University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Emma, and other shepherdesses.
Emma.
Yes, Edith, we will watch, till morning shines,
Around this cottage, now made rich and glorious—
Who durst have thought such wonders?—by a queen,
And her bright offspring! Thou, mean while, invoke,
With sounds of soothing strain, the gentle sleep
To pour his timely vapours on their eye-lids.

Edith
sings.

Emma.
Alas! she comes. Let us withdraw, my friends.
Her sorrows claim all reverence: and 'tis meet
We leave her to herself.

SCENE II.

Eltruda.
Amid the depth of this surrounding gloom,
While nature all is hush'd, Eltruda wakes
To think—and to be wretched. Oh my love!
My heart's sole rest and refuge! Where is he!
Victor or vanquish'd—what is now his fate?
Moments of terror—Ha! what noise was that?
Each sound appalls me, and each thought is death!
'Twas more than fancy sure: it seem'd the groan
Of bleeding men—O every guardian wing
Of saints and angels shield him! from his breast
Turn wide the flying shaft, the lifted steel,
And, sheltering him, a ruin'd nation save.
Who comes? Speak, quickly speak.

SCENE III.

Ertruda, an Attendant.
Attendant.
My gracious mistress,
Why to the breath of this untimely sky
Expose your health?

Ertruda.
Away—the health, the life
Of England is at stake: my Alfred fights—
Perhaps he bleeds: and I am lost for ever!
But is there none, no messenger return'd
From that dark scene of death?

Attendant.
No, madam, none.

Eltruda.
O my torn, tortur'd heart! What is the hour?

Attendant.
By yon faint light, that glimmering steals along
From east to north, I guess the morning near.

Eltruda.
Then all my hopes and fears suspended hang
On this dread moment's wing—Ah! hear'st thou not
The trumpet's distant voice?

Attendant.
It speaks aloud,
And shakes the echoing woods.

SCENE IV.

Eltruda, Attendant, Emma, and others.
Emma.
O mighty queen,
They come, the murderers come. Protect us, heaven,
[kneeling.
Our husbands, and our infants, from their rage.
Without thine aid we perish.

Eltruda.
O my soul!
Why what a sight is this? A tyrant's eye
Might melt with pity o'er it. Thou supreme,
[kneeling.
All-ruling arbiter of human fate!
Whose universal family is nature,
On Alfred, on his children, on his people,
Look down with mercy—for their cause is thine,
And now, even now, deciding!

SCENE V.

Hermit, Eltruda, and others.
Hermit.
Glorious princess!
This is indeed to reign. Comfort, great queen:
It comes, it comes! the promis'd scene discloses!
I see the Danish raven droop his wing!
See England's genius soar again to heaven,
And better days in white succession roll,
Without a cloud between!

The clouds break away; and on the edge of a rock, in full view, a spirit is seen amidst a blaze of light, who sings the following
From those eternal regions bright,
Where suns that never set in night,
Diffuse the golden day;
Where spring, unfading, pours around,
O'er all the dew-impearled ground,
Her thousand colors gay;
The messenger of heaven's high King,
I come; and happy tidings bring,
To chear this drooping isle:
Behold her cruel foes are fled!
Behold fair freedom lifts the head,
And all his children smile!
The dawn, that now unveils her skies,
See England's future glory rise:
A better age is born!
Then, let each voice of sprightly strain,
Around from warbling hill and plain,
Hail this triumphant morn!
Grand Chorus.
Then let each voice of sprightly strain,
Around from warbling hill and plain,
Hail this triumphant morn!

SCENE VI.

Eltruda, Hermit, Earl of Devon.
Devon,
kneeling.
Success is ours—

Eltruda.
The king, my lord—

Devon.
Returns,
Victorious and unhurt.

Eltruda.
Then, first, to heaven,
For this best news I humbly bend the knee
In grateful adoration.—Now proceed,
My lord; and leave no circumstance untold
Of this amazing night.

Devon.
Her misty shade
Had now enclos'd us round; when, led secure
By Edwin's eye, the darkest depth I reach'd
Of Kinwith-wood. We parted.—He, in haste,
Back to his charge. I thro the cavern'd path,
Whose inlet there is found, descending dark,
Long, under ground, it's solitary maze
Pursu'd as best I could; and rose at length
Safe in the fort our foes had close begirt.
'Twas joy, 'twas rapture there, among the few
Who wish'd, not hop'd, my unforeseen return.

Eltruda.
What follow'd this, my lord?

Devon.
Prepare, I cry'd,
To live or die like men. Our king survives;
And, now in arms, expects your instant aid.
To him then let us cut our glorious way
Thro yonder camp: or, if we nobly fall,
There offer to the genius of our country
Whole hecatombs of Danes.—As if one soul
Had mov'd them all, around their heads they whirl'd
Their sounding faulchions—“Lead us to those Danes:
Revenge and England”—was the general cry.

Eltruda.
I feel it here: my heart applauds their virtue.
How was this follow'd on?

Devon.
To souls resolv'd
Small preparation needs—The clock struck three—
At once our gates flew wide: at once we rush'd
Prone on the Danish trenches—While behind,
Just to the fatal instant, Alfred rose
In all his terrors; o'er the mounded camp
Tempestuous drove; from space to space along
Spred slaughter and dismay. Nor rest, nor pause:
Back'd by his ardent band, right on he bore
Even to the tent, where sunk in sleep profound
The Danish monarch lay. His guards, a few
Whom honor prompted to defend their prince,
Fell round him. He yet lives: but, O dire chance
Of cruel war!—a prisoner and in chains.

Eltruda.
A fall how terrible! My breast is thrill'd,
And in the fierce barbarian mourns the captive.

Hermit.
Such fortune ever wait on wild ambition!
On war unjust that desolates whole nations,
And leaves a world in tears for one man's guilt!
But yet—fallen as he is—he knows not yet
What new distress, what keener pangs attend
To wound his inmost heart—That trumpet speaks
The king's approach—Ye ministers unseen!

SCENE VII.

Eltruda.
Yon pictur'd raven—tell me is it not
Their wonderous magic standard!

Devon.
'Tis the same:
Wrought by the sisters of the Danish king,
At midnight's blackest hour; when the sick moon,
Wrapt in eclipse by their enchanting song,
Down thro the turbid clouds her influence shed
Of baleful power. The sisters ever sung—
“Shake, standard, shake destruction on our foes.”

SCENE VIII.

Eltruda, Hermit, and the others.
Alfred passing under the triumphal arches: The sun, at the same time, rising above the horizon.
Eltruda.
He comes! the conqueror comes—

Alfred.
In these lov'd arms
To lose all sorrow, and all bliss to find!

Eltruda.
O from what fears deliver'd for thy life,
And in that life for a whole people's being,
I thus receive thee back! thus fold thee safe!
Love only, love like mine, can feel, not utter!

Alfred.
To Him ascend all praise! whose will inspir'd,
Whose arm sustain'd this action, that restores
My better name—and, O more glorious still,
Of nobler, dearer consequence!—restores
Lost England to her vigor, fame and freedom.

Hermit.
For her, O Alfred, your more arduous task
But now begins: this conquest to secure;
To spread it's influence wide, and, well improv'd
By unremitting vigilance and valor,
Make this one blow decisive of her fate.
But now behold, to animate thy hope,
In mystic shew express'd what late thy fortune
Seem'd to portend; and what the brightening scene
With fairer promise opens.

Four Furies arise, to the sound of instruments in discord, at four different openings from under ground, with torches in their left hands, and bloody swords in their right. They form a confused Pyrrhic dance, shaking and pointing their swords and torches round the king in their centre: till, upon a change of the music into regular harmony, descends the Genius of England, with a crowned sword in one hand, and a lawrel wreathe in the other. On sight of whom the four Furies sink thro the openings they arose from. He presents the crowned sword and lawrel-branch at the feet of the king, and reascends, while the following song is sung.

At last, at last,
Our night is past,
The gloomy night of fear:
And o'er our skies
Fair beams arise
Of peace and joy sincere.
Then let triumph abound!
Let ecstacy reign!
Till these hills all around,—around
Improving each strain,
Our transports resound;—resound
The heart-felt transport that succeeds to pain!

Alfred.
I hail th'auspicious omen—but ah me!
Eltruda, see, where comes th'unhappy king!

Eltruda.
Oh sight of woe!

Alfred.
Retire, my gentle love:
An interview like this were too severe
For thy soft nature.

SCENE IX.

Alfred, Hermit, Danish King.
Alfred,
after a pause.
See, at last, O king,
In thy sad fate, which even a foe laments,
See and acknowledge heaven's impartial hand.
For violated oaths and plunder'd realms,
For the heap'd guilt of base perfidious war,
This retribution is most just.

Dane.

Alfred.
Such fears dismiss
As must dishonor both. The truly brave
His foe in equal arms will dare to meet:
Vanquish'd, he dares not injure, nor insult him.

Dane.
Nor that, nor ought without myself could thus
Unman me. No: my hell is here, within—
How! like a wretch, a nameless slave who fights
But for vile hire—in my own tent surpris'd!
Asleep! unarm'd!—these shameful chains thrown o'er me,
And not one blow exchang'd! O baser far
Than that low herd, who fled without a wound
Before thy sword.—They but deserted him,
Who first himself abandon'd—But thy gods
Were vigilant for thee: while mine all slept.

Alfred.
Your gods are idols: that sole Power I serve,
Supreme and one, is universal Lord
O'er earth and heaven. Be it my daily task,
As 'tis my noblest theme, to own, by Him
Alone I conquer'd: as for him alone
I wish to reign—by making mankind blest!

Dane.
No more—Convey me to your basest dungeon.
Let me explore it's darkest depth; shut out
The light of heaven; forget there is a sun
Who shines on my dishonor. Would I might
Exclude too my own thoughts—But yet, my son
Lives—and is free! lives to revenge my fall!
To wash my stains in blood—Ha! where was he
This fatal night, when every god forsook me!
Where, where was Ivar then?

Hermit.
Unhappy prince!
That son, alas!—

Dane.
Ha! what! why, who art thou?
What of my son?

Hermit.
Thy trust in him is vain.
To his own rashness and intemperate lust,
This very night, a victim, here, he fell—
Lo! where he lies.

Dane.
My son—my son—Ha! dead—
My only child!—But no: I will not weep.
Is he not safe, beyond misfortune's hand?
Beyond all feeling of his father's shame?
False hope, farewell!—Let madness, let despair
Surround me, seize me whole; till life's loath'd flame,
For ever quench'd in death, resigns me o'er
To darkness and oblivion.

Alfred.
Dire reverse!
Dreadful impatience!—But these roving Danes
A stricter watch demand. Means more effectual
Must now be try'd, from our insulted shores
To keep aloof this still-descending war.
'Tis naval strength, that must our peace assure.
Be this the first high object of my care,
To wall us round with well-appointed fleets.
In them our sole dominion of the sea,
Our wealth and grandeur, can alone be found,
The one great bulwark of our separate world.

Hermit.
Alfred, go on; the noble task pursue,
Thy safety urges, and thy fame demands.
Yes, in her fleets, let England ever seek
Her sure defence: by them, thro every age,
At home secure, renown'd and fear'd abroad,
Great arbitress of nations—Ha! the scene,
The radiant prospect opens full before me!
Thro distant depths of time transported down,
I see whole moving forests, from her hills
Uprooted, bound triumphant o'er the main!
White tracks of glory brighten Albion's skies,
As navies grow, as commerce swells her sail
With every breeze that under heaven can blow,
From either pole; thro worlds yet unexplor'd,
In east and west, that to thy sons disclose
Their golden stores, their wealth of various name,
And lavish pour it on Britannia's lap!

Alfred.
Thy words new sun-shine thro my breast diffuse,
And smiling calm. But let us, Hermit, try,
By justice, mercy, arms and arts improv'd,
By freedom fenc'd around with sacred laws,
Our promis'd bliss to merit and adorn.
Now, to my glorious task—

Hermit.
Yet ere you go,
One moment, Alfred, backward cast your eyes
On this unfolding scene; where, pictur'd true,
As in a mirror, rises fair to sight
Our England's genuine strength and future fame.

Here is seen the ocean in prospect, and ships sailing along. Two boats land their crews. One sailor sings the following Ode: afterwhich, the rest join lively dance.