free loyalty
When last I saw them.” Then all suddenly,
As though a bitter thought had struck him, low
He whispered, “Nay, when last I looked on them,
It seemed as though they shrank then from my gaze.
They could not meet me, as they had been wont.
What thoughts are these! If he be true, my doubts
Were blackest stain upon me evermore.
O Dunstan, I will see this beauty famed,
And if she be not fair, and if my Thane
Be pure and spotless as I doubt him not,
Out from my court then will I banish thee,
For all that thou hast made me suffer now,
And for thy slanderous, wicked, poisoned tongue.”
Thus boldly spoke the King unto the monk
Whom he had feared and dreaded all his life,
And Dunstan left him with a fawning smile,
But with revenge and hatred in his heart.
Then the poor King, tortured by thousand doubts,
Paced up and down with hurried step, the lane,
Repeating o'er and o'er, “It cannot be!”
And every time, it seemed as though a voice
Did whisper unto him all low, “It is!”
And thus he walked until the sun went down,
And left the earth to twilight and the stars.

Once more did Athelwold return to court,
But brought Elfrida not to greet the King.
Alone he came, and was so glad and free,
So frank and open, that he seemed again
The same bright, merry youth that erst in court
Made all the sunshine with his happy smile.
And Edgar, when he saw his favorite thus,
As blithe and boyish as he e'er had been,
Put by all dark suspicion, nor did grant,
E'en for an instant, Dunstan's tale belief.
But he had sworn to see his favorite's bride,
And prove him faithful unto all the world.
Then said he unto Athelwold, “My friend,
It grieveth me that thou shouldst not have led
Thy much-praised bride to greet thy loving King;
But since thou hast not, Edgar will himself
Go unto Devon, and behold her there.”
Once more the shadow came upon the face
Of Athelwold, who, turning deathly pale,
Quickly replied, “Nay, nay, my King, it were
By far too great an honor unto me.
Simple and plain is she, unused to courts,
Not fair enough to please your royal eyes,
And ne'er could give her King the welcome due,
To one so high, so far above herself.”
Then said the King, who felt his trust grow weak
As he did note the pallor of his friend,
And gazing earnestly within his eyes,
“Nay, if she be so simple, so unused
To courts and kings, 't will be relief to me,
Who am all weary of the friendships false,
And flattery and lies that greet me here.
Fain would I know the welcome once sincere,
Honest and true, of those who ne'er deceive.”
Then Athelwold felt all his heart within
Sink 'neath the burden of his sin, and longed
To pour out his pent soul unto the King,
Craving his pardon or his punishment.
But sudden on Elfrida did he think
With her proud face so radiantly fair,
And quickly checking all good impulses,
He said, “Since you so honor us, my liege,
I can but crave your royal sanction now,
To go before you, and prepare my bride,
To give you fitting welcome.” And the King
Granting him this, the Thane did haste away.

Swiftly did Athelwold ride back again
To Devon, tortured by a thousand fears.
Madly he hastened till he reached his home,
And breathless rushed into Elfrida's arms,
Then unto her did he confess at last
The darksome tale of treachery and sin.
“Elfrida, dost thou not recall,” cried he,
“When in the bower first I told my love,
Sudden I grew all faint and ill, and said
That traitorously I sinned in loving thee?
That I came not to woo thee for myself
But for a friend—that friend was England's king!
Elfrida, O Elfrida, I have loved,
As no poor human heart e'er loved before.
I worshiped thee, I gave to thee my life,
I gave to thee my honor and my soul.
And now the King hath guessed my treachery,
And cometh here to greet thee. O my wife,
As thou art pure and true, and lovest me,
Save me and save my honor and thine own.
Oh, lay aside thy irresistless charms,
Make thyself plain and rough,—unlike thyself.
Thou who hast ruined e'er so many, with
Thy maddening beauty, lay it once aside,
To save the one who loves thee more than all.”
Thus wildly spoke the Thane upon his knees,
Passionate suing his proud, heartless bride;
And when he said his friend was England's king,
A fierce, wild look of hate did dart from out
Her flashing eyes, but they grew sudden soft,
Voluptuous and tender, and her face
Mellowed to loving beauty as she gazed
Upon the Thane thus kneeling at her feet.
Then low and sweet she spoke to him and said,
“My Athelwold, thou canst not doubt my heart.
I care not for the pomp of kings and courts,
I care but for that precious gem, thy love,
And will devise but how to guard it best.”
Then Athelwold arose, and kissed his bride,
And thanked and blessed her, and she soothed his fears,
And calmed him once again to quiet peace.
Then while they talked the wily beauty said,
“My Athelwold, but tell me how I can
Appear before the King.—my simplest gown
Is that in which thou didst behold me first.”
Then as the Thane recalled her wondrous form
As he first saw it, so divinely fair,
Clad in its simple robe of purest white,
Once more he maddened, knowing that the King
Could not but love her as himself had done
In that pure garb, and he made answer then:
“Nay, nay, Elfrida, when before the King,
Appear, for me, in any gown but that.”
And once more did Elfrida calm the Earl
With soft sweet words, and mellow ringing laugh,
And beauteous smiles, until he left her there,
To robe herself to meet the coming King.

Then when the Thane had left his bride alone,
Sudden the look of hate came back again
Into her wondrous eyes, and darted forth
And darkened all her face, and she began
Low, but her voice swelled louder as she spoke,
And grew to wildest passion breaking forth:
“I hate thee, Athelwold, and with that arm—
My beauty—wherewith thou besought me erst
To save thee, will I crush and ruin thee.
False, faithless to thy friendship and thy king,
I will be false to thee. O Athelwold,
I scorn and spurn thee and thy worthless love.
I will be fairer now than e'er before,
And madden thee with love, and win the King.
And lay aside mine honor but to bring
Dishonor upon thee and thy proud name.
This petty ring thou gavest should have been
A royal crown around my stately brow.”
Then in her mirror did she view herself,
All gorgeous in her beauty, with her eyes
Flashing through tears of passion and of wrath,
Like lightning through the rain, and cried aloud,
“Poor crownless head, art thou not fair enough,
And proud enough to wear that circlet rich?
O Athelwold, that thou shouldst make me miss
The fate thus written on my face! What I
Have yearned so long to own, that thou shouldst now
Wrench it, when nearest, from my grasp! Nay then,
I will be false and faithless as thyself,
And thou wilt learn what means Elfrida's hate.”

Within the castle of the Devon Earl
All were prepared to greet the royal guest,
And Athelwold, still trustful in his bride,
Rode forth to meet and welcome Edgar there.
Awaiting them the proud Elfrida sat,
More gorgeously attired, more radiant fair,
Than e'er before. Her noble form was clad
In a pure robe of richest samite white,
With the long Saxon tunic fringed with gold,
And glittering with gems, and over this,
Draping her round, there fell a mantle long
Of violet velvet, on the shoulder fair
Drawn up and fastened with an armlet bright
Of amethysts and diamonds. On her head
A Saxon coif of violet velvet lay,
Relieved against the darkness of her hair,
By the pure lining of white samite shown.
Around her neck there gleamed a dazzling row
Of diamonds, that brightened as she breathed,
As though her breath did give them added life,
And on her snowy arms there glittered forth
Bracelets and armlets of rich massy gold.
Beneath her robe peered out one dainty foot,
Slippered in violet velvet with a clasp
Of a dark amethyst in diamonds set.
The look of hate had vanished from her eyes,
And only softened glances darted forth,
Mellowed voluptuous by long lashèd lids.
Her passion had but left a rosy glow
Delicate-faint upon her pallid cheek,
As a wild storm oft leaves no other trace,
Than a bright roseate flush of sunset clouds.

All suddenly a noise of clattering hoofs,
And shouts of welcoming announced the King.
Then courtly Olgar went without to greet
His sovereign, and, to thrilling music loud,
Followed by all the train of noblemen,
The three did enter where Elfrida sat.
Upon the noble Olgar's happy face
Beamed forth a father's smile of love and pride,
As he beheld his daughter there so fair.
Alas! he could not know that beauty rich
Was doing deadliest work in this calm hour.
A smile too gleamed on Athelwold's bright face
As he did enter, thinking he would find
Elfrida simply robed, unlike herself.
But when he saw the gorgeous beauty there
So regally attired and so proud,
So dazzling in her radiance, a look
Of the most wild despair came o'er his face,
Distorting all its manly symmetry.
Then madly thinking she was still his own,
He dropped his eyes to see upon her hand
The pure gold ring that bound her unto him;
But she had placed a glittering amethyst
Set in rich diamonds, o'er the circlet small,
And he could see it not beneath those gems.
Then he cast down his eyes and bent his head,
As doth a man crushed 'neath the hand of fate.
And noble Edgar when he entered there,
Trustful in Athelwold, deeming he would find
A simple, rustic beauty, trembling 'neath
His royal gaze, and found instead this queen,
More radiant than aught his wildest dreams
Had ever pictured unto him before;
When he thus saw Elfrida, rising up
To welcome him, a look of sharpest pain
Flashed o'er his face, and quick he dropped the arm
Of Athelwold, which careless he had linked
Within his own. Then did Elfrida speak,
Saluting him with a most queenly grace:
“King Edgar never will regret his stay
At Devon Castle here, if one so poor
In grace as I, can aught to pleasure him.”
And then the King, courtly yet bitterly:
“Nay, one so rich in grace to win the heart
Of faithful Athelwold, must pleasure all,
And kings should but be proud to feel her sway.”
And saying this he looked at Athelwold;
But the Thane stood there with his gaze all fixed
Upon his bride, and heard not her soft words,
Nor the King's answer, nor the music loud,
Clashing its merry notes within the hall,
But only knew that she whom he did love
Each moment with more mad intensity,
Was slipping like the air from out his grasp,
And even now she was no longer his.

All hope and joy had fled from Edith's heart.
Sadly she pined away for Athelwold,
And grew so pale and faint and weak and ill,
That she did think her grief was bearing her
Downward unto her grave. Then when she heard
That Edgar unto Devon was to go
To greet Elfrida, suddenly she thought
She, too, would see before she died the one
Who passing through her life had blighted all.
Each day she pondered o'er this, and at last
The thought grew rooted in her inmost mind,
Until it blossomed to a fixed resolve.
Then when King Edgar with his train had left
The court, the maiden followed them alone,
Clad in a simple rustic peasant's gown,
And toilsome journeyed through weary days;
And a faint joy again woke in her heart,
As she now thought she would see Athelwold
Once more, and then would die. She knew not then
That death comes not so swiftly when 't is called,
And that there is a sadder thing than death
Unto the weary and heart-broken one.
For journeying down the mountain oft we reach
The shadow while the valley still is far,
And Editha, not knowing, prayed for death,
Nor guessed this last sad hope could fail her too.

When Olgar and the King and Athelwold,
With differing emotions all, had gazed
Upon Elfrida's dazzling form divine,
One other still was there to whom her face,
Beauteous as heaven, seemed as dark as doom—
Edith—who, footsore, weary, had crept up
Outside the castle, and through casements oped
For the fresh summer air, beheld the one
Who had so darkened all her sunny life.
But ere she noted proud Elfrida's form,
A sad sweet smile illumed her pallid face,
As her eyes rested with a yearning love
On Athelwold. That scene of rich display,
By beauty and by kingly presence graced,
When gazed on from without seemed naught but joy,
And Edith could not know the suffering,
The sorrows and the sins, the guilty love,
The falsehood and the passions and the woe,
That worked within those hearts beneath the light.
Who knows, in gazing on the placid sea,
What powers may be working far below,
And torturing the ocean's giant heart,
Far down below the heavens and the sun?
“Thou 'rt happy, Athelwold,” cried Editha;
“I only would 't was I who caused thy joy.
Alas! my dream of love was too like heaven
For God to grant it me upon this earth.
Elfrida, O Elfrida, thou art she
Whose name has been to me a sound of woe,
To shudder at, to weep o'er, and to hate.
Since I first knew that life was nothingness,
That name has burned within my heart and brain;
And now thou art no more a name for me,
Thou art a form I never may forget.
I see my fears, my pains, my sufferings
All rise before me, and they take thy shape.
Ah when I dreamt and conjured up thy face,
And formed it of the fairest and most bright,
I only thought how nearly it might come
Unto an angel's. Then I could not know
A demon's might be fairer. Now I come
To hate and curse thee. O Elfrida dark.
I curse thee for thy beauty and thy pride,
For every joy thou gavest Athelwold
That turned his heart from me, and pray to God
My curse and hate may bring thee every ill;
For He will grant the last and only prayer
Of a poor, broken heart—nay, pardon me!
O Heaven, what am I that I should curse,
When even Thou in mercy e'er dost send
Thy rain upon the evil and the good,
Thy sunlight on the wicked and the just!
Nay, nay, I cannot curse; she brought me woe,
But she brought joy to Athelwold. O God,
Bless her with happiness and length of days,
Bless her for every joy she giveth him,
Bless her for every beauty that she owns,
Which ever for an instant pleasured him.”
Then with a last long look on Athelwold,
And on Elfrida, Edith slowly turned,
And wound her way unto an ancient wood,
Anear the castle, but as still and calm
In the drear grandeur of its giant trees
As if there was no noise of revelry
Of heedless man, so nigh its quiet depths.
After the feast was o'er in Olgar's home,
As the low sun cast shafts of slanting light
Upon the earth, through rainbow-colored clouds,
King Edgar, calm and mild but very pale,
Once more the Thane's arm linked within his own,
And walked with him unto the lonely wood.
The maddening beauty of Elfrida now
Had worked its spells upon King Edgar's heart,
And, as when one has gazed upon the sun,
And sees in all around its glittering form,
So Edgar, dazzled by her beauty now,
Saw naught but her fair face in every thing.
Into the wood he walked with Athelwold,
And spoke as soft and calm as e'er before:
“My friend, thy bride is fairer than I thought;
Right glad am I thou cam'st before me here,
To teach this simple country dame, unused
To courts, how to receive her king. She hath
Full quickly by thy lessons profited.
Ne'er saw I, by my troth, a queen before
Receive more gracefully, more royally.”
And Athelwold with passion mad, yet forced
To check and master it, but made reply,
More truly than the King could e'er divine:
“My liege, I judged her falsely.” Then the King:
“Full glad am I that thou hast such a bride,
And sweetly does her beauty's moonlight shine
Beside your honor's sunlight, O my friend.”
But, lost in thought, the Thane no answer gave,
And farther still they walked into the wood.
And then the King went on less calm, but still
Passionless seeming: “Not so fair is she
As Lady Edith with her yellow hair
And Saxon eyes, but she is very fair.
Beauty alone could never win thy heart.
Right glad am I to see thee with a bride
Of whom none e'er can say her beauty won
Thy love. Simple and plain is she, with charms
Fit for a modest thane, not for a king.”
But tortured Athelwold made no reply,
And farther still they walked into the wood.
Then once again the King, less calm this time,
And with a sudden break in his soft voice,
Hoarsely and strangely sounding, “Athelwold,
Have I not loved thee? have I not given thee
All that a king can give his subject e'er,
All that a man can give unto a man?
I will not speak to thee of honors now,
Of favors and of titles and of names,
Of wealth and jewels; but my trusting heart,
My more than friendship, all my wealth of love.”
Then with his voice swelling with wrathful power,
“Have I not lived in thee, and thought of thee
As a dear brother, as a favored child?
Have I not worked e'er for thy happiness
More than mine own? Did I not trust thee erst
With the dear mission of my love and heart,
And didst thou not return, and smile thy smiles
Of blackest treachery in my loving face,
And buy thy gem with falseness and deceit,
And spot thy heart with darkest, foulest sins?”
Then the Thane, vanquished, humbly bowed his head,
And hid his face within his hands, and cried:
“Spare me, my King,” and fell at Edgar's feet.
But the King laughed a fiendish, sounding laugh,
And cried aloud, “Spare thee, thou traitorous heart!
Nay, I will smite thee, coward that thou art,
And curse thee now more fervently than e'er
I prayed for thee before.” And as he spoke,
He raised his sword and smote the prostrate Thane.
There in the anguish of his penitence,
And left him bleeding in a deathly trance,
And turned not once until the wood was passed.

The sun had gone behind the curtain blue
Of the fair sky, and only left a fringe
Of radiant gold upon the border there.
Faintly the twilight glimmered through the tree,
And shone upon the Thane's sad upturned face,
The crimson life-blood ebbed from out his heart.
And pale his face, and yet though pale not calm,
Distorted by the agony of life,
Far worse than all the agony of death.
The torture of that darksome, fatal hour,
When Edgar took the voice of conscience there,
Portraying all his sin, had past not yet.
Gently the green leaves of the mighty trees
Trembled and shook on him their twilight dew,
And the blue heaven pitiful bent down
Upon him, lying with his eyes thus closed,
As though he dared not look upon God's home.
Then through the mazy labyrinth of the wood
Slowly a maiden's form did pass along,
Clad in a peasant's gown. With toilsome pace
Slowly and thoughtfully she walked until
She dropped her eyes upon the bleeding form
Of Athelwold, thus lying on the earth.
And then with such a wild, despairing cry
Of quivering anguish, that it rang again
Unto the very heaven, did she fall
Beside the prostrate body of the Thane,
And chafed his listless hands within her own,
And womanly caressed the pallid brow,
And tried to stanch the gushing flow of blood
With the long tresses of her yellow hair,
And wept and sobbed and moaned and prayed by him.
“Awake, awake, my Athelwold!” she cried;
“Why liest thou so still and pale and cold?
What means this crimson stream of rushing blood?
Awake, awake! alas for me, I grieved
That thou didst love another; only wake,
And thou mayst love the meanest creature here,
And I will but rejoice! Woe, woe for me!
My voice had never power over him.
Nay, Athelwold, it is not Editha,
It is Elfrida who doth bid thee wake;
Arise for her whom thou hast loved so well.
Oh that I could from out my weary breast
Pluck the warm heart, and yield it unto thee,
To give thee youth and strength and life anew.
Oh this dark stream of blood! must it thus flow
Forever on in this swift-rushing stream!
It covereth the ground with ruddy stain,
It spreads and widens—all the earth is red—
All one red glow unto mine aching eyes,
All one red glare upon the summer sky.
My God! my God! 't is more than I can bear.”
And she fell down beside the prostrate Thane,
Quivering with agony, prone upon her face.
But the soft passing summer twilight breeze,
And the warm life of Edith's chafing hands,
Had roused the Thane from out his death-like trance,
And sighing a deep heavy sigh of pain,
He oped his eyes, and seeing Editha
Shuddered, and in a strange and husky voice,
Unlike the old clear, mellow-ringing tones,
Slowly and painful murmured, “O my God!
Have pity on my o'erstrained, wandering mind.
Is not my dream of passion and of sin
Yet over? must I now be mocked with forms
Unreal, vain phantoms of the brain distraught?”
But Editha arose then at his voice,
And cried, “Nay, nay, it is no fleeting dream,
'T is Editha who comes to heal thy hurt
And bring thee back again to life and joy.”
“Nay,” murmured Athelwold, “no more for me
Can be the beauties of the bounteous earth.
I proved myself unworthy of them all;
There is enough of sin in this dark world,
More than my share I brought. What had been life
Had I but seen and known what now I know!
Had I but loved what God had given to love,
Nor swerving from all honor, chosen her
Who brought my sin, and brings my punishment.
Edith, the King, who gave me all my joy,
Has given me this last best joy of death.
I am not pure enough to bless or curse,
Else would I bless both thee and him, and curse
That other one who darkened so my life.
Bid thou the King beware her basilisk eyes,
That turn all hearts they gaze on into stone.
Thee have I mostly wronged, but when I die
Place thou a kiss of pardon on my brow,
To purify it, so that God may see.”
“Naught have I to forgive,” sobbed Editha.
“My heart was ever thine and thine alone,
I cannot blame thee that thou didst not see;
I loved thee ever, and I love thee still,
And all my joy has been in loving thee;
What have I to forgive?” And Athelwold:
“Thanks, Editha, thou art most kind to me.
Now as I lie here, I could almost dream
A future bright and calm, unstained by sin,
As full of joy as might have been the past,
Happy with thee, repentant and forgiven;
But now that future ne'er can be for me.
Weep not, nor mourn me not, but pray for me.”
Then into silence faded his low voice,
And suddenly the wood became a shrine,
For Death was in it.
Calmly rose the stars,
And beamed with silvered glory on the wood
As Editha bent down and on the brow
Of Athelwold imprinted a soft kiss,—
The first sweet maiden kiss of her true love,
Thus sanctified and purified by Death.

All was bright light and feasting and display
Within the palace of the Saxon King,
Where all the noble maids and thanes were met,
To see King Edgar with Elfrida wed.
Gay music sounded through the royal halls,
And sparkling gems and richest robes were there.
Most fair the bride in dazzling white attired,
With flashing eye beneath the golden crown;
Noble the King in regal purple garbed,
With no dark shadow clouding o'er his brow.
But his white hand that offered the pure ring
Bore in God's sight a foul and darksome stain,
And the bride's heart, that swelled with pride and joy,
Bore a still darker one forevermore.
But merry clashed the music, swiftly whirled
The joyous dance, and a great people's shout
Did welcome Queen Elfrida to the throne.