 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
46
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Elfrida and Edgar.ELFRIDA.
Gentle my Liege—speak on.
EDGAR.
Earth hath no language, love, befitting thee;
For its own children it hath pliant speech.
And mortals know to call a blossom fair,
A wavelet graceful, and a jewel rich:
But thou—oh! teach me, sweet, the angel-tongue
They talked in Heaven, ere thou didst leave its bowers
To bloom below. Come, fair one! answer me!
How named they thee in thy celestial home?
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If Athelwold should hear thee!
EDGAR.
Name not the felon knave to me, Elfrida;
My soul is flame whene'er I think of him.
Thou lov'st him not—oh! say thou dost not love him!
ELFRIDA.
When but a child, I saw thee in my dreams!
EDGAR.
Heaven bless thee, beautiful!
Thou wilt be mine?
Thou'lt to the palace with me?
ELFRIDA.
King! ere dishonour stain Earl Ordgar's child,
This hand should change her glowing life to nought.
Look on me, look! Is this a brow whereon
The trembler, Shame, should sit? Is this a form
Should droop and shrink before the glance of Scorn?
Know me, my Lord!
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Thou wouldst ennoble Shame! and Scorn would change
To suppliant Love before thee!
How may we feed our passion, if not thus?
ELFRIDA.
Are there no means?
Is Edgar's sceptre broken?
Must monarchs tamely smile while they are robbed
Of what they've set their hearts on? Be it so!
Within yon wood is many a secret cave,
Might more than match in gloom the darkest deed.
Dost lack a dagger?
EDGAR.
I lack the courage, lady,
To do a coward act!
ELFRIDA.
“A coward act!” How if some vagrant wasp
Thy hand should sting—Wouldst let it play there still?
What more to thee—the master of the realm—
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Which with a word thou canst annihilate!
And thou dost pause!
Speak not of love to me!
[Exit.
EDGAR.
An angel temper!
Some summer's day I too may seem a mote
Between her and the sun of her ambition;
And then—no dagger will my lady lack
To clear her pathway!
SCENE II.
Grounds belonging to Athelwold's Castle.Enter Adelmine—Guido following.
GUIDO.
Stay, spirit!
ADELMINE.
I dare not stay.
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And why?
ADELMINE.
I know not why I dare not—this I know—
Mine eyes do fill with tears, my heart doth beat
To very pain, when I do look on thee,
Or hear thee speak.
GUIDO.
“Tears!” “Pain!”—Thou dost not hate me?
ADELMINE.
I cannot tell—I do not think I hate thee.
GUIDO.
Dost love me then?
ADELMINE.
I cannot tell, and would not if I could.
GUIDO.
Who taught thee that cold “would not?”
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A low, soft voice within; even now I hear
Its fairy murmur in my trembling soul,
It whispers still “Beware!”
GUIDO.
Oh! not of me!
ADELMINE.
No! but of owning unrequited love.
GUIDO.
Wert ever wooed ere now?
ADELMINE.
Then thou dost woo me!
GUIDO.
Ay! and will, fair child! till thou art won!
ADELMINE.
Dost note this simple garb?
GUIDO.
Yes! loveliest!
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It is a peasant's.
GUIDO.
Well!
ADELMINE.
Wouldst wed a peasant?
GUIDO.
I would wed thee wert thou a beggar, sweet.
ADELMINE.
And when?
GUIDO.
Now, now! so thou wilt love me!
ADELMINE.
Now do I bless thee, false and lost Elfrida.
This lowly guise, which thy beguiling voice
Did lure me to assume, has proved in sooth
An elfin charm, to test a generous heart.
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What meanst thou, maiden?
ADELMINE.
See!
(She throws off her coif, and releases her long hair, which is adorned with gems.)
I am a noble's child!
GUIDO
(starting back.)
Oh! would thou wert not so!
ADELMINE.
And why?
GUIDO.
No noble I.
ADELMINE.
And art thou not? then doth thy brow belie thee.
Thou art! I read it in thy proud dark eyes,
Whose glance is truth and love, and in those lips,
Whose smile is but a ray of the soul's sunshine;
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Thou art of heaven's nobility—as far
Excelling earth's as doth yon winged star,
Robed in its garment of celestial glory,
Outshine the earth-bound glow-worm.
GUIDO.
Alas! sweet maiden! I am viewed by thee
Thro' the pure light of thine own innocent spirit,
Illumining all that comes within its sphere.
As rugged hills, seen through an atmosphere
Sunny and soft, seem robed in heavenly hues
And radiance not their own. Yet shine thou still
In thy young virgin loveliness upon me,
And I will realise thy loftiest dream.
ADELMINE.
I know thou wilt; and now farewell, my friend!
Elfrida waits my coming. Poor Elfrida!
Her maiden, Gillian, tells me she is crased,
And raves of crowns and thrones, and vaunts how she,
If she were England's queen, would rule the world
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Alas! she cannot even rule herself;
Her passions are too fierce for majesty.
'Tis strange, dear Adelmine, whene'er I dream,
As oft I do, of England's future glory,
The self-same lovely apparition rises,
Sceptred and crowned. I will describe it, sweet,
As I have seen it in my midnight visions.
Fancy the sun of England in its zenith,
And on its throne a youthful fair-haired creature,
Round whom in reverence throng th' adoring train
Of noble, lovely, wise, and great, and good,—
Like Dian, throned in light and circled by
The starry powers,—Dian, ere yet she pressed
In youthful joy Endymion's dimpled cheek,
And left a rosy lustre floating there
From that soft kiss which, gleaming thro' the night,
Reach'd with its tremulous ray th' Olympian height
And treacherously betrayed her to the gods.
Canst thou not fancy her, my Adelmine!
When veiled in mist, and smiling thro' her veil,—
Glowing with maiden loveliness and love!
Her golden tresses rippling o'er her feet,—
She trod with steps of light the Latmian mount,
And softly stealing—
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But the queen, my friend!
GUIDO.
Ah! fairest! fear me not! no word of mine
Shall bid the rose of modesty unfold
To lend thy cheek its blushes—Yes! the queen—
A maiden queen—gentle and yet high-souled
In the first glow of lovely womanhood—
Pure as the snow-drop in the early dew
With morning's flush upon it—firm and proud
In her own high resolves, yet still relying
With modest trust on those she knows more wise—
True to herself and heaven, and true to all
Whose destinies are hers—in heart and deed,
And when the cares of empire are thrown by,
Artless, and timid, and confiding as
The nestling dove within its woodland home,
And playful too and loving as a child;
Owning in every subject-heart a throne,
Where she is crowned and knelt to by affection.
Is't not a woman worthy of the realm?
ADELMINE.
Ah, yes! but I had rather thou wouldst dream
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I go to con this new sweet lesson o'er,
Which thou and Love have taught me.
Fare thee well!
GUIDO.
Farewell mine own! And be not jealous, sweet,
I'll warrant thee thine image warmed my heart,
When I did draw that glowing picture from it.
[Exeunt at different doors.
SCENE III.
Elfrida's Chamber.Elfrida—Manbert holding a dagger and a purse.
ELFRIDA.
Thou'lt do the deed, good Manbert?
MANBERT.
I'll do the deed.
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Thou'lt not betray me?
MANBERT.
No.
ELFRIDA.
Thou'rt chary of thy words—perchance thou deem'st
Me chary of my gold—is't not enough?
MANBERT.
Ay!
ELFRIDA.
I shall go mad! I pray you say somewhat,—
Is't not a loyal deed to stab a traitor?
MANBERT.
Ay, madam!
ELFRIDA.
And Athelwold's a traitor.
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So thou say'st.
ELFRIDA.
Knave! caitiff! slave! and is he not, I say?
MANBERT.
What, is he not—“knave?—caitiff?—slave?” good lady?
ELFRIDA.
Now had I but that dagger in this hand!—
I pray you, pardon me! I'm not myself.
But do it, friend, and look for farther meed,
Not from your mistress only—but your King.
(Aside.)
Edgar will thank me when the deed is o'er.
(Aloud.)
Farewell, good Manbert,—come when it is done.
(Turning aside.)
I've locked his conscience with a golden key,
Would mine were closed as lightly!
(To Manbert.)
Why star'st thou with those glaring eyes upon me.
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Methought I saw a fiend!
ELFRIDA.
A fiend! Heaven shield us! where!
MANBERT
(still looking at Elfrida.)
Yonder!
ELFRIDA.
Still is thy gaze on me!
MANBERT.
Nay, pardon me, 'twas on the fiend I gazed.
ELFRIDA.
Go to! I'll leave thee with this scare-crow shade.
[Exit Elfrida.
MANBERT.
It will not stay, it likes thy company best.
(Looks at the purse.)
And this then is my bribe for butchery!
Faith! this same lady-murderess must prize
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To buy it at so cheap a rate as this.
A bag of paltry gold!—perchance she deems
A slave's soul is of meaner stamp and worth.
Almighty power! do not all spirits bear
Thine image pure and cloudless from their birth!
And who shall dare decide that thou hast traced
Its beauty less divinely for the slave
Than for his lord, or that the impress is
Less perfect in the one than in the other?
(He holds up the dagger.)
And this too is the instrument, which was
To reach as noble and as kind a heart
As ever beat for an ungrateful woman.
Within yon moat
They shall both lie, until that day of doom
Yon subtle priest, the haughty Dunstan tells of;
Then shall they stand as witnesses against her.
For me, I'll not betray her;
I am too thankful that she chose my hand
To do the deed—since thus I may prevent it.
No, no,—I'll not betray her;—but I'll warn
My master that some danger threatens him.
[Exit.
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SCENE IV.
A Room in the Castle.Enter Edgar and Oswald.
EDGAR.
Ay! ay!
She'd bear her bravely as fair England's queen.
There's not another woman in the realm
Would so become a throne as this Elfrida.
Curse on the scheming Lord who robbed me of her,
I'll have his head for't!
But didst thou mark the peasant-maiden, Oswald,
Some rustic in attendance on the lady,
Yet so ennobled she her simple garb,
With her pure delicate loveliness, her grace,
Her sweet and silent gravity of mien,
Her timid looks—her shrinking modesty;
I could have sworn she was not what she seemed.
Didst mark the maid?
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I did, my Liege,—yet, nothing did I mark
Worthy a second glance from kingly eyes.
EDGAR.
Then call mine eyes unkingly, for so much
They saw to ravish them, they sent not two,
But twenty glances o'er that drooping form;
Until her cheek, which was a rose before—
A faint-hued rose—became a crimson one;
And her dark violet eyes did fall abashed
Beneath my ardent gaze.—She is a prize
Which I will win, or perish.—Oswald! look!
Is not that she beyond?—by heaven it is!
She comes this way.—Oswald,—farewell, good Oswald.
OSWALD
(aside, going.)
Lies the hunt there? Curse on the fool! he'll pass
The queenly deer that in his pathway glides,
And wooes the threatened wound—that he may lure
This wild and timid fawn from out her covert.
[Exit.
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ADELMINE
(starting back.)
Pardon, my Liege!
I knew not you were here.
EDGAR
(seizing her hand.)
And hadst thou known,
Wouldst thou have left me to my own dull thoughts?
ADELMINE.
I do beseech your Grace, let go my hand!
EDGAR.
Why! so I will, sweet child! to clasp thy waist.
What! struggling, girl? and know'st thou who I am?
ADELMINE.
I thought, at first, you were the King of England.
EDGAR.
At first? and why not still?
ADELMINE.
They told me he was manly, courteous, brave.
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And since I am not either—I am not
The King of England! is it so? well—well!
I'll let thee go.—Thou art a graceful pleader,
And arguest prettily.—I'll let thee go—
In time, I mean;—we'll have a ransom first,—
A ransom worthy of our lovely prize.
(Tries to kiss her.)
ADELMINE
(struggling.)
Oh! Guido! where art thou!
Enter Guido—she runs to him.
GUIDO
(bearing her off the stage.)
Were he ten times thy King, he should not harm thee.
[Exeunt Adelmine and Guido.
EDGAR.
Thou diest for this!
[Exit.
END OF ACT III.
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |