University of Virginia Library

PREFACE.

TO MY BOOK.

ELFRIDA.

A DRAMATIC POEM, IN FIVE ACTS.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

• Edgar, King of England.
• Earl Athelwold, favourite of the King.
• Dunstan, Lord Bishop of London.
• Guido, a young Italian orphan, left to Edgar's care.
• Oswald, a courtier.
• Manbert, a slave.
• Elfrida, wife to Athelwold.
• Adelmine, a young orphan of noble birth, cousin to Elfrida.
• Gillian, a slave, tire-woman to Elfrida.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

An Apartment in Edgar's Palace.
Enter Edgar and Oswald.
EDGAR.
Thou'rt well assured of this?

OSWALD.
My gracious Liege!
It is a common theme among them still,
Her matchless wealth of beauty beggars all
Our courtly dames can boast,—her queenly form,
Her majesty of mien, would grace a throne!
I saw her on her bridal-day, my Liege,
In all the pomp and splendour of her charms;
So regal in her loveliness—so proud!
Her brown and braided hair was lighted up
With flashing gems, as is the night with stars;
Her cheek at first might seem a thought too pale;
Her dark, rich eyes, too wild and strangely sad;
But, at a whisper from her young kinswoman,
Lo! to that cheek a gleam of rosy fire,
Like summer lightning, came, and to her eye
A smile, that mocked the diamond on her brow.
Her bosom heaved beneath its gorgeous vest
Of broidered silk; then with impatient air
She bit her lip—her arched and glowing lip—
And straight grew calm again, as still, and pale,
And mute as sculptured marble.

EDGAR.
Now, by the light of heaven!
What, ho! without there!
(Enter Page.)
Summon Earl Athelwold to our presence, boy!
[Exit Page.
By heaven, and earth, and hell, if this be true,
The traitor's life shall answer it!

OSWALD.
Is it your Grace's will that I retire?

EDGAR.
Leave me, good Oswald!

[Exit Oswald, enter Athelwold, at opposite doors.
ATHELWOLD.
How fares my loving master?

EDGAR.
Why, bravely, Athelwold! 'tis long, till now,
Since mirth and Edgar met with right good-will:
To-day we're boon companions; and to shew
Our trusty servant, our most loyal, true
And faithful friend, how loftily he stands
In loving estimation with his Liege,
Thou shalt be one of us;—to-night we'll sup
Together at your castle.—Ha! dost start?
Tremble? turn pale? said I not well, sir Earl?
Must sovereigns sue for welcome?—by my sword,
The veriest churl in England had not met
Our royal favour with less courteous grace.

ATHELWOLD.
Your pardon, dear my Liege, I did but turn
Within my mind how best to meet the honour
With such poor welcome as my house affords.

EDGAR.
Go to!—you dwell not in a peasant's cot;
An English Earl lacks not the wherewithal
To greet his Sovereign nobly;—look you do it.
What, sullen still? by heaven, the churl is jealous,
And fears his lady-love should meet mine eye!
Thou dost forget, most loyal Athelwold,
That she is homely, lean, of gait uncouth,
Of peasant mien and mind;—such were thy words,
When to our royal couch we thought to woo
The maid;—'twas but the gleaming of her gold,
Thou know'st, that won thee, faithful servant mine;
Then fear not thou!—the eye a star must be,
The cheek a rose, that lures a look from Edgar.
Away! we'll follow with our train anon.
Farewell, 'till supper-time, most upright Earl.
[Exit Edgar.

ATHELWOLD.
Now would I give mine earldom but to know
Whose friendly deed is this. That I'm betrayed.
His searching eye, where latent scorn and rage
Lay coiled like some bright serpent ere it spring,
Did plainly shew,—albeit his words were soft,
And round his lips played pleasant blandishment.
Oh! fair Elfrida! thou hast cost me dear,
And were it not that danger's self is sweet
When brav'd for thee, I could have curs'd these eyes
That saw thee beautiful, and this fond heart
That felt thee pure, and therefore worshipped thee!
He were a soulless fool, below thy worth,
Who could behold thy charms, and not adore.
And glorying in thy beauty as I did
And do, could I have brooked to know thee, sweet,
The sport of his capricious passion—proud,
Voluptuous Edgar—who would turn from thee
As the wild zephyr from the queenly rose
Itself had rifled, should another flower
So pure and blooming win his wanton eye.
There's but one way to save her,—I will own
Even at her feet, the truth, and bid her hide,
As best she may, that dangerous loveliness
Beneath uncouth array and awkward mien.
Her soul looks down upon her sex's weakness,
Light vanity, else should I fear its voice
Might triumph in the trial-hour, and drown
The holy pleadings of pure love and honour.
Now, lady, to the test!

[Exit.

SCENE II.

A Street, near the Palace.
Oswald walking to and fro in a reverie.
OSWALD.
Revenge is sure!—
I have so wrought upon his fiery heart
He'll never rest till he has found Elfrida;
What follows? he will win her to his will,
And I shall see those dark, imperial eyes,
That flashed their scorn like lightning on mine own,
When at her feet I sighed my passion forth,—
Gods! I shall see them bent to the earth in shame
Beneath my gaze of triumph; and her lip—
Curled with but half-suppressed derision then—
Shall quiver with remorseful agony,
Ere I my vow of vengeance cancel! Lady!
Thou'st crushed a serpent that hath still a sting!
(Enter Athelwold.)
Ah! Athelwold! my noble friend! how fare you?

ATHELWOLD.
Oswald! well met! Thou'rt just the man I want;
I've heard thee lavish of unlovely names
Full oft on scoundrels;—help me now to pour
My just abuse upon the veriest slave,
The vilest, meanest, most malignant rascal—

OSWALD.
Whom can you mean, my Lord?

ATHELWOLD.
In sooth, I know not;—some poor pitiful fellow
Who's robbed me of my favour with the King,
And dares not shew himself. Knew I his name,
I'd brand him first as coward through the realm,
Then to the earth his low-born carcass trample!
Now I think on't, I caught a glimpse of some one
Leaving the presence-chamber as I entered.
I did not see his face—his form I glanced at;
It had a cringing air—Think you 'twas he?

OSWALD.
In truth, my Lord,—

ATHELWOLD.
But, Oswald, answer me!
Was't not a venomous wretch?

OSWALD.
My Lord, in truth—

ATHELWOLD.
In truth, my Lord—my Lord, in truth—why so
I am—in truth, a Lord—my courteous friend!
But what has tam'd thee thus? for God's sake, rave!
Be furious! storm! as thou art wont when I
See fit to give the reins unto my passion,—
Was't not an odious knave?

OSWALD.
I—good my Lord—

ATHELWOLD.
Why, Oswald, what's the matter?
Art thou in love? has some bewitching dame
Thy service slighted, or thy rival crowned
With love's own rosy garland?

OSWALD
(aside.)
'Sdeath! doth he mock me?

ATHELWOLD.
Yet, gentle Oswald! if you love me, spare
This knave of mine one round of rich invective,
To comfort me, for I am sick at heart;—
Was't not a white-heart craven?

OSWALD.
Yes! hell and fury! death! damnation!—I

ATHELWOLD.
Why, this is stirring! this is as it should be!
On, on, good Oswald! spare not hell nor fury,
Be prodigal of death, and heap damnation
On the poor wretch's head! Why! were he thine,
Thy foe, thou couldst not curse him with more relish!
I thank thee, Oswald! thou hast cool'd my temper!
Farewell, my friend; but prithee do not let
My going stay thy torrent of abuse
Against this caitiff-butt of ours—ha! ha!
How he would tremble could he hear us rage!
He'd never dare to own it—would he, Oswald?
Ha! ha! ha! ha! poor fellow! Fare thee well!

[Exit.
OSWALD.
“Slave!” “coward!” “rascal!” “pitiful fellow!” “knave!”
“Poor white-heart craven!” “sneaking, venomous wretch!”
“This caitiff-butt of ours!”—well! well! I've borne it,
And must, perchance, again; and watch, meanwhile,
This wild volcano raging in my breast,
Lest one light spark betray me. God of heaven
What have I not endured this last half-hour!
I could have dashed my torturer to the earth,
With right good-will! but each fresh taunt of his,
Though traced in burning letters on my brain,
Made the appropriation harder still.
And have I lived to bear these insults calmly?
Ay! 'tis the meed of treachery like mine.
I was his confidant—I have betrayed him,
And do deserve his scorn—but not the less
Will I pursue my purpose to its end.

ACT II.

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
On restless plumes to meet the imperial sun!
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!

Enter Athelwold.
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!

ATHELWOLD.
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,
Will ask thy calmest mood, thy gentlest thoughts.
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—

ELFRIDA.
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
That makes me more a monarch than himself,
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
Until thou dim its glory.—Oh! Elfrida,
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!
(Enter Page.)
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.
(After a pause.)
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?

GILLIAN.
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.

SCENE II.

A Grove, near the Castle.
Enter Elfrida and Adelmine.
ELFRIDA.
Ha! ha! ha!
Thou wouldst have laughed as I do to have heard him;
He bade me clip my glossy braids of hair,
Stoop in my gait, put on my lowliest garb,
My coldest look,—do all I could to mar
What he was pleased to call my loveliness.

ADELMINE.
And will you not, dear lady?

ELFRIDA.
Will I not?
Nay, most obedient Adelmine, would you?

ADELMINE.
Oh! ask me not, Elfrida; did mine eyes
Wear the soft glory of an angel's smile,
I'd shut them with a still and stern resolve,
Nor lift their lashes at a King's command;
Waved my rich tresses with the golden gleam
That lighted Eve's in paradise—I'd mar
Their soft luxuriance with unfaltering hand;
I'd spare as soon the serpent that would sting me,
Because its coils with changing splendour shone,
As let a ringlet's sunny lustre lure
My heart from rectitude, my love to shame;
Rivalled my roseate cheek the glowing dawn,
I'd find some dye would change it, till its hue
Were swart as Ethiop girl's; and should my smile
Awake some sportive dimple from its sleep,
To make that shadow lovely—like a star
Twinkling on night's dark cheek—I'd wear a look
Solemn as eastern sage; if peace and love
Reposed upon my pure mouth's glowing arch,
I'd bid repelling scorn usurp the throne;
A sculptor's model were my glorious form
For grace and queenly bearing as I moved,
I'd stoop, I'd limp, to spoil its loveliness,—
Nay, I would lame my limbs, deform my shape,
And glory in the sacrifice, if so
My husband were unperilled.

ELFRIDA.
And what would prompt thee to this strange romance?

ADELMINE.
Love, holy love, Elfrida!

ELFRIDA.
What if love were not?

ADELMINE.
Do you not love your husband, gentle lady?

ELFRIDA.
Nay, that I spoke not of;—but is there aught
Save love would tempt thee to so dear a loss?

ADELMINE.
Ay, madam!—if affection's voice were mute,
Honor and woman's pride—they too have tongues,
Whose word is law with those who love themselves.

ELFRIDA.
Now, prithee, peace!

ADELMINE.
Oh! lady, say not so!
I will not pause—I'll bid thee think of all
The shame, the ruin, it may guard thee from.
Thou know'st the King's impassioned love of beauty—
His lawless violence—his tyrant will;—
He'll wreak his wrath upon your noble husband,
The gentle, generous Athelwold,—whose peace,
Honour—nay, life perchance, are in thy keeping.
Elfrida! will you risk them all to please
A stranger's eye—to win the wanton gaze
Of reckless Edgar, whose least look, methinks.
Were insult to your loveliness?

ELFRIDA.
Fond girl!
Thou may'st well prate that hast no charms to hide.
(Aside.)
Now would I that were not a barefaced lie,
For well I dread she'll rival me to-night;
So young, so innocent, so beautiful!
But no! I have it—'tis a simple task
To work her grateful spirit to my purpose.
(Aloud.)
Hear me, sweet Adelmine! I did but jest;
But wilt thou too a simple guise assume?
Some rustic garb?—It were not well, methinks;—
'Twould seem too like a plot—attract too much
The curious and enquiring gaze, if thou
Wert robed in rich array, with gems and gold,
And I, the lady of the castle—I,
A noble's wife, more meanly, poorly clad.
If both are thus, 'twill win less observation,
And seem our common custom,—wilt thou so?

ADELMINE.
Yes, dear Elfrida, robe me as thou wilt;
I would do more to save the noble Earl
From danger; he was kind to me, thou know'st,
When I was lone and sad;—but how wilt thou
Make thyself aught but beautiful, Elfrida?

ELFRIDA
(smiling.)
I can but try.

ADELMINE.
And wilt thou do his bidding with thy hair?

ELFRIDA.
What! rashly rob myself of woman's pride—
Her dearest ornament?—that auburn hair
Which Athelwold a thousand times has praised?

ADELMINE.
Ay! fling the worthless tresses to the wind!
He'll bless thee for it; and believe me, lady,
The graceful deed will but adorn thee more
In his adoring eyes;—why! with this hand
I'll sever mine, if thou wilt, dearest cousin!

ELFRIDA.
Thine! what are thine? coarse stragglers!

ADELMINE.
Are they so?
Then would I they were lovely as the light,—
Each hair of them a thread of purest gold!
If seeming thus a dearer sacrifice,
It might ennoble in thine eyes my loss,
And win thee to thy duty!

ELFRIDA.
Duty, girl?

ADELMINE.
Ay! duty, noble lady!

ELFRIDA.
Thou art bold,
And dost forget, moreover, simple maid,
As he forgot, that slaves alone do go
With shaven head. How then may I appear
Without my wealth of hair? It does not need;
I'll fold it simply 'neath some awkward gear,—
See thou do so. And now, my dearest coz,
Hie to thy chamber. Keep thy kind resolve,
And meet me in the banquet-room. I'll send
A fitting dress to thee.

ADELMINE.
Good-bye, then, dear Elfrida;—
How I shall love thee in thy homely garb!

[Exit.
ELFRIDA.
She's gone! poor child!
Poor, fond, confiding child! She'll prove a foil,
Garbed like a rustic, in her rude attire,
To proud Elfrida's majesty!
Heigh ho!
I would this royal banquet were well over!
My heart, that should beat high with hope, is cold,
And still, and dark, and passionless!—heigh ho!
With hope—what hope? a most unholy! Ay,
Strive as I may to hide its shadowy form,
Into the hateful light it will steal forth;
For conscience is a mirror true and clear
As heaven itself, and in it lives a spell,
Divine, perchance, by whose resistless power
All thoughts, deeds, wishes, passions, good or ill,
Are won to view themselves reflected fairly;—
Even so the voice of music doth beguile
And awe the gliding serpent with its charm.
Yes! hide it as I may, that guilty hope
Doth stand before that magic mirror now,
All undisguised in native hideousness!
It looks a demon there—so dark, so wild,
So merciless! Its smile is fierce, yet cold;
(Enter Gillian.)
Its brow hath blood upon it!—ha!

GILLIAN
(aside.)
“Its brow hath blood upon it!”—she is mad!
(Aloud.)
My lady! here's the chain.

ELFRIDA.
The chain that is to link me to my fate!
Give it me, girl, and leave me.
[Exit Gillian.
'Twas his first gift!—I do remember well
How tenderly he clasped it round my throat,
And bade me when I wore it, think of him!
To-night I'll wear it. 'Tis a gorgeous toy,—
Will it not choke me? let it. Athelwold!—
What, tears? Elfrida weeping—and for him!
Has he not wronged Elfrida? played her false?
Dethroned her?—for in Edgar's heart I dwelt
A crowned queen, until his perjured tongue
Did so belie me I was banished thence.
Why! 'twas undoubted treason!—he did owe
As true allegiance to me there, as if
On England's throne I sat; and shall I weep,
I that was born to be his Sovereign?—no!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

A large Banquetting Hall in Athelwold's Castle. Supper-table seen in the distance, at the upper end. Slaves bearing dishes on their heads.
In front, King Edgar—Athelwold—Oswald— Guido, and other Nobles—Attendants, &c.
EDGAR
(to Athelwold.)
Methinks, my Lord, this dainty dame of thine
Doth slight our noble presence. Doth she look
To see us in her chamber, good my Lord?
Waits she the royal hand to lead her forth?
Beware, sir Earl! If thou art—Ha! she comes!
By heaven, a noble creature!

Enter Elfrida, dressed with great splendour, attended by her maidens; and at the opposite door, Adelmine, in a peasant's dress.
ATHELWOLD.
Woman!

ADELMINE.
Elfrida!

ELFRIDA
(Crossing the stage, kneels at the King's feet.)
My gracious Sovereign!

EDGAR
(raising her.)
Rise, most noble lady!
Here is thy station, at thy Sovereign's side,
Let traitors kneel to him! And now permit
That we remove this most disloyal veil,
Which like a careful subject whom we wot of,
Would hide thy dangerous beauty from our eyes.
(Puts back her veil.)
What! Athelwold! we prithee where's thy wife?—
Thy thin, pale, homely, haggard, awkward wife?
This is some captive queen, whom thou hast stolen,
And we should claim her as our kingly right;—
Nay, by the mass, we'll seal our title too.

(Kisses her.)
ATHELWOLD
(aside.)
Death! will she suffer it?

EDGAR.
Thou hast a regal eye for beauty, sir;—
But, gentle Earl, we prithee where's thy wife?

ATHELWOLD.
I have no wife!
My sometime wife is dead—
Dead to her Lord! I had a wife, my Liege,—
A generous, lovely wife—a leal, and pure;
I did belie her when I called her else!
She never looked unlovely until now,—
Yet now she doth but keep her faith with me,
For she did promise, with an angel-smile,
She'd so transform herself, that she should seem
Deform'd in these fond eyes—she's kept her faith!

EDGAR.
What! kept her faith! if she did promise this,
In very sooth those beauteous lips are perjured,
For look! the diamond-glory of her eyes!
Those silken braids! that pure and cloudless brow!
The changing beauty of her dimpled cheek!
The graceful curving of her swan-white throat!
Each airy motion—every glance and smile—
Are all resistless witnesses against her,
And prove her still an angel!
Thou art blind!
By the blest rood, if she had kept her faith,
We would have cursed her sacrilegious hand,
That dared profane so heavenly fair a temple—
The shrine of beauty and of love—at which
Our knee—even ours—shall not disdain to bend,
Albeit unused in yielding.
Athelwold!
Thou art a double traitor!—thou hast robbed
Thy liege Lord of this smiling paradise,
And hast defamed her loveliness, that thou
Might'st revel safely in her Eden-bloom.

ATHELWOLD
(rushing forward, and throwing himself at the King's feet.)
King! strike thy sword into this breaking heart,
'Twill find one victim there will woo the wound!

EDGAR.
And what is that?—Remorse?

ATHELWOLD.
Despair!

EDGAR.
No more of this!
The banquet waits our presence—on, my Lords!
Thy hand, sweet lady of our revels!—so—

(The King passes up the Hall, with Elfrida, followed by Nobles, Attendants, &c.—to the rude Music of various warlike instruments, heard from without. As they seat themselves at the table, the Music ceases.)

SCENE IV.

Another Room in the same.
Enter Manbert, with a Minstrel.
MANBERT.
Tarry thou here, good Minstrel. Fear not thou
But I will make thee sharer in the feast.
Music is ever welcome to my Lord.
I think,
'Tis that his heart is never out of tune!
My lady's is a trifle higher toned,
And some rude hand, or I am much deceived,
Hath strained a string too sharply, till it cracked.
Of this I'm sure,—it does not chord with his!—
But stay thou here; I'll be with thee anon.

[Exit.
Enter Gillian, without perceiving the Minstrel; crosses the stage with affected dignity, in imitation of Elfrida.
GILLIAN.
“And it shall lure a sovereign to my feet!”

MINSTREL
(following her.)
A wandering bard, so please you.

GILLIAN
(still not seeing him.)
“Caitiff! but for him
My bridal-bed had been a royal one!”

MINSTREL.
Wilt list the gleeman's lay?

GILLIAN.
“Out on the topaz—'tis a beggar-stone,
The diamond fits the queen!”

MINSTREL.
No jewels I,—but I have many a song
To charm thine ear withal.

GILLIAN.
“Dazzle the King, and light me to the throne!”

MINSTREL
(starting back.)
Nay! that is rather too much
To ask of a poor minstrel!
but my harp—

GILLIAN
(turns and sees him.)
“Its brow hath blood upon it”—
Ha!

MINSTREL
(in alarm.)
Blood! Where?

GILLIAN.
And who art thou?

MINSTREL.
Why! I've been telling you the last half hour.
I am a wandering bard, most mighty madam.

GILLIAN.
Madam! I'm not a madam.

MINSTREL.
My gracious queen that is to be.

GILLIAN.
How dar'st thou queen me thus?

MINSTREL.
I queen'd thee not—it was thyself that queen'd thee

GILLIAN.
Thou'rt mad, poor minstrel!
All the world I think
Is mad to-night.—My mistress is, I'm sure.

(Re-enter Manbert.)
MANBERT.
And so's my master!
He says he's not i' the mood for melody.

GILLIAN.
But, gentle bard, whence come you?

MINSTREL.
From Scotland, from the generous Kenneth's court.

GILLIAN.
Kenneth of Scotland! ay! a noble King!
They say, when, with the other dozen of them,
He helped to row our Monarch up the Dee,
He looked a very tempest, and his brow
Wore haughtier sovereignty even then than Edgar's

MINSTREL.
He help to row your Monarch up the Dee!
A goodly tale, forsooth.—I tell thee, girl,
He would have perished first. Had he been there,
Your Edgar knew too well his kingly heart
To bid him do it.

MANBERT.
Hush! Know'st thou not our King doth vaunt his triumph!
And should he hear—

MINSTREL.
His triumph! 'twas a mean one at the best,
And never harp of mine its praise should ring.

Enter a Servant.
SERVANT.
The King
Desires the minstrel's presence at the banquet.
This way, good harper!

(Exeunt Harper and Servant.)
MANBERT.
Gillian, my lord is strangely stern to-night.

GILLIAN.
Manbert, my lady's stranger than my lord.

MANBERT.
I like it not.

GILLIAN.
Nor I—good faith! I'm weary of her whims.
Why, at her toilet, ere the King arrived,
Nothing would suit her—not a plait could I
Fold to her liking—not a jewelled clasp
Was where it should be—not a tress would fall
As she would have it—even the pure white robe
With silver flowers in-wrought and star-like diamonds,
In which she looked majestic as a swan,
And blooming as a rose,—was tawdry;—mean,
Of shape uncouth.—I had no patience with her.

MANBERT.
Nor I with thee;—thy thoughts, that used to seem
Lowly and gentle as a cooing dove,
Have caught, I know not how, a peacock's dress,
And strut—

GILLIAN.
In borrowed plumage? say'st thou so?
(The sound of a harp is heard.)
But hark! the harp! I must e'en take a peep.
(She goes to a door leading to the banquet-room, opens it slightly.)
They pass the harp round, as their custom is.
Elfrida has it—hist!

(Elfrida's voice is heard from the banquet-room, singing the following.)

GILLIAN.
And now she yields it, with a winning smile,
Unto the King.

(The King's voice.)

MANBERT.
Our gracious King is ever mixing up
His love and his religion in one draught.

GILLIAN.
That noble dark-eyed youth, who came they say
From the rich southern land, and whom they call
Guido, has ta'en it now; and lo! he bends
Courteously to the Lady Adelmine!
Who lovelier looks in that strange lowly garb
Than a pure rosebud in its veil of moss;
Fairer than even she e'er looked before,
And fairer far than any of the rest.—
But listen, Manbert.

(Guido's voice.)

GILLIAN.
Love! love! its nothing but love—vulgar fellows!
I will not hear another syllable.

(Runs off—Manbert follows her.)

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?

ELFRIDA.
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!

EDGAR.
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—
Is this light lord? Go to! he's but a mote,
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.

GUIDO.
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?”

ADELMINE.
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!

ADELMINE.
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.

GUIDO.
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;
In thy high bearing, in thy movements, words,
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

GUIDO.
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—

ADELMINE.
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
Of me in future. I must leave thee now.
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.

ELFRIDA.
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.

MANBERT.
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.

MANBERT.
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
A human soul but lightly, since she thinks
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.

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?

OSWALD.
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.
Enter Adelmine.
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.

EDGAR.
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.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Another Room in the same.
Athelwold alone.
ATHELWOLD.
And for this woman, I have stained for ever
My noble name! For this light, feeble thing,
Who has not even soul enough to feel
The sacrifice I made for her,—the loss
Of all that should be dearest unto man—
Perjured myself for her—broke my pledged faith,
To Edgar doubly due, as King and friend!
I have deserved the wound, but not from her—
Not from that hand so linked in love to mine!—
Or did I dream she loved me! Heaven and earth!
Have I been wasting heart, and soul, and life,
On a cold, reckless wanton? Oh, Elfrida!
Thy glorious beauty was the gift of heaven,—
As such thou shouldst have priz'd it, and have died
Ere thou didst yield it up to mortal touch,
Unless thy heart went with it, to make pure
And sanctify the offering. Oh, my wife!—
The idol I have set apart to worship—
Watch'd over—cherish'd—mus'd upon in absence,
Until my full heart ached with tenderness!—
Why! what a doting idiot have I been!

Enter Manbert.
MANBERT
(aside.)
True!
(Coming forward.)
My Lord! danger's at hand!

ATHELWOLD.
Danger for whom?

MANBERT.
Thyself!

ATHELWOLD.
Of what?

MANBERT.
Of death!

ATHELWOLD.
Well?

MANBERT.
Thou must fly!

ATHELWOLD
(bitterly.)
And wherefore must?
Good Manbert! go thou to the desert wild,
And shew the panting wretch, whose very heart
Is parched with thirst, a fountain at his feet!
Then bid him fly, and taste it not! Or take
Unto the tortured victim of the rack
A bed of down, and offer him his choice!
Manbert! to me is death a bed of down,—
A fountain, in whose draught oblivion dwells—
Oblivion of all sorrow!

MANBERT
(aside.)
Now, by the mass! I will betray the woman!

ATHELWOLD.
But I wrong
Thy kindly nature thus to trifle with thee;—
From whom didst learn this danger?

MANBERT.
Hear!—My lady—

ATHELWOLD
(aside.)
Ay! poor Elfrida! she would warn me then!
She doth repent her folly—thoughtless child!
She dreams not of her own far greater peril.
No! I will not desert her in her hour
Of trial and temptation!—she has lost
My love—my trust—but never shall she lose
My best protection while I live to give it!
(Aloud.)
What said thy lady, Manbert?

MANBERT
(with emphasis.)
She placed a dagger in my hand, my Lord!

ATHELWOLD.
Fond, fearful thing! I've daggers of my own.
But am I then to be th' assassin's aim?
I would not die that death! And she did send
A weapon of defence?—She loves me still!

MANBERT.
She gave me with the dagger, sir, a purse!

ATHELWOLD.
Lest I lack means to fly! I would not leave her
In Edgar's power, while life is in this arm,
Though all the dogs of hell were on the scent,
To lap my heart's blood!

MANBERT.
Oh, my noble master!
'Tis she would have your heart's blood!

ATHELWOLD.
'Sdeath! fellow! dost thou rave?

MANBERT.
Scarce an hour since—
With hollow voice, disordered dress, and eyes
Where flashed a demon light—she bade me take
A bribe to stab the traitor Athelwold!
And look for farther meed, not from herself
Alone, but—

ATHELWOLD.
Edgar? ha!—my royal foe!
Now is existence dear again!—now hath
This low-souled Sovereign matched me my dishonour!
Is he not King? had he not power to take
This poor life in the open face of day?
By heaven, thou'st lightened me of such a load
Of gratitude to him, whom I did wrong,
And pity for this woman.—Take her, King!
Love her as I have lov'd, and she will prove
A curse to thee and thine! My sword, good Manbert!—
I must go armed. To-morrow, while the chase
Is hot, I'll quit the eager train unseen,
And fly to Scotland. Kenneth is my friend—
The noble Kenneth! Peace may yet be mine.
I will forget that e'er I had a home
In England's heart, or hers.
Thou, Manbert, stay;
And shield this reckless creature, if thou canst,
From ruin and dishonour.
Tell her,—he
Who loved her once, would guard her still from shame.
Bear my forgiveness to her when I'm gone!
Farewell, my trusty Manbert! Take this purse;
I ask not where her bribe is,—for I know
Thy honour and thy pride would spurn the trash.

[Exit.
MANBERT.
Thy gold I but retain to furnish me
With means to follow thee, my generous master!

Enter Elfrida, hastily, with a distracted air.
ELFRIDA.
I cannot rest!
Ha, Manbert! is it thou?
Thou hast the purse still?—
And the dagger?—speak!
The dagger's work is finished?—it has found
The traitor's life-blood? Speak! my faithful Manbert!

MANBERT
(confused.)
There's been as yet no chance—
To-morrow—in the hunt—my lady—

[Exit, in haste.
ELFRIDA.
How?—
Ay, ay! 'twere better so! Suspicion then
Will never rest on me.—Good God! what am I?
Am I turned fiend? that wheresoe'er I go
The sounds of hell are ringing in mine ears,
And all things—even the clear and holy skies,
The flowers, the fountains—wear the hue of blood!
The blood of Athelwold!
Nay! not to-morrow!
Thou shalt not do the deed to-morrow, Manbert!
We'll wait awhile— (looks wildly round.)

Where is he?—gone?

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Adelmine discovered on a rustic seat, near the Castle.
ADELMINE.
(Hums a few notes, and then sings the following.)

(Guido enters behind her unperceived, and lays his hand on her shoulder. Adelmine screams, turns and sees him.)
ADELMINE.
I thought—Thank heaven 'twas not that hateful King!
Cruel! to fright me so! I'll not forgive thee.

GUIDO.
Ay! but thou wilt!

ADELMINE.
I will not—that I will not!

GUIDO.
I tell thee, ere yon cloud has crossed the sun,
Thou'lt weep thy pardon on my breast, sweet love!

ADELMINE.
Guido!

GUIDO.
Dear Adelmine! the King, incensed
At my defiance of his haughty will,
Has banished me.

ADELMINE
(throwing herself on his breast.)
Thou wilt not go alone?

GUIDO.
Alone, and unforgiven, Adelmine!

ADELMINE.
Oh, trifle not!—I do, I do forgive thee.
But wilt thou go alone?

GUIDO.
How should I else?

ADELMINE.
Oh! is there none—no friend, whose tireless love
Might sooth and bless thee in thy wanderings?

GUIDO.
I know of none.

ADELMINE.
Of none?—unkind! (turns away.)


GUIDO.
Thou dost not mean thyself?—by heav'n thou dost!
Those downcast eyes—that drooping, shrinking form—
That deepening blush!—come to my heart, my purest!
And didst thou dream that I would bear my flower,
My timid violet, forth into the stir
Of this rude world? Oh! thou wert made to dwell
Where but the loving light of heaven, its dew
And balmy air, should kiss thy virgin brow—
Thou couldst not bide the storm!

ADELMINE.
And could I not?
Oh, Guido! let me go!
There is no storm so fierce, but love's pure smile
Can light a rainbow through it:—Let me go!

GUIDO.
And leave thy home?

ADELMINE.
Thou art my home!

GUIDO.
Thy maiden dreams of joy?

ADELMINE.
They go with thee!
Oh! if thou leave me here
Without them, love, an exile from thy heart,
Thou art a sterner tyrant than the King,
And dost enforce a sadder banishment
Than even thine own!
Thou wilt not, gentle Guido!

GUIDO.
But were it known that we escape together,
Fierce Edgar's anger might alight on thee.

ADELMINE
(in a low, emphatic tone.)
His anger is less fearful than his love!

GUIDO.
By heaven! thou mov'st me now.
Thou'rt in his power!
The very thought hath madness in't!
Thou'lt fly?

ADELMINE.
I will.

GUIDO.
But how?

ADELMINE.
I thought not how!
But stay!—To-morrow doth the King go forth,
With all his train, to hunt. The wandering bard
Who came last night, and for whose simple wants
I did provide, is grateful for my care:
I'll have for gold his mantle and his cap;
And thus disguised—for well the minstrel-garb
Will hide the beatings of a woman's heart—
I'll join the chase, and meet thee in the forest.

GUIDO.
Be it so then!
To-morrow's sun shall see
A bride more beauteous than his own Aurora!
Farewell! Heaven bless thee!

[Exeunt different ways.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A sumptuous Chamber in the Castle, hung with the richest tapestry, and adorned with silver mirrors, couches and footstools of oak, inlaid with gold and covered with embroidered silk. In the centre of the room a golden table, beautifully wrought. Edgar, richly dressed, is seated by it alone; and on it is a wooden goblet, embossed with jewels and rimmed with gold; beside this stands a large silver vessel, containing wine.
EDGAR.
Beshrew these lovely witches! they've possessed me,
They've haunted me all night, and even now
Alternate glide before my spell-bound eyes!
There, with alluring grace and lightning looks,
Majestic Elfrid waves her snowy arm,
And proudly bids me follow her to joy!
And here, on light and fairy feet flits by
The young and dark-eyed Adelmine!—
Her gaze
Bent to the earth in virgin bashfulness;
And on her cheek the pure and dimpled rose
Of innocence and love!

Enter an Attendant.
ATTENDANT.
So please your Grace,
There's one without would private speech with you.

EDGAR.
Admit him, slave!
[Exit Attendant.
How sweet a dream he broke!

Re-enter Attendant, with Dunstan, disguised in a long dark mantle.
EDGAR
(laying his hand on his sword.)
Thy name, sir stranger?

DUNSTAN
(throwing back his cloak.)
Benedicite!

EDGAR.
Ah! reverend Father! thou?
(Kneels. Dunstan lays his hand on Edgar's head; he rises, and they seat themselves.)
But why art here at this untimely hour?

DUNSTAN
(sternly.)
Because untimely deeds do call me hither!
My son, while busy with my pious duties,
I heard by chance of this thy sudden journey—
I unconsulted!—'Twas ill done, young sir!

EDGAR.
Name me some penance, Father!

DUNSTAN.
Of that anon.
How purpose you to win the fair Elfrida?

EDGAR.
I think not, care not how—so I do win her!
But this I purpose—Athelwold must die!—
He hath deceived me.

DUNSTAN.
If he die publicly, the world will say
He perished only that the King might live
In beauteous Elfrid's heart! He must not die
Unless the stroke be secret!

EDGAR.
Be it so.
Let me but win Elfrida—and that soon!
I die till she is mine!

DUNSTAN.
Shame on thee, son!
Hast thou no reverence for this holy garb.
Know! reprobate! the thunders of the church
Have reached—may yet—the crowned head!
Beware!

EDGAR.
I humbly crave your pardon, reverend Father.
I pray you, pledge me in a draught of wine.
Ho! slave! another goblet!

(Dunstan slowly fills the goblet.—Re-enter Slave, with another.)
DUNSTAN.
Heaven forbid
That I should so pollute my sacred calling!
[Exit Slave.
And yet, it ill beseems the lowly, poor,
And humble priest, to thwart his Sovereign's will.
Health and success, my son!

(Drains the goblet and fills it again, Edgar does the same.)
EDGAR.
When once the Earl's despatched,
I shall, with your good countenance, reverend sir!
Espouse the lady Elfrid.—This I promised
E'en at the banquet-board.

DUNSTAN.
And should the church,
In her benign compassion for the frailty
Of an oft-erring son,—deign to o'erlook
Th' unseemly haste and manifest foolishness
Of such an act—
These broad and fair estates—

(Drains the goblet again.)
EDGAR
(smiling.)
Shall prove my gratitude and my remorse,
They shall be her's—
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
Commend me to a reverend, for preparing
A salve for tender consciences beforehand!

(Fills up Dunstan's goblet again.)
DUNSTAN.
Farewell! thou graceless boy!
Remember! and beware! betray me not!
I come disguised, because it is not meet
My name were known in these designs of thine.
Farewell! my blessing—

EDGAR.
But see! your goblet is as yet undrained—

DUNSTAN
(demurely.)
I am your subject, and must needs obey.

(Drains it a third time.)
EDGAR.
Well said, and as well done! Your blessing, Father!

(Kneels—Dunstan gravely blesses him, and Exit.)
EDGAR.
Nay, by the mass! these priests are jolly fellows!

[Exit.

SCENE II.

An extensive Forest.—Storm—Thunder & Lightning
Enter Edgar.
EDGAR.
Curse on my weakness,
For yielding to a woman's light caprice.
To please this wayward beauty, we must all,
I and my train, give up the hunt—alight
To rest us in the wood,—because, forsooth,
The day was sultry. Our good steeds, meanwhile,
Must wander where they list,—the search for them
Would be so pleasant!—Well! we did her bidding.
But hardly were we seated, when the storm
Suddenly rose—our frightened horses dashed
Like wildfire through the forest—we dispersed
In search of them—and here am I, alone,
Baffled in my pursuit of Athelwold;
Bewildered, and almost exhausted.
(Enter Oswald.)
Ha!
Oswald, there's not a moment now to lose,
I am too weary to pursue him farther:
Go thou, and ere he find his steed, find him.
Despatch him, friend, while I do rest myself
In yonder cave, and if thou meet'st my train,
Bid them haste there. But stay—do thou go first
Into the cave, and bring me prompt report
If it be fitting for a King's repose.

SCENE III.

An immense Cavern.—Storm continues.—Athelwold near the mouth of the Cave.
ATHELWOLD.
But for this darkness which obscures the path,
I had been distant many a league ere now.
(Looks round.)
I'll find some place to hide me, 'till his train
Pass by! 'Tis a dread cave! Tradition tells,
Ages ago, the mystic Druids hewed
Its hollow in the rock;—and once, 'tis said,
A horrid murder here was perpetrated;
In sooth a fitting scene.—Ha! some one comes!

(He retires to the back of the Cave.)
Enter Oswald.
OSWALD.
The selfish tyrant! let him do his deeds
Of hell with his own hand,—I'll none of them.
I've injured Athelwold enough already.
His murder too, might baffle all my schemes
Of vengeance on his wife—by making clear
Her pathway to the throne.—'Tis her disgrace,
And not his death I seek.

ATHELWOLD
(coming forward.)
Is it Oswald's voice that speaks?

OSWALD.
Thou here?—fly—fly!
Fierce Edgar seeks thy life!

ATHELWOLD.
I know it, friend.—But, Oswald, ere I fly,
I've a commission for thee.—Wilt thou seek
The caitiff who betrayed me to the King?—

OSWALD
Wilt please you go, my Lord?

ATHELWOLD.
Ay! ay! in time!
But on his craven back avenge thy friend.

OSWALD.
No more!

ATHELWOLD.
Yes! whip him as thou wouldst a rebel bondsman,
Whose saucy malice had been arm'd against thee.

OSWALD.
By heaven!

ATHELWOLD.
Thou wilt?
I know thou wilt, my friend.
And tell him, I, if e'er he cross my path,
Will tear his venomous tongue from out his throat,
And fling it back into his face—the dastard!

OSWALD.
Fool! dost thou sport with fate?
Then take it! thus!

(Stabs him.)
Enter Edgar.
ATHELWOLD
(to Oswald.)
False knave! Have at thee!

(They fight.)
Enter Guido, with Adelmine in a Gleeman's dress.
ADELMINE
(screaming, and throwing herself between the combatants.)
'Tis Athelwold, and they would murder him!

(Edgar rushes forward and drags her away.)
(Athelwold falls.)
EDGAR.
What puny thing art thou that dar'st intrude
'Twixt me and vengeance—

(Pointing a dagger at her breast.)
(Guido wrenches the dagger from his hand, while Attendants enter and seize him.)
GUIDO.
My Adelmine! reveal and save thyself!

(The Storm meanwhile has gradually ceased, and at this moment the Sun shines suddenly out upon the scene.)
EDGAR.
Adelmine!
My lovely peasant! lovelier than ever!
Kneel, for thy pardon, prettiest!

ADELMINE
(throws off her cap and mantle, beneath which is a bridal-robe befitting her station;— while her long tresses fall around her, partly confined by a band of jewels.)
Not to thee,
Though thou wert Monarch of the universe.
Look there, assassin!

(Points to the dead body of Athelwold. Then goes to it, and covers it tenderly with her mantle.)
Enter Elfrida, behind, unseen by them.
EDGAR
(gazing in surprize at Adelmine.)
She's noble then! I feared so!
By heaven, her pride becomes her gloriously!
She must be mine, by some means, foul or fair.
What sayest thou, maiden? wilt thou share my throne?

ELFRIDA
(aside.)
Ha!

ADELMINE.
Never!

EDGAR.
Nay! sweetest, think again!

ADELMINE.
False hearted King! I scorn thee!

EDGAR.
Die then, insulting girl!

(Draws his dagger.)
(Guido struggles with his guards.)
ADELMINE.
Death were the dearer bridegroom!

(Edgar sheaths his dagger.)
ELFRIDA
(coming haughtily forward.)
Saw you my lord?

OSWALD
(gloomily.)
There lies what was thy lord,
And thou hast slain him!

ELFRIDA
(shrieking, and throwing herself on her knees, by the body.)
Athelwold! speak! speak!
One word—oh! one! of pity and of pardon.
Look up, my love—Elfrida kneels to thee—
Thy wife, whom thou didst watch so tenderly,
And who repaid thee with her curses—live!
Oh! live! that I may love thee! worship thee!
My noble lord!
It is too late—too late!
(She rises slowly, and stands for some moments as if abandoned to despair.—Then, looking wildly round, she sees the King and Adelmine. —She springs forward—drags the former towards the body—points to it, and cries.)
It was for thee I killed him! ay! for thee,
Thou beardless boy! And what is my reward?
My guilty passion scorn'd—my promis'd crown—
The bauble I have sold my very soul for,
Offered, before me, to a whining child!
Why, give it to her, King! the paltry toy!
But, stir not—speak not—till thou hast restored
Life to the heart that loved me!
Give him back!
Give me my lord, my noble generous husband.

(She throws herself again, in a passion of tears, on the body.)
EDGAR
(aside to Oswald.)
Now must this beauteous fury be appeased,
Or with the murder all the realm will ring.
Besides—she'll queen it bravely—
Will she not!
So lovely, even in her rage!
(To Elfrida, aloud.)
Mine own
Best love!—My fair Elfrida! wilt thou let
A moment's playful jesting with a child,
Deprive me of my heart's elected?—Come!
Poor Athelwold was slain in equal fight,
And shall have noble burial.—
Come,—my queen!
Power, pomp, and love and homage wait thee still,
Mistress of Edgar's soul and kingdom.—Come!
England shall see a star upon her throne,
Whose light shall glad the universe!

ELFRIDA
(aside.)
England shall see a tigress on her throne,
Thirsting for victims in her soul's despair!

OSWALD
(aside.)
And this is my revenge! Blind fool!

EDGAR.
And lest
This pretty runaway disturb us more—
Here Guido, take her hand!
Elfrida pardons you!

(Guido comes forward and takes her hand.)
CURTAIN FALLS.