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SCENE VI.
Albemarle, Elvina.Elvina.
Alas! I have no more a father's ear
To hear my voice; no more a parent's breast
That yearns with pity for his daughter's woes!
And will you give me to the deadly foe
Of all your house, and wed me to despair?
Albemarle.
Be calm, my child. He is no more a foe.
Think of the noble and the patriot ends
Of such an union: Antient feuds will cease;
Our rival houses will be reconciled,
And, from the Normans and the Saxons joined,
One mighty nation will go conquering forth;
And the whole land will raise a grateful eye
To thee, the cause of all.
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To quell the feuds,
And reconcile the families of foes,
Am I the sacrifice? Alas! my Father,
And will you offer up, with your own hands,
Your child a victim?—What have I to do
With states or nations?—I've a single heart,
And it is Elvine's.—Dost thou then forsake
Thine ancient friend?—
Albemarle.
He hath forsaken us.
Now in the Dauphin's camp he draws the sword
Against his native country; if thou hast
The sense of honour glowing in thy frame,
Thy country's spirit, or thy father's blood,
Thou too wilt cast him off.—
Elvina.
I cast him off—
I cast off Elvine!—O, thou knowest him not!
Albemarle.
I know him false. A traitor to his country
Will ne'er to friendship or to love be true.
Elvina.
He is no traitor. He hath been belied.
Soaring above the sphere of common men,
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To bring that eagle from his sky of fame.
Ah! once he was beloved!—
Albemarle.
My child, no more
Think of that passion as a toy of youth,
And with the geugaws of thy early days
Be it dismiss'd. Think of thy duty now.
Respect thy Father, and regard thyself.
Elvina.
I need not try to alter your resolves!
Which now seem firm, inflexible, and arm'd
Against your daughter: Let me just recall
That, in your eye, and with your kind consent,
I loved my hero with the love of youth.
'Twas you that kindled first the tender sparks
Of an eternal flame. Blooming you brought,
In infant beauty, to Aldarno's vale,
The noble orphan of the Norman race,
The lovely sun-beam of a setting line.
When hand in hand we sported in your hall,
You fondly marked with paternal smiles
The young Elvina for young Elvine's bride.
Albemarle.
My child, you trespass on a parent's love
To name the trifles of your early days.
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Let me, at least, repeat your gracious words!
Would, too, I could recall the tender looks
With which you spoke them. Sometimes you have design'd
To bless Elvina with a fonder glance.
—My mother too: And her you will not blame,
For I have seen you weep upon her grave;
And now she shines above a saint in heaven!
My mother, sitting on that ghastly bed
From which she never rose; call'd us around;
Held us embraced with cold and dying hands;
Then lifted up her closing eyes to heaven—
“O God! to thee, to thee I leave my children.”
She spoke no more.—One parting kiss she gave;
Then join'd our hands, and died. . . I see you weep—
I see the father melting in your eye,
[Falling at his feet.
I am yet your child—O! if you ever loved me!
Oh! if my life be precious in thy sight;
If e'er my woes did wet a father's cheek!
If e'er my shrieks did pierce a parent's ear!—
O! if the future fortune of my life,
My peace on earth, or happiness in heaven,
Can aught avail to win me to thy heart,
O! save me, save me from the worst of woes,
Save me, my father!—
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Rise my lovely child!
Come to thy mansion in a parent's heart!
But ha!—Alas!—what can thy father do?
I've sworn that you shall be the wife of Arden!
Elvina.
Sworn? . . . .
Albemarle.
At the altar.
Elvina.
Sworn that I be Arden's? . . . .
Albemarle.
Hear me, Elvina: Hear a parent speak.
Till now you've ever been a duteous daughter,
And often made this aged heart o'erflow
With secret gladness: In the lonely hour,
I've lifted up my hands, and blest the day
When thou wert born. Not often have I blamed thee,
Or used the harsh tone of authority.
It is not so that we have lived, Elvina!
But here the Baron issues his command.
If, when this storm of war is pass'd away,
You do not wed the leader of our host,
You are no child of mine: I cast you off.
You hear my fix'd, irrevocable word.
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If I am doom'd to wretchedness and wo,
And doom'd by you!—your will shall be obey'd.
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