 | The Battle of Hastings |  |
1
ACT I.
SCENE I.
The Outside of a stately antient Castle. The Gate closed, and the Bugle in the Slings.Time before Break of Day.
(Earl Edwin enters.)
Edwin.
Whether 'tis now the secret witching hour,
When the smart imps work their malignant spells
Unfriendly to man's health, or that Heaven sends
These warnings, these misgivings to forerun
And harbinger some strange calamity,
I know not; but there's something passing here
Beyond the mind's conjecture ominous.
2
Raymond.
Stand! Who goes there?
Edwin.
A friend.
Raymond.
May none but friends
Approach these gates? what wakeful man art thou,
Whom busy care provokes thus early forth,
Ere the grey twilight glimmers in the east?
Edwin.
Know'st thou not me; and needs there light for that?
Sounds not this voice familiar to thine ear,
Or have the darkling wizzards of the night
Confounded thy clear organs? Thee I know;
Raymond, descend and open to thy Lord.
Raymond.
My Lord, my Master!—
(He disappears.
Edwin
alone.
Venerable pile,
Whose plain rough features shew like honesty;
Cradle of loyalty from earliest time;
Ye antique towers, courts, banner-bearing halls,
Trophies and tombs of my renown'd forefathers;
And you, surrounding oaks, fathers and sons,
And old old grandsires, chroniclers of time,
By which the forest woodman marks his tale,
If fate will doom you to a Norman master,
Farewell, ye perish in your country's fall.
(Raymond comes out from the castle.
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See, Lord, your castle opens wide it's arms,
Your porters, warders, foresters shall rouse:
Herald, provoke the bugle: spread the joy.
(Herald goes to sound the bugle.
Edwin.
What joy? forbear: there is no joy for Edwin.
Raymond.
Are we then lost; is Normandy victorious?
Edwin.
No: in the swoln and pregnant womb of fate
Lies the yet unborn hour.—Dismiss the herald,
And gently close the gate.—
(Raymond closes the gate.
Ye, who have bosoms,
Unscarr'd by sharp vexation's thorny scourge,
Sleep while you may. 'Tis well; come hither, Raymond;
Nay, I account thee as a friend—be nearer:
Pass'd all things quiet on thy watch this night?
Raymond.
All things were quiet.
Edwin.
Far, as well as near;
Wide as thine ear could carry? no rude straggler
Scowring the night? no neighing at the gate?
No trampling heard? no talking, as of parties
Met by assignment?
4
Hah! in very truth
To all these questions, no.
Edwin.
I must believe thee;
The more I'm lost in wonder: but confess,
At my last question wherefore didst thou start,
And arch thy brow significantly? speak;
Thou may'st reveal thy thoughts.
Raymond.
Nay, good my Lord,
My thoughts are little worth.
Edwin.
I see thou'rt cautious,
So let it pass—How fares our sister? blooms
The rose of health fresh on Edwina's cheek,
As it was wont?
Raymond.
It brightens, as it blows.
Edwin.
Yes, Raymond, she is fair; Heaven for the sins
Of this offending country made her fair;
Oh, I had treasur'd up such thoughts!—But mark,
Edmund; the youth whom I have father'd, he,
Who in the beating surge of black despair,
But for my saving arm, had sunk outright
And perish'd fathoms deep, last night i'th' camp,
Soon as the guard had gone it's stated round,
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Then fled, as if he'd overtake the wind,
Whither heav'n knows.
Raymond.
Fled; death to honour, fled!
Edwin.
Fled at this glorious crisis. Oh, it cuts
My heart's best hope asunder!
Raymond.
Heavenly vengeance
O'ertake and strike him—!
Edwin.
Peace!—You must not curse him.
Raymond.
Hah! wherefore not?
Edwin.
Because—expect a wonder—
Because he is thy king.
Raymond.
Uphold me, heaven!
Edwin.
Mine and thy king; of Alfred's line a king;
Edgar, call'd Atheling; the rightful lord
6
Audaciously usurps—
Raymond.
What do I hear?
Alas I thought him poor, an orphan youth
The child of hard misfortune.
Edwin.
Think so still,
Or keep these thoughts untold.
Raymond.
Had I known this,
I wou'd have serv'd him hourly on my knees:
O noble sir, direct me where to seek him,
How to restore him to these peaceful shades.
Edwin.
Not for the world; no, if we meet again,
Back to the English camp he shall repair;
The scene of all his hopes: Oh such a form
Of majesty with youthful beauty grac'd,
He was the soldier's idol; such a spirit
Beam'd from his eyes, his presence like the sun
Gladden'd beholders hearts.
Raymond.
I have a mistress,
A young and beauteous lady—
Edwin.
Name her not,
The source of all my shame: Shall it be said
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Only to place a sister at his side?
Perish the thought! Now learn a mighty secret—
Matilda loves him; Harold's matchless daughter
Loves Edgar Atheling; her dower a kingdom:
Therefore no talk of Edmund and Edwina,
They meet no more. Now, Raymond, had I lodg'd
My secret in a light and leaky bosom,
Better my sword shou'd rip it up at once
And take it back again—But thou art honest.
Raymond.
You were not wont to doubt me.
Edwin.
Nay, I will not.
Hah! what is this? who bade this music forth?
(Clarinets at a distance.
Raymond.
My lord, I know not.
Edwin.
Whence proceeds it? Mark.
Raymond.
If my ear fail not, from the beachen grove,
West of king Alfred's tower.
Edwin.
Lead to the place.
(Exeunt.
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Edgar.
Now breathe a strain, if your rude stops will let you,
Soft as a lover's sigh—Nay, you're too loud—
Mark, where you've rous'd the gentle sleeping deer.
Fellows, begone; away!—Edwina!
(Edwina appears at a window.
Edwina.
Edmund!
Oh, I have suffer'd a long age of absence.
Edgar.
Come then and make these few short moments blest.
Edwina.
How shall I come? Tear down these iron bars
And leap into thine arms? What shall I do?
Edgar.
(Goes to the castle gate and discovers it to be open.
By all my hopes, the castle gate is open;
Descend; be swift!
Edwina.
As thine own thoughts.
She disappears.
9
(alone.)
O Love,
Small elf, who by the glow-worm's twinkling light,
Fine fairy-finger'd child, can'st slip the bolt,
While the cramm'd warden snores, this is thy doing.
Lo, where she comes, so breaks the morning forth,
Blushing and breathing odours—
(Edwina appears)
O thou trembler,
Rest on my faithful bosom; fairest, tell me,
Still dost thou love? speak, is thine Edmund welcome?
Edwina.
Is the sun welcome to the wakeful eyes
Of the wreckt mariner, when o'er the waves
The long-expected dayspring of his hope,
Mounts in the worshipt east—But why comes Edmund
Thus wrapt in darkness at this secret hour
As to a guilty meeting?
Edgar.
'Tis the hour
Sacred to love and me, ere noisy labour
Wakens the sun, while yet the fairy elves
Dance in their dewy rounds; the silent hour
Before the lark her shrill-ton'd matins sings,
Or morning issues from the nuptial east,
And to the bosoms of the nursing hours
The new-born day commits: It is the hour
When every flying minute should be wafted
Back to the skies on downy wings of love.
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Away, your words affright me; you consort
With mad ambition, Edmund, and your love
So gentle once, is like the wars you follow,
Fiery and fierce.
Edgar.
Instruct me in thy wishes;
Tell me what love shou'd be.
Edwina.
Love shou'd be pure,
Harmless as pilgrims kisses on the shrines
Of virgin martyrs; holy as the thoughts
Of dying saints, when angels hover o'er them;
Harmonious, gentle, soft; such love shou'd be,
The zephyr, not the whirlwind, of the soul.
Edgar.
Yes, but my love, like never-ending time,
Will neither be determin'd, nor describ'd.
The poet by the magic of his song
Can charm the list'ning moon, ascend the spheres,
And in his airy and extravagant flight
Belt wide creation's round; yet can he never
Invent that form of words to speak my passion.
Edwina.
If such your passion, why this secret meeting;
Why talk of silent hours? Let earth and heaven
Look on and witness to your love! so truth,
So nature speaks; I know no other language.
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Oh, that the throne of this proud realm were mine,
That I might say before the applauding world,
Ascend, my lovely bride, and be a queen.
Edwina.
A queen! what idle dreams perplex thy fancy?
Are there no blessings for the poor and humble?
Edgar.
Yes, but a brother's curse—
Edwina.
A brother's curse!
Doth he not love thee, wait upon thee hourly,
Talk of thee ever, bend down his proud spirit
Ev'n to a vassal's homage? Nay, by heav'n,
With an idolatry of soul he loves thee;
And shall he not applaud me for my choice?
Edgar.
He will renounce thee, hate thee for thy choice.
Edwina.
Away, I'll not believe it: hate, renounce!
It cannot be; hence with this dark reserve,
If thou know'st aught, which honour shou'd unfold,
I do conjure thee, speak; tho' late, confess.
Edgar.
By heav'n, thy brother—
12
Edwin.
Are you found, young sir?
O shame, shame, shame! Is this the friend, the hero?
Have I deserv'd this from you?
Edgar.
If to love
The best, the fairest of her sex is base,
Vile and ingrateful; if it be a sin
Morning and eve to name her in my prayers,
I am of all most guilty.
Edwin.
You abuse
The weakness of a fond unguarded orphan,
Parlying in secret by the moon's pale beam:
The tenderest flower that withers at the breeze,
Or, if the amorous sun but steal a kiss,
Drops its soft head and dies, is not more frail
Than maiden reputation; 'tis a mirror
Which the first sigh defiles.
Edgar.
Look at that form;
With all thy cold philosophy survey it,
And wonder, if thou can'st, why I adore.
Edwin.
Away, nor vex my too, too patient spirit
With this fond rhapsody: Hence, and to horse!
Buckle afresh your glittering armour on;
13
By your thrice-plighted oath I do conjure you,
By all the world calls honest, by your hopes,
Come to the camp; if you return not with me,
The sun, which rises yonder in the East,
Goes not more surely to his ev'ning grave
Than I to mine.
Edgar.
Lo, I obey your summons,
Fierce flinty warrior! in yond beachen grove
Stands my caparison'd and ready steed;
There on the trunk, whose living bark records
My lov'd Edwina's name, hangs up my sword,
My mailed corslet and my plumed crest,
With all the proud apparel of the war:
When I am furnish'd, I shall court admittance
To this fair presence and implore a smile,
As my last parting boon, which if obtain'd,
Nor spells, nor talismans shall be so potent
To shield my bosom in the bleeding field,
As the sweet magic of Edwina's eyes.
Edwina.
If thou hast love or pity in thy soul,
Return, and tell the rest.
Edgar.
O death, to part!
(Exit.)
Edwina.
Now, stern admonisher, I see my fate,
And I will bear it with what grace I can;
Not lightly, as philosophers prescribe
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But deeply, feelingly, as one shou'd do,
Whose heart by nature and by love made soft;
With sorrow and unkindness now is rent.
Edwin.
You love and you avow it—righteous heav'n!
What is there in the scope of human means,
Which my providing foresight hath not summon'd
To fence off this destruction? Lost Edwina;
Hath not thy brother, like a faithful pilot,
Sounded this dang'rous coast, where rocks and shallows
Wait for the wreck of honour's costly freight?
Have I not pointed to the baneful quarter,
Whence old and blasting disappointment blows
Withering thy beauty's bloom?
Edwina.
Thou hast, my brother,
Thou hast done all that man cou'd do to save me,
But heav'n is over all.
Edwin.
When last we parted,
Thou helpless orphan, what was then my caution?
Edwina.
You caution'd me against unwary love;
You warn'd me how I listen'd, how I look'd,
'Twas a vain warning; I had look'd and listen'd,
And whilst I open'd my weak heart to pity,
I let in love withal.
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You let in madness.
Edwina.
Did you not pity? I have seen your eyes,
Unus'd to weep, turn fountains as they gaz'd!
Did you not love? Your very soul was Edmund's;
I know you'll call it friendship; so did I,
But find too late 'twas love.
Edwin.
Call it despair,
For hope it must be never; call it death.
Sure some malignant planet rul'd thy birth,
And thou art doom'd to nothing but disaster;
Three nights and days thy widow'd mother travail'd
With fruitless pangs, the fourth succeeding morn
She blest her new-born murderer and expir'd;
Then, as 'tis said, my father's shade did walk;
Then on the western tower the ominous owl
Scream'd at mid-day, the faithless misletoe
From its maternal oak untwin'd its arms,
And dropt without a blast.
Edwina.
No more; but strike;
Mine is the crime to be belov'd by Edmund:
Draw forth thy sword and strike it to my heart,
That rebel heart, which will not be commanded,
But, spite of death and Edwin, dares to love.
Why dost thou pause?
Edwin.
Strike to thy heart! O horror!
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And bade me give the blow.
Edwina.
Wilt thou not kill me?
Edwin.
By heav'n, I wou'd not harm thee to be Lord
Of sea and earth.
Edwina.
Then take me to thine arms,
For still thou lov'st me; still thou art my brother.
(Embracing.
Edwin.
I am thy brother still; and hold thy love
Dearer than relicks of departed saints,
Richer than hoarded piles of worshipt gold;
Come then and seek content in some calm dwelling,
Some silent convent from the world withdrawn,
Where pray'r and penance make atonement sure,
Where meditation communing with heaven
Shall sooth the rebel passions into peace,
Refine the soul and conquer love itself.
Edwina.
Talk not of cells and convents; I am Edmund's.
Edwin.
Thou must forget the very name of Edmund.
Edwina.
His very name! why, for what cause? declare.
17
There is a cause, a cause approv'd by heav'n,
And crown'd with deathless glory: Search no further;
This hour he parts; return thou to thy rest—
When next we meet, thou shalt applaud and thank me.
Go, go, Edwina—nay—It must be so.
Exit.
Edwina.
(alone)
Why then it shall be so: Let him to battle;
Tear us asunder—I can only die;
When I am gone, his fame shall be immortal.
So when the bleak and wintry tempest rends
The mantling ivy from the worshipt sides
Of some aspiring tower, where late it hung;
The stately mass, as with a sullen scorn,
From its proud height looks down upon the wreck,
And disencumber'd from its feeble guest,
Bares its broad bosom and defies the storm.
Edgar enters arm'd as for battle.
Edgar.
Alone! O happy chance! at thy fond bidding
Obedient I return.
Edwina.
Hah! what art thou?
Edgar.
Dost thou not know me? Am I not thine Edmund?
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Away! 'tis lost—I must forget that name.
Edgar.
Coin what new name thou wilt: Let me be any thing,
So 'tis but what you love, I shall be happy.
Edwina.
Are these the soft habiliments of love?
This high proud plumage, these blood-stained arms?
Go to the mistress whom you serve, Ambition;
And talk no more of love.
Edgar.
By heav'n I love thee
More than the sun-burnt earth loves soft'ning showers,
More than new-ransom'd captives love the day,
Or dying martyrs, breathing forth their souls,
The acclamations of whole hosts of angels.
Edwina.
Why then leaves Edmund what so well he loves?
Edgar.
But to return more worthy of that love;
Can I, oh tell me, can thine Edmund sleep
In these calm haunts, whilst war's insulting shout
Fills the wide cope of heav'n, and every blast,
That thro' this solitary forest howls,
Wafts to my ear my country's dying groans?
19
If groans can move thee, why so deaf to mine?
Mysterious youth, or now at once resolve me,
Or now for ever go; Who and what art thou?
Why does my brother wrest thee from my sight?
And why with that stern brow am I commanded
(Vain fruitless mandate) to forget my Edmund,
Forget thy very name and that dear hour,
When first he brought thee to these happy scenes?
What tender charges did he then impose!
How did his tongue run over in thy praise,
'Till, honouring Edmund for a brother's sake,
I soon perceiv'd I lov'd him for his own.
Edgar.
Oh, there is such persuasion in thy looks,
I shall forget myself and tell thee all.
Edwina.
'Twas then that Edwin told us thou wast sprung
From the best blood which England's Isle cou'd boast;
He said that thou wast Edgar's nearest friend,
That with his crown thy fortunes had been lost;
Bade us revere thee, love thee as the king,
For that so close an union knit your souls,
Edgar and thou were one.
Edgar.
And truth he told,
For I am Edgar; I am England's king.
Edwina.
King! thou the king!
20
Be constant.—I am Edgar.
Edwina.
(After a pause, she sinks slowly on her knees.
The heavens confirm your right, and build your fortune
To its deserved greatness; on my knees
I beg a blessing on you, but for pity
Mock me no more, it is not noble in you,
And tortures my poor heart.
Edgar.
Hear me, Edwina.—
Edwina.
Fly me, disown me, leave me to my fate.
Edgar.
No, by this fond embrace I swear to live
For thee alone; when I forsake Edwina,
Let me chronicled to latest ages
For vile and false.—Remember'd in thy prayers,
As with impenetrable armour fenc'd,
Fearless I part; fairest, and best, farewel!
May each good spirit of the night and day
Watch round thee hourly!—England and Edwina!
End of the First Act.
| The Battle of Hastings | |