 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
SCENE I.
A Chamber in Athelwold's Castle.Elfrida discovered, in a rich undress, reclining on a couch of carved oak.
ELFRIDA.
Perchance he thinks to find me ever thus
Greeting him from the revel with a smile
Of meek endurance! Why, even now he bends
In courtly reverence to some mincing dame,
Haply the star of Edgar's festival;
While I, with this high heart and queenly form,
Pine in neglect and solitude;—shall it be?
Shall I not rend my fetters, and be free?
Ay! be the cooing turtle-dove, content,
Safe in her own loved nest!—the eagle soars
13
And Edgar is my day-star, in whose light
This heart's proud wings shall yet be furled to rest!
Why wedded I with Athelwold? for this?
To pace, day after day, the same dull round,
With some half-dozen maidens for my train?
No! even at the altar when I stood—
My hand in his—his gaze upon my cheek—
I did forget his presence, and the scene!
A gorgeous vision rose before mine eyes,
Of power, and pomp, and regal pageantry;
A king was at my feet, and as he knelt
I smiled; and turning, met—a husband's kiss!
But still I smiled, for in my guilty soul
I blessed him as the being by whose means
I should be brought within my idol's sphere—
My haughty, glorious, brave, impassioned Edgar!
Well I remember when these wondering eyes
Beheld him first—I was a maiden then—
A dreaming child—but from that thrilling hour
I've been a queen in visions! Yet he passed
With his proud train, unheeding—ha! that step!
What if my loving lord were listener now!
He comes!—oh! noble Edgar!
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ELFRIDA.
My Lord! my love!
Thou'rt here in haste; hath aught
Of evil chanced thee?
ATHELWOLD.
Dost thou love me, wife?
ELFRIDA.
With a love so deep,
Thou canst not fathom it.
ATHELWOLD.
Speak it once more, mine own!
ELFRIDA.
Who doubts Elfrida? am I not thy wife—
Thy true and loving wife—who never yet
In thought, or word, or deed, dishonoured thee?
Nay, Athelwold! thou dost me grievous wrong,
Thou dost, indeed. I to be doubted thus!
Go to!—it vexes me!
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Nay! dry those tears!
I meant not thus to wound! I will not doubt—
Thy pardon, love! And now—
ELFRIDA.
And now—since I have pardoned thee—thou'lt grant—
I know thou wilt—one trifling boon.
ATHELWOLD.
Name it;—but quick, Elfrida!
ELFRIDA.
Take me to court, my gracious husband!
ATHELWOLD
(aside.)
Ha!
Wend her light fancies thither?—then farewell
To Athelwold's fond dream of peace!—but no!
She will not yield so lightly to temptation.
(Aloud.)
Beseech thee, sweet, forget these idle dreams!
I've that to speak, of import deep and grave,
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By all my trust, my passion, and my truth;
By thine own purity; thy stainless name—
Dearer to me than is the light of heaven,—
I do conjure thee listen tenderly—
With your heart listen, for your husband speaks.
The King—
ELFRIDA.
What of the King?— (Aside.)
My heart indeed will listen!
ATHELWOLD.
So eager, lady?
ELFRIDA.
Nay! I did but ask—
ATHELWOLD.
It matters not!—thou know'st that some months back,
In Devon's bowers, I sought the famed Elfrida;
I came—
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With Edgar's gracious leave to wed.
ATHELWOLD.
No, love! with Edgar's gracious leave to look
On her whom but to look upon was bliss!
Not for myself I gazed, but for the King,
Yet lost myself in gazing, and forgot
My trust, my fealty, honour, Edgar—all—
Ay, all save thee Oh! pardon, that I proved
A traitor to thy beauty! I returned,
With coward falsehood sullying my lip,
Till then a stranger there.—Nay! chide me not,
It was for thy dear sake, my fairest love.
I bade him blot thee from his memory,
As one unworthy of his kingly thoughts;
Ungraced of nature's gifts, unlovely, rude.
The credulous King believed, and for a time
The theme was dropped; but in my miser soul
Thy image lived unaltered, and again
I sought his presence, with a perjured tongue.
I said, Elfrida's wealth had magic in't,
To make her beauteous in mine humble eyes;
Then won I from his royal lips a boon
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Lord of thy love and beauty.
ELFRIDA.
False—forsworn!
ATHELWOLD.
How now!
ELFRIDA.
'Twas jest, my gentle Lord.
ATHELWOLD.
A most untimely one;—but hear me still.
To-night the King comes hither with his train—
Look not so wild, he shall not harm thee, love!
I'll dim my jewel, lest he covet it;
Thou shalt disguise thy beauty in some garb
Of coarse material and fashion rude,
That least becomes thee; put some rough restraint
Upon thy gentle stateliness and grace;
Shrink from his gaze, as if in shame-faced fear.
Alas! can aught obscure the fire of soul
That flashes from thine eyes? beseech thee weep
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Would thou wert not so beautiful!—but haste—
Thou'lt do it, sweet?
ELFRIDA.
And dost thou doubt me still?
ATHELWOLD.
Thou art but woman.
ELFRIDA.
Yet a loving one.
I'll straightway don such weeds as even thou
Wilt own would mar a fairer face than mine.
ATHELWOLD.
Earth hath no fairer—Heaven no lovelier knows.
Adieu! We meet at supper-time,—till then—
Remember wife—honour and Athelwold!
[Exit Athelwold.
ELFRIDA.
Love, glory, and the King! by all the gods,
A noble chance! and I will husband it
As doth become my breeding and my birth.
What, ho! sir Page!
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Bid Gillian hither!
As doth become my breeding.—I remember,
When but a thoughtless child, my sire did part
The wild curls from my brow, and call me queen—
His fairy queen; and when I gaily tossed
My ringlets back, and bounding on his knee,
Cried, with a look of mimic majesty,
This is my throne!—but who my subjects be!
He bade me keep that proud and glowing smile,
(Enter Gillian.)
And it should lure a sovereign to my feet.
And shall it not? by Edgar's self it shall!
(To Gillian.)
Why art thou here?
GILLIAN.
Your page did bid me, lady.
ELFRIDA.
I had forgot,—bring forth my richest robes,
My costliest ornaments,—be speedy, girl!
[Exit Gillian.
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In lowly weeds, forsooth! the weeds I wear
Shall blind his recreant vision with their splendor,
Dazzle the King, and light me to the throne!
(Re-enter Gillian, who stands waiting behind her with dresses.)
I robed in mean array! I stoop and tremble!
I'll bear me like an Empress, tho' he die
For his fond treachery! Caitiff! but for him
My bridal-bed had been a royal one!
And shall be yet.
(To Gillian.)
So, Gillian, lay them there,
And tell me, girl, which in thy mind becomes
My features best.
GILLIAN.
Here is a rose-hued mantle wrought with pearls,
'Twill match full well my lady's glowing cheek.
ELFRIDA.
Nay, 'tis too bright,—
The rose upon my cheek is dim to-day,
And this will make it show more faintly still.
What next?
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An amber velvet, madam,
Adown its vest the sunny topaz gleams,
'Mid wreaths of flowers in golden broidery.
How fittingly its gorgeous folds would sweep
Around that stately form.
ELFRIDA.
Out on the topaz—'tis a beggar-stone!
A vassal's wife may wear it—and shall I?
I'll have the white robe, girl, the silken one,
Resplendent with the diamond's regal ray;
The diamond suits the queen, and is alone
Of all earth's jewel star-drops worth the wearing.
Bid them prepare the bath with perfume rare,
Then, with all haste unto my chamber, Gillian:
And look you, my tiar of gems and gold,
My silver mirror, and my jewelled zone—
I'll be a star to-night, and win all eyes
Unto my wondrous splendour—oh! this heart!
[Exit Elfrida.
GILLIAN.
“The diamond suits the queen!” my lady mistress,
That haughty head of thine is turned I'm sure.
[Exit Gillian.
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |