University of Virginia Library

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!