 | The Fatal Prophecy |  |
SCENE I.
An Apartment in Canute's Palace.Canute.
“Let the sword sleep, and the grim-visag'd war
“In iron bondage rest”—so clos'd the strain
That told my triumphs o'er the vanquish'd host
Of Eric—But the martial star, that rules
The fate of Denmark's Kings, to glorious toil
Devotes their lives, and bids them close in blood.
4
That Nature, wearied with the weight of years,
Indulges for repose! These silver hairs
So thinn'd, so whiten'd by the stealth of time,
Shall the hard helmet bruise, and this old arm
Sustain the shield once more—was this the cause?
Was it, presuming on my feebler age,
That Norway's haughty Monarch durst invade
The realm of Denmark?—By my sword, the thought
New nerves each shatter'd limb—Forth from thy sheath,
Friend of my glory!—one task more remains,
Which well perform'd, together we'll repose,
Companions in the grave.
| The Fatal Prophecy | |