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ETHELWOLD AND ELFRIDA. REIGN OF EDGAR. A.D. 959-975.
“You are my true and honourable wife,
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart.”
—Shakspeare.
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart.”
—Shakspeare.
“Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, and sweet,
Whither away, and where is thy abode?
Happy the parents of so fair a maid—
Happy the man, whom favourable stars
Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow.”
—Shakspeare.
Whither away, and where is thy abode?
Happy the parents of so fair a maid—
Happy the man, whom favourable stars
Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow.”
—Shakspeare.
Earl Ethelwold, upon his battle steed,
Pricks forth, all plum'd and belted, on his way;
No common work is his—no common deed—
At Beauty's feet his monarch's love to lay:
Elfrida's high renown had cast its ray
E'en to the palace, where her sovereign king,
In joyous sports, was holding holiday:
Beauty can travel on an eagle's wing;
Not faster can the wind o'er heaven's clear pastures spring.
Pricks forth, all plum'd and belted, on his way;
No common work is his—no common deed—
At Beauty's feet his monarch's love to lay:
Elfrida's high renown had cast its ray
E'en to the palace, where her sovereign king,
In joyous sports, was holding holiday:
Beauty can travel on an eagle's wing;
Not faster can the wind o'er heaven's clear pastures spring.
Lo! far within the solitary gloom,
Stands Devon's castle: far, the forests stand,
Deep and impervious—the savage home
Where elk and lion rul'd in high command:
Huge mountains stretch along at every hand;
Innumerable little brooks roll on,
That yet, in winter, like great rivers band;
As sweet a place as ever rung with song,
Or strew'd fresh fruits and flowers the silent ways among.
Stands Devon's castle: far, the forests stand,
Deep and impervious—the savage home
Where elk and lion rul'd in high command:
Huge mountains stretch along at every hand;
Innumerable little brooks roll on,
That yet, in winter, like great rivers band;
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Or strew'd fresh fruits and flowers the silent ways among.
In every season are these woods most bright;
Spring hath her treasures, and she leaves them here—
Fresh flowers, green trees, and birds that sound delight—
Summer hath pleasant streams, that murmur clear,
And sunny mists, and Eden's atmosphere:
Autumn hath wild winds, that majestic flow—
Grand liveries, that the trees rejoice to wear,
And lovely fruits to deck her queenly brow;
And Winter walks sublime, with torrents, storms, and snow.
Spring hath her treasures, and she leaves them here—
Fresh flowers, green trees, and birds that sound delight—
Summer hath pleasant streams, that murmur clear,
And sunny mists, and Eden's atmosphere:
Autumn hath wild winds, that majestic flow—
Grand liveries, that the trees rejoice to wear,
And lovely fruits to deck her queenly brow;
And Winter walks sublime, with torrents, storms, and snow.
And, here, upon the calm and sleepy lake,
The white-wing'd vessels shake their streamers fair;
And, talking tenderly, young lovers take
Sweet joy, and sing unto the laughing air:
Here crowd all birds, of plumage rich and rare;
Here bloom green islands; here the bright fish leap;
The seasons feast for aye on sumptuous fare,
And Nature doth her court in splendour keep:
Sure heaven and earth are wed, and take their bridal sleep.
The white-wing'd vessels shake their streamers fair;
And, talking tenderly, young lovers take
Sweet joy, and sing unto the laughing air:
Here crowd all birds, of plumage rich and rare;
Here bloom green islands; here the bright fish leap;
The seasons feast for aye on sumptuous fare,
And Nature doth her court in splendour keep:
Sure heaven and earth are wed, and take their bridal sleep.
'Tis evening: on the distant mountain's height,
The godlike sun doth shower his riches down;
Swift streams of lustre make the lake all bright,
And clothe the forest-tops as with a crown:
Earth, air, and water its sweet influence own:
But who is she,—who, by the lake-side goes,
E'en like a maid in love,—and, all alone;
The evening breeze among her garments flows—
The sunlight through her hair a double radiance throws:
The godlike sun doth shower his riches down;
Swift streams of lustre make the lake all bright,
And clothe the forest-tops as with a crown:
Earth, air, and water its sweet influence own:
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E'en like a maid in love,—and, all alone;
The evening breeze among her garments flows—
The sunlight through her hair a double radiance throws:
Most matchless creature!—Surely, never fell
Such light celestial on poor earthly ground!
Is she this water's queen—and doth she dwell
Among their spangled caves? Is this the round
Each twilight ta'en, along her sovereign bound?
Eyes dark as winter clouds—stedfast, serene—
Long raven ringlets, circling all around;
And the warm breeze just lifts her garments sheen,
And bares her snow-white neck, and bosom scarcely seen.
Such light celestial on poor earthly ground!
Is she this water's queen—and doth she dwell
Among their spangled caves? Is this the round
Each twilight ta'en, along her sovereign bound?
Eyes dark as winter clouds—stedfast, serene—
Long raven ringlets, circling all around;
And the warm breeze just lifts her garments sheen,
And bares her snow-white neck, and bosom scarcely seen.
She walks as if a goddess held her hand—
Her look is stately, calm, majestic, high;
These trees do quiver, as at her command,
As though they lov'd to see her wander by.
Why does Earl Ethelwold thus gaze and sigh,
And strike his breast?—he now is at her side;
He hears her silver voice speak tenderly:—
O, shall I more!—he won her for his bride—
That beauteous blessed thing, and bore her home in pride.
Her look is stately, calm, majestic, high;
These trees do quiver, as at her command,
As though they lov'd to see her wander by.
Why does Earl Ethelwold thus gaze and sigh,
And strike his breast?—he now is at her side;
He hears her silver voice speak tenderly:—
O, shall I more!—he won her for his bride—
That beauteous blessed thing, and bore her home in pride.
He won her for his bride:—but where is he,
The King?—And how shall Edgar know the tale?
And what shall Devon's daughter think of thee,
Proud Earl?—how will she of thy falsehood wail,
Wrong'd of a monarch's sceptre, crown, and pall!
And envious tongues will hold thy monarch's ear;
And he will come and see thee, in thy hall,
And view this stolen gem, so wond'rous fair—
And thou be hung on high, to feed the birds of air!
The King?—And how shall Edgar know the tale?
And what shall Devon's daughter think of thee,
Proud Earl?—how will she of thy falsehood wail,
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And envious tongues will hold thy monarch's ear;
And he will come and see thee, in thy hall,
And view this stolen gem, so wond'rous fair—
And thou be hung on high, to feed the birds of air!
He comes!—he comes!—the cheerful trumpets sound
The King's approach!—the glittering gates ope wide:
The chamber door upon its hinge turns round.—
Is she some heavenly presence at his side?—
Divinity or woman? Oh, what pride
Of gold, and purple, and rich precious gem
Adorn her—her—who is his ravish'd bride—
Her, who should now have worn his diadem,
And held his heart—now bound unto another name.
The King's approach!—the glittering gates ope wide:
The chamber door upon its hinge turns round.—
Is she some heavenly presence at his side?—
Divinity or woman? Oh, what pride
Of gold, and purple, and rich precious gem
Adorn her—her—who is his ravish'd bride—
Her, who should now have worn his diadem,
And held his heart—now bound unto another name.
No more, Elfrida, shall thy first love sigh
All tender things: no more amid thy hair
Wind amorous fingers—at thy bosom lie;
For death and he are now a married pair!
A king must reap those treasures, rich and rare,
First by that lone-lake side ador'd and won—
That heart shall beat within its temple fair,
Another note: dance, revelry, and song,
In palaces most rich, shall wile thy days along.
All tender things: no more amid thy hair
Wind amorous fingers—at thy bosom lie;
For death and he are now a married pair!
A king must reap those treasures, rich and rare,
First by that lone-lake side ador'd and won—
That heart shall beat within its temple fair,
Another note: dance, revelry, and song,
In palaces most rich, shall wile thy days along.
Those raven tresses, glittering like the sun—
Those eyes imperial, that dainty face—
Those gorgeous limbs—the charms that have undone
Her earth and heaven, each thing of perfect grace,
Still bloom—whilst on her lord the grave-worms race:
A king doth mark the heavings of her breast;
Each wond'rous charm, and perfect beauty trace:
Whilst he, her murder'd lord, in death doth rest—
His paramour, the worm—his marriage bed, the dust.
Those eyes imperial, that dainty face—
Those gorgeous limbs—the charms that have undone
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Still bloom—whilst on her lord the grave-worms race:
A king doth mark the heavings of her breast;
Each wond'rous charm, and perfect beauty trace:
Whilst he, her murder'd lord, in death doth rest—
His paramour, the worm—his marriage bed, the dust.
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