University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

An apartment in a royal castle. Enter Ethwald and Alwy, speaking as they enter.
Ethw.
What, peace! peace, sayst thou, with these glorious arms,
In conquest red, occasion bright'ning round us,
And smiling victory, with beck'ning hand,
Pointing to future fields of nobler strife,
With richer honours crown'd? What, on the face
Of such fair prospects draw the veil of peace!
Cold blasting peace! The blackest fiend of hell
Hath not a thought more dev'lish!

Alwy.
It is indeed a flat unpleasant tale
For a young warrior's ear: but well hast thou
Improv'd the little term of bold occasion;
Short while thou wert but Mollo's younger son,
Now art thou Mairnieth's lord.

Ethw.
And what is Mairnieth's lordship! I will own
That, to my distant view, such state appear'd
A point of fair and noble eminence;
But now—what is it now? O! it is sunk
Into a petty knoll! I am as one
Who doth attempt some lofty mountain's height,
And having gain'd what to the upcast eye
The summit's point appear'd, astonish'd sees
Its cloudy top, majestic and enlarged,
Towering aloft, as distant as before.

Alwy.
Patience, brave Ethwald; ere thy locks be grey,
Thy helmed head shall yet in battle tower,
And fair occasion shape thee fair reward.

Ethw.
Ere that my locks be grey! the world ere now
Hath crouch'd beneath a beardless youth. But I—
I am as one who mounts to th' azure sky
On the rude billow's back, soon sunk again:
Like the loud thunder of th' upbreaking cloud,
The terror of a moment. Fate perverse!
'Till now, war's frowning spirit, rous'd, was wont
To urge with whirling lash his sable steeds,
Nor slack his furious speed till the wide land
From bound to bound beneath his axle shook.
But soon as in my hand the virgin spear
Had flesh'd its ruddy point, then is he turn'd
Like a tired braggart to his caves of sloth.
(Stamping on the ground.)
Peace! cursed peace! Who will again unchain
The grizly dog of war?

Alwy.
Meanst thou the British prince?

Ethw.
(eagerly).
What sayst thou, Alwy?

Alwy.
I said not aught.

Ethw.
Nay, marry! but thou didst!
And it has rais'd a thought within my mind.
The British prince releas'd, would he not prove
A dog of war, whose yell would soon be follow'd?

Alwy.
They do indeed full hard advantage take
Of his captivity, and put upon him
Conditions suited to his hapless state,
More than his princely will.

Ethw.
'Tis basely done: would that some friendly hand
His prison would unbar and free the thrall!
But no, no, no! I to the king resign'd him;
'Twere an unworthy deed.

Alwy.
It were most difficult;
For now they keep him in a closer hold,
And bind his hands with iron.

Ethw.
Have they done this? I'm glad on't! O I'm glad on't!
They promised nought unworthy of a prince
To put upon him—Now my hands are free!
And, were it made of living adamant,
I will unbar his door. Difficult, sayst thou?
No, this hath made it easy.

Alwy.
Well softly then; we may devise a way
By which the seneschal himself will seem
The secret culprit in this act.

Ethw.
No, no!
I like it not; though I must work i' the dark,
I'll not in cunningly devised light
Put on my neighbour's cloak to cause his ruin.
But let's to work apace! the storm shall rise!
My sound shall yet be heard!

Alwy.
Fear not, thou shalt ere long be heard again,
A dark'ning storm which shall not soon be lay'd.

Ethw.
Ah, thou hast touch'd where my life's life is cell'd!
Is there a voice of prophecy within thee?
[Catching hold of his arm eagerly.
I will believe there is! my stirring soul
Leapt at thy words. Such things ere now have been:
Men oft have spok'n, unweeting, of themselves;
Yea, the wild winds of night have utter'd words,
That have unto the list'ning ear of hope
Of future greatness told, ere yet the thoughts
On any certain point had fix'd their hold.

Alwy.
Thou mayst believe it: I myself, methinks,
Feel secret earnest of thy future fortune;
And please myself to think my friendly hand
May humbly serve, perhaps, to build thy greatness.

Ethw.
Come to my heart, my friend! though new in friendship,
Thou, and thou only, bearst true sympathy
With my aspiring soul. I can with thee
Unbar my mind—Methinks thou shiv'rest, Alwy.

Alwy.
'Tis very cold.

Ethw.
Is it? I feel it not:
But in my chamber burns the crackling oak,
There let us go.

Alwy.
If you are so inclin'd.

[As they are going, Ethw. stops short, and catches hold of Alwy eagerly.
Ethw.
A sudden fancy strikes me: Woggarwolfe,
That restless ruffian, might with little art
Be rous'd on Wessex to commit aggression:
Its royal chief, now leaguing with our king,
Will take the field again.

Alwy.
We might attempt him instantly: but move,
In faith I'm cold!

[Exeunt.