 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
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;
2
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!
3
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.
4
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.
5
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
6
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.
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |