 | Alfred |  |
SCENE I.
Corin, Emma.Emma.
Shepherd, 'tis he. Beneath yon aged oak,
All on the flowery turf he lays him down.
Corin.
Soft: let us not disturb him. Gentle Emma,
Poor tho' he be, unfriended and unknown,
My pity waits with reverence on his fortune.
Modest of carriage, and of speech most gracious,
As if some saint or angel, in disguise,
Had grac'd our lowly cottage with his presence,
He steals, I know not how, into the heart,
And makes it pant to serve him. Trust me, Emma,
He is no common man.
8
Some lord, perhaps,
Or valiant chief, that from our deadly foe,
The haughty, cruel, unbelieving Dane,
Seeks shelter here.
Corin.
And shelter he shall find.
Who loves his country is my friend and brother.
Behold him well. Fair manhood in its prime,
Even thro the homely russet that conceals him,
Shines forth, and proves him noble. Seest thou, Emma,
Yon western clouds? The sun they strive to hide,
Yet darts his beam around.
Emma.
Your thought is mine:
He is not what his present fortunes speak him.
But, ah! the raging foe is all around us:
We dare not keep him here.
Corin.
Content thee, wife:
This island is of strength. Nature's own hand
Hath planted round a deep defence of woods,
The sounding ash, the mighty oak; each tree
A sheltering grove: and choak'd up all between
With wild encumbrance of perplexing thorns,
And horrid brakes. Beyond this woody verge,
Two rivers broad and rapid hem us in.
Along their channel spreads the gulphy pool,
And trembling quagmire, whose deceitful green
Betrays the foot it tempts. One path alone
Winds to this plain, so roughly difficult,
This single arm, poor shepherd as I am,
Could well dispute it with twice twenty Danes.
Emma.
Yet think, my Corin, on the stern decree
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“An English captain, dies the death of traitors:
“But who their haunts discovers, shall be safe,
“And high rewarded.”
Corin.
Now, just heaven forbid,
A British man should ever count for gain,
What villainy must earn. No: are we poor?
Be honesty our riches. Are we mean,
And humbly born? The true heart makes us noble.
These hands can toil, can sow the ground and reap,
For thee and thy sweet babes. Our daily labour
Is daily wealth: it finds us bread and raiment.
Could Danish gold give more?
Emma.
Alas the while,
That loyal faith is fled from hall and bower,
To dwell with village-swains!
Corin.
Ah look! behold!
Where, like some goodly tree by wintry winds
Torn from the roots and withering, our sad guest
Lies on the ground diffus'd.
Emma.
I weep to see it.
Corin.
Thou hast a heart sweet pity loves to dwell in.
Dry up thy tears; and lean on this just hope:
If yet to do away his country's shame,
To serve her bravely on some blest occasion;
If for these ends this stranger sought our cottage,
The heavenly hosts are hovering here unseen,
To watch and to protect him.—But oh! when—
My heart burns for it—shall I see the hour
Of vengeance on those Danish infidels,
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Emma.
Alas, my love!
These passions are not for the poor man's state.
To heaven and to the rulers of the land
Leave such ambitious thoughts. Be warn'd, my Corin:
And think our little all depends on thee.
SONG.
O peace! the fairest child of heaven,
To whom the sylvan reign was given,
The vale, the fountain and the grove,
With every softer scene of love:
Return, sweet peace! and chear the weeping swain;
Return, with ease and pleasure in thy train.
To whom the sylvan reign was given,
The vale, the fountain and the grove,
With every softer scene of love:
Return, sweet peace! and chear the weeping swain;
Return, with ease and pleasure in thy train.
Corin.
Hush: break thee off—For see, our mournful guest
Has rais'd his head—and lo! who comes to greet him;
His friend, the woodman of the neighbouring dale,
Whom late, as yester evening-star arose,
At his request I found, and hither brought.
| Alfred | |