University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Scene as before.
Edwin and Waltheof.
Waltheof.
Lo, he hath dropt the curtain of his tent,
Which tokens privacy: Duncan is there;
I have arm'd the fiery zealot for the charge
With all the stars of heaven at his command,
To rouse the sleeping conscience of the king:
That done, my turn succeeds to mount the breach
Where superstition enter'd, whelm his soul
With Edgar's wrongs, and then 'twixt hope and fear
Fix this fair project.

Edwin.
Oh beware, Lord Waltheof,
In Edgar's veins runs the last hallow'd stream
Of royal Alfred's blood.

Waltheof.
What can defeat us?
Matilda's passion makes our purpose sure;
And for the King—but hark, he's coming forth—

(Exeunt.
Duncan comes hastily out of the tent, followed by the King.
King.
Stay, Duncan, stay!

Duncan.
Let me come forth.

King.
Oh, speak,
Oh answer me this once, prophetic Seer,
Shall we go forth and conquer?

Duncan.
Man of sin,
Conquer thyself, take arms against ambition,
Drive that invader from thy heart, then talk
Of setting England free.

King.
What is my sin?

Duncan.
And dost thou ask? was it a trivial thing
From this fair vineyard to thrust out the heir,
And rule by spoil and rapine?

King.
I have sinn'd;
Yet I've not slain him; still young Edgar lives.

Duncan.
Lives he and dost thou reign? Tho' thou shou'dst bribe
Legions of holy men to weary Heaven
Early and late with never-ceasing prayers,
Vain were their suit. Now mark me—All night long
From setting to the rising sun I watcht,
And on my aged knees put up loud prayers
And frequent for this hapless country's sake—

Harold.
Heav'n grant thy prayers! say, what declare the signs?

Duncan.
Ev'n in that moment when the midnight sphere
Central was pois'd, and yesterday expir'd,
On the left shoulder of the northern bear
Thy natal star arose! rayless and dim
And watery pale the horoscope appear'd,
While from the threat'ning East the hostile Moon
Push'd thee with adverse horns, red-mailed Mars
Flam'd in his planetary house, and scoul'd
With stellar rage askaunt.

King.
Disastrous signs!
What shall I do?

Duncan.
Repent!

King.
With heart abash'd
And low as to the dust I bow my head
To heav'n's rebuke and thine—What more? Oh speak!

Duncan.
“Fight not till Edgar's found”—

King.
Till Edgar's found?
But when and where? proceed.

Duncan.
“Thou hast a daughter”—
I can no more: Who follows shall expound;
What he shall counsel, that pursue and prosper!
(Exit Duncan.

King
alone.
Fight not till Edgar's found!—So much is perfect:
Thou hast a daughter—there the prophet ceas'd;
Who follows shall expound—Thus I am left.
This is thy fruit, Ambition; thus it seems
Possessions by ill deeds obtain'd, by worse
Must be upheld or lost; such league and concord
Things vicious hold, that trespassing in one,
We must offend in all; woe then to him,
Who from his neighbour's heap purloins a grain,
Yea but one grain; with such swift consequence
Crime follows crime, that none shall dare to say,
This and no more!

Waltheof enters unobserv'd by Harold.
Waltheof.
Thus Israel's monarch stood,
With eyes so wedded to the pensive earth,
When at the fable's close his conscience smote him;
While the stern messenger of God pronounc'd,
Thou art the man!

King.
Waltheof!

Waltheof.
What wou'd my liege?

King.
Approach! in truth thou'rt welcome. I have seen
The old divining hermit, whom we met
Upon the eve of Standford's bloody day,
When Halfager with his Norwegian bands,
And traitrous Tosti fell beneath our swords.

Waltheof.
And gives he victory still?

King.
Atonement now
Is all his theme, and penitence for wrongs
To Edgar done.

Waltheof.
Hence with such idle dreamers!
What are the visions of the cloyster'd monk,
The hermit's phrensy, or the coward calls
Of backning Conscience to ambition's charms?

King.
Ambition's charms! Accursed be the hour
When first they caught my weak unwary heart!
Full in my view the stately phantom stood,
Her stature charm'd me and the dazling height
Fir'd my young blood! I sprung to her embrace;
The distance vanish'd and the steep ascent
Sunk at the touch; she with dissembling smiles
And meretricious glances met my joys;
Upon my head she plac'd a kingly crown;
But in the moment drew a ponyard forth,
And plung'd it in my heart.

Waltheof.
Ah, who shall envy
Another's greatness; call another blest,
When thus a king complains?

King.
I tell thee, Waltheof,
Had I the world at will, I'd yield it up
To be at peace with heav'n.

Waltheof.
Alas, my liege,
Are there no gentler terms of peace with heav'n?
Methinks—but I offend perhaps and press
On too high matters—

King.
I conjure thee speak:
My doom is on thy lips; 'tis thou alone
That can'st expound my fate.

Waltheof.
Wou'dst thou atone
For wrongs to Edgar done, and purge thy soul
From it's contracted guilt, Thou hast—

King.
Proceed—
Nor rack me with suspense.

Waltheof.
Thou hast a daughter—

King.
What follows? there the prophet ceas'd—proceed.

Waltheof.
And need I add the rest? Edgar—Matilda—
How those soft names unite! there's music in them,
Might make the angriest star in heav'n propitious.

King.
Join them; espouse them!—is it thus you counsel?

Waltheof.
If thus it please thee; think it else a sound,
Which dies and is forgot.

King.
Come to my bosom;
Thy voice to me is as the voice of heaven:
It shall be so; Edgar shall wed Matilda;
My darling child sure will obey and bless me.
Men's hearts shall be mine own; these factious lords
Will all come in—

Waltheof.
Duncan shall chide no more—

King.
My country shall be sav'd—but where is Edgar?
Now by the virgin mother of our Lord,
A bow shall not be bent against the foe,
Nor a stone vollied from the slinger's arm
'Till Edgar shall be found.

Waltheof.
Then, ere the star
Of evening shall arise, expect him here.

King.
May I believe thee?

Waltheof.
If I bring him not,
Let my head answer.

King.
I am whole again:
Now I have divination on my side;
Fight not, the prophet cried, 'till Edgar's found.
Lo! he is found, I may both fight and conquer.
O Waltheof, I do surely think that God
To wise and holy men sometimes reveals
A portion of his councils: Here we part—
I to Matilda; you in search of Edgar;
Whom if you bring, I live but to reward you.

(Exit.
Waltheof
alone.
Thus do I ever make all men mine own,
And still conforming to these changeful times,
Like ancient Janus double-fac'd, at once
Follow the setting, meet the rising sun.
Earl Edwin enters.
Welcome, brave lord, rais'd by the fairest hand
In England's Isle your prince ascends the throne:
Harold by Duncan's holy arts prepar'd
With greedy joy adopts the royal youth.

Edwin.
Thanks, pow'rful superstition, this atones
For all the mischief thou hast wrought on earth!

Waltheof.
Now in this awful interim, whilst dread
And trembling expectation hangs on all,
Oh let us bring the light of England forth!
So shines the day-star out, after rude storms
Have shook the palsied night, and high in air
Hangsforth his glittering lamp to chear the world,
At sight whereof the guilty waves subside,
And the vext spirits of the deep disperse.

Edwin.
Woud'st thou disclose the prince?

Waltheof.
Else all is lost;
Vain is our hope, our reconcilement void,
The battle's lost, and England is no more.

Edwin.
Let me reflect—Suppose that I reveal'd
His passion for Edwina—

(Aside.
Waltheof.
Doubt not, Edwin,
Nor for an empty scruple cast away
This sacred moment, upon which depends
All that is dear, our king's, our country's fate,
Fame, virtue, freedom, all that we esteem
Beneath the skies, all we expect above.

Edwin.
Go! to thy charge, O Waltheof, I commit
The fate of Edgar and of England; Go!
Yet stay—resolve me, hast thou weigh'd the danger?
Hast thou with wary eye lookt thro' the heart
Of this ambitious man? Art thou right, sure
There's no dissimulation lurking there?
Swear to me this, as thou hast hope in heaven,
And I will yield, the prince.

Waltheof.
So heaven to me
Its loving mercy deal, as I believe
In very truth there's not on earth that thing
Of Harold so desir'd, as this alliance.

Edwin.
Go then ere I recall the word, begone!
Tell the usurper—but thy own discretion
Will tutor thee more wisely.—Hence! 'tis past.

(Exit Waltheof.
Edgar enters hastily.
Edgar.
Edwin, thou'st been conferring with lord Waltheof;
That man hath eyes which penetrate the heart;
And he of all our English nobles here
Knows me for Edgar; make him then thine own;
Print on his lips the seal of holy faith,
And keep my name sacred as heav'n's own records
Lockt in thy breast.

Edwin.
Prince, dost thou love thy country?
Wou'd'st thou preserve her matrons from dishonor,
Her youth from slavish bonds and chace these spoilers
From her affrighted shore?

Edgar.
Wou'd I? just heav'n
Thou know'st what I have done, and thou can'st tell
What more that spirit thou hast giv'n wou'd do.

Edwin.
Nay, 'tis no irksome task. No toil, no danger,
But joy and love and glory crown the deed.

Edgar.
No more, but to the point.

Edwin.
In one plain word
Thus then I open all thy fate—Matilda!—
Nay start not, Sir—thy tried and loving servant,
Edwin, thy ever faithful creature tells thee
That thou must wed Matilda.

Edgar.
Hah! must wed!
What if I love her not?

Edwin.
All men must love her.

Edgar.
Must wed, must love! Away! Did the great master
Put in thy hand those fine and secret springs,
Which guide the various movements of the soul?
Rouse it to hate, or melt it into love?
No, there is that in every human breast,
Which heav'n made free and tyrants cannot reach.

Edwin.
Wilt thou not meet the hand that lifts thee up
From low despair and seats thee on a throne?

Edgar.
Perish ambition! perish every hope
Rather than this should be!

Edwin.
Go then, ye sons
Of freedom, go! your sacred birthright sell
To Norman masters; hence, like scatter'd sheep
Without a shepherd, for there's none to watch
But hirelings; he, the master of the flock,
Shrinks from his duty and forsakes the fold.

Edgar.
Edwin, this patriot rage becomes thee well,
But let me glory in my choice, the crown,
Nay, was it mine, the world wou'd be Edwina's:
And know, I'd rather be the roving kern,
That prints Arabia's sands with burning feet,
And send my heart amidst the tawny tribes
To fix where love shou'd point, than be a king
To wed as sordid policy prescribes.

(Exit.
Edwin
alone.
Death to my hopes, he has no soul for empire.
Heav'ns! that a man born for a nation's glory,
Can sell his birthright at so vile a price,
For such a toy as beauty!—O Edwina,
(And must I call thee sister?) fatal syren,
Thou hast done this: If Waltheof sees the King
Edgar is lost; that, that must be prevented
With my best speed, for oh! I love him still,
Still my heart tells me I wou'd die to save him.

(Exit.
Matilda and Edwina.
Matilda.
A little further yet—I see you wonder
Why I have brought you to this place apart:
It is because a sympathy of soul
Draws and unites me to you; 'tis because
There sits a weeping cherub in your eyes,
That silently demands why I am sad,
And I must speak to it: The worldly-wise,
Who slowly climb by cold degrees to friendship,
Such are my scorn; at sight of Athelina
Affection from my breast sprung forth at once
Mature as Pallas from the brain of Jove.

Edwina.
Your bounty, like the sun, warms where it shines,
And what it feels, inspires.

Matilda.
O Athelina,
I am ordain'd to misery, soul-enslav'd
And sentenc'd sore against the heart's protest
To wed and be a wretch.

Edwina.
And who compels
Matilda! victim-like what tyrant drags thee
As to a pagan altar, there to offer
Constrain'd obeisance, and put on the vow
As slaves do fetters with an aking heart?

Matilda.
So wills my father; never till this hour
Did I behold him so possess'd with passion,
So terrible in wrath.

Edwina.
O shame to nature!
And what is he 'mongst Europe's kings so great,
That you of force must wed?

Matilda.
Nor great is he,
Nor number'd amongst Europe's kings, but one,
Of whose inheritance there is not left,
Save the free air he breathes, and one faint spark
Of sickly hope, that visits his sad heart
To rack it with recollection of lost right.

Edwina.
What do I hear?

Matilda.
Nay thou can'st never guess him;
The last, the lowest in thy thoughts—

Edwina.
Indeed!

Matilda.
To sum up my afflictions in a word,
'Tis Edgar Atheling.

Edwina.
Heav'ns grace forbid it!
Have they discover'd him?

Matilda.
Who; What's discover'd?

Edwina.
Perish the medling politic contriver,
Who set this mischief going!—Oh if Edgar—

Matilda.
Who talks, who thinks of Edgar? Thou'rt possest.

Edwina.
Who can be patient and yet hear such things?
The king commands! what then? will he command
The soul and it's affections? Dearest lady,
Your father tho' he be, is he so great
As to give law to nature?

Matilda.
I am fixt:
Therefore be patient; had he askt my life,
I wou'd obey and grant it, but my heart
That is another's; I cannot bestow
What I do not possess.

Edwina.
Then you'll not wed—

Matilda.
To Edgar never, be assur'd of that.

Edwina.
Oh 'tis a deed will chronicle your name
In fame's eternal records; you disdain
To make a lying contract with your lips
And swerve with your affections; you are fixt;
You love another: Oh, may he you love,
(Kneeling I make it my most ardent prayer)
Be your reward and glory; live for you,
And you alone; and may you meet delights,
Pure as your virtue, lasting as your truth!

Matilda.
Kind Athelina, thanks? bear with my weakness,
And let me tell thee all my love's fond story
From the first hour I met him; the bright sun,
Smote on his helm, which shot a fiery gleam,
That dazzled all the plain; before his troop,
Arm'd at all points, upon a snow-white steed
Graceful he rode; invention never yok'd
A fairer courser to Apollo's car,
When with the zephyrs and the rosy hours
Thro' heav'n's bright portal he ascends the east,
And on his beamy forehead brings the morn.

Edwina.
A snow-white steed! New terrors strike my soul.

(Aside.
Matilda.
At sight of me he stopt, and from his steed
Active and feathery-light he leapt to earth.

Edwina.
Give me your pardon; serves he in this camp?

Matilda.
Yes, but report prevails, he left the camp
Last night o'th' sudden; and this morn, 'tis said,
Being return'd, in presence of the King,
Some proud high-stomach'd lords did sharply urge
And whet him to much rage; him and his friend
Earl Edwin.—

Edwina.
Hah! 'tis he.

(Aside.
Matilda.
Alas, what shakes you?
You start and tremble, and your up-cast eyes
Cling to heav'n's throne: Know you the youth I speak of?

Edwina.
As yet you have not told his name.

Matilla.
'Tis Edmund.

Edwina.
I had a friend and Edmund was his name,
But now that name's no more.

Matilda.
You had a friend—
I knew it, Athelina; yes I saw,
I saw your sorrows and I lov'd you for them;
Your friend is now no more—Alas! Tomorrow
May lay my Edmund low as your's; but I,
I shall not live, as thou hast liv'd, to tell it.
Oh, were he Edgar, had he Edgar's birth,
My young, unknown, untitled, blooming rustic,
Did his blood flow—but what of that? My father
Reigns tho' a subject born, and so shall Edmund,
If virtue hath an interest in heaven,
And England's throne outstands tomorrow's storm.

Edwina.
Indeed!

Matilda.
No power can stir me.

Edwina.
What if Edmund,
What if the youth you love perchance hath made
Some humbler fair his choice—

Matilda.
Perish the thought,
It brings distraction with it: I command you
Not to suppose he can prefer another;
I took you for my comforter, and lo
You fix a scorpion to my breast.

Edwina.
A scorpion!
I pray you be not angry; I wou'd kneel
And beg a blessing for you; but alas,
Leaden affliction lies so heavy on me,
Imagination cannot stretch a wing
To raise me from the dust.

Matilda.
Nay, now you melt me;
Prithee go in, good maid, I am right sorry
I spake so harshly to you: Do not weep,
For my sake do not—yet 'tis ever thus,
When the fond thought of some departed friend
Bursts unawares from memory's gushing fount,
And in a flood of sorrow whelms the soul.

(Exeunt,