University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene I.

—Sweno's Hall; a Banquet.
Sweno, Ubald, Reynald, Bertha, Agnes, Knights, Ladies, and Attendants.
SWENO.
Sit, lords, and be the draught of pleasure fill'd
E'en to the goblet's brink! We bid you welcome.
And thou, dear lady, whose hand lock'd in mine,
As on this day, twenty blithe years have witness'd,
We pledge thee in this brimming cup of love.

GUESTS,
(drinking.)
Health and long life to Sweno and his dame!

BERTHA.
Thanks, gentles, for this courtesy.

SWENO.
My Bertha,
Time has sped well with us. Our lovely hostess
Wears yet the hue of freshness unalloy'd,
While her ripe scion, our sweet Agnes, glows
With beauty's blush, like a new beam of morning.
We lack not aught, wherewith to tax the fates
As niggards of their gifts, being doubly blest
In our loved daughter and adopted son.
Ubald, thy prowess in each listed field
Speaks no mean lineage. As my child I greet thee.

UBALD.
If to revere you as man's noblest type,
To love you as my worthier self, to prize
The far-famed honors of your noble house
As things most dear, which from ill chance to shield,
I would encounter danger in such shapes
As human daring may but ill assay,
Be a son's duty, it is freely paid,
And Ubald still the debtor. Good my lord,
Your kindness makes me bankrupt of all thanks,
Save the poor service of a faithful arm
To ward your rights.

SWENO.
And we dare trust it, Ubald,
Though half our honors hung on the event.
To-morrow, sirs, it is our mind to hold
A gorgeous tournament, and, by my knighthood,
Who wins hath leave to be our daughter's suitor.
Good Reynald, is thy lance as keen and strong,
As when it tumbled the grim Saracen,
Horseman and horse, tilting in Palestine?

REYNALD.
Ay, noble Sweno; and a lovelier prize
Makes not the hand more sluggard in the charge.
I pledge my glove to win.

SWENO.
Take it, young Ubald,
And may all guardian saints to-morrow speed thee!
So in the tilt thou dost approve thee victor,
Loud proclamation shall our heralds make
To all who dare impugn thy long-lost birthright;
And, if none answer to that bold appeal,
Valiant we know thee, and shall hold thee noble.

UBALD.
Ay, marry will I. If he cast his gauntlet,
And this arm thrust him from his saddle-bow,
By heaven and good Saint Olaf, he shall eat it,
As that huge dragon, which he slew in Syria,
Would have gulp'd up the princess of .......—Plague on it!
I cannot scan the name of half those regions
Whence he has scared the devil and his imps.

REYNALD,
(rising.)
Sweno, I was bred in war, and learnt the laws
Of knightly courtesy which arrests mine anger.
I know both what is due to host and guests;
Nor would I stain thy social board with blood
E'en of one chattering pie; else, taunting youth,
I well remember, how in Holy Land,
When a base renegade provoked my scorn
By some light speech, I slew the turban'd caitif
With his own rapier.

UBALD.
And made his bare skull
A bonnet for thy mistress.

SWENO.
Peace, peace, Ubald.
Let us have music. Friends, the merry Bacchus
Brims not your flowing cups with wonted glee.
Agnes, we tax thy sweet voice for a song.

Music.
AGNES
sings.
(While she is singing, Sweno appears strangely agitated, and interrupts her when she has just uttered the word vengeance.)

SWENO.
'Tis a fiend's song. Where gat you that foul strain,
Crossing our mirth with such portentous sounds,
As if the deep could send the unshrouded dead
To scare us from our joys?

AGNES.
Father, it bodes not
Evil to us; a wild lay, long since learnt
From a wierd woman that craved alms: the notes
So sweetly rung in mine attentive ear,
Time has not robb'd me of their melody.

(Thunder and lightning, which had begun faintly while she was singing, becomes loud and bright, with noise of violent rain. The agitation of Sweno increases.)
SWENO.
The heavens frown on this our festival.
'Tis passing strange, that sounds of such dire omen
Should break upon our wassail; quelling the pulse
Of high-born mirth; turning the cheek of joy
To very paleness. Daughter, thy sad notes
Breathe an infectious gloom, and our kind guests
Have miss'd the scope of that sweet mirth we wish'd them. (Rising.)

The tempest waxes, and this ancient castle
Rocks with the blast. May the sun's kindlier beam
Smile on our pomp to-morrow. I crave your leave.
Health and light thoughts attend our welcome friends.

[Exeunt Sweno, Ubald, Bertha, Agnes and others. Manent Reynald and two other Knights.]
REYNALD.
Great heaven! is this the man, whose mighty name
Is blown to the four corners of Christ's empire,
Famed for stern valor, marshalling in war
With proud array his feudatory swords
Like a half-king in Jutland! To be thus moved!

FIRST KNIGHT.
'Tis the distemper of his inward nature.
The subtle fluid of that flaming mischief
Which gives the thunder voice, steals to his heart
With secret sickness, curdling all the blood
Till his flesh creeps.

SECOND KNIGHT.
Ay; ever since that morn,
Which to his wedded couch gave noble Bertha.

FIRST KNIGHT.
'Twas a rough morn. The curse of that fair maid,
Who perish'd in the flood, hath ever since
Weigh'd like a stone on his distemper'd soul.

SECOND KNIGHT.
By heaven, methinks, when piping winds do blow,
Her form is manifest to his estranged eye,
As when she stood on the rock's slippery verge
That morn by Helen's chapel.

REYNALD.
Sirs, to me
Your words speak riddles.

SECOND KNIGHT.
Heard you ne'er the tale?
'Tis twenty years by-gone, as on this morn,
Since Sweno led, with pomp and bravery
Of princely cost, his bride unto the altar
In Helen's chapel, built on the beetling rock
Over the torrent, when Saint Mary's church
Lay under the Pope's ban, for a foul murder
Done in the very aisle while mass was singing.

REYNALD.
I have mark'd its site, a wild romantic spot;
And its high tower a goodly structure, now
Half ruinous: 'tis said that evil spirits
Shriek oft at night within its lonesome walls.

SECOND KNIGHT.
'Tis like they may; it hath been long disused,
A darksome fabric now, and the bleak winds
Howl through its broken casements.

FIRST KNIGHT.
But that morn
Of blazing tapers there was cost enough.

SECOND KNIGHT.
'Twas a gay pomp; but, as the nuptial train,
Advancing, near'd that huge o'er-shelving rock
Fast by the stream, the shrill winds mustering stirr'd
With such fierce outrage, that each flag was rent,
And the thick clouds seem'd big with lowering tempest.
When, as they 'gan ascend, a form above
Stood with dishevell'd hair, that stream'd upon
The blustering gale. It was the loveliest shape,
My eyes ere then or since have witness'd; pale
As the chaste moon, and sad as sorrow's statue:
But a wild fierceness lighten'd from her looks,
As, with one hand out-stretch'd, she gave her words
To the rude blast of heaven. I heard them not
With clear precision render'd to mine ear,
But it was bruited, that on princely Sweno
And all his race she breathed a deadly curse,
Summoning them to the dread throne of judgment.

REYNALD.
Whence and who was she?

SECOND KNIGHT.
It was never known;
She vanish'd like a wraith; but on a bough,
Which overhung the swoln stream's eddying foam,
Her mantle was found, drench'd by the angry flood;
And 'tis past doubt, she perish'd in the waters,
Which roar'd that night, as they would burst their bed.

REYNALD.
How fared the bridal?

SECOND KNIGHT.
Sad as a death-wake.
The bridegroom rapt in care, like one distraught
By some dark agony; his lovely bride
Trembling and ashy pale: and all the while
The thunder raved with such rebounding roar,
That the roof quaked, and the blue lightning's blaze
Made every face like a gaunt spectre glare.

FIRST KNIGHT.
Ne'er has good Sweno, since that ominous morn,
Held the mind's peaceful tenor. When winds roar,
And the hoarse thunder makes the welkin tremble,
His heart seems touch'd as by some icy hand,
Shrivelling its core; and some deep cankering wound,
That preys within his soul, bleeds fresh and green.

REYNALD.
'Tis past belief, in one, whose actions swell
Fame's chronicle, far-told; filling the ear
Of expectation with amazing deeds;
Lending new lustre to renowned war.

FIRST KNIGHT.
There doth not breathe a more undaunted knight
Than this same Sweno, saving that touch of weakness,
Unless it be yon flower of chivalry,
All conquering Ubald, fame and fortune's minion.

REYNALD.
Whence sprung that fiery youth, whose haughty eye
Lords o'er this court, as if created man
Was form'd for him, not he to yield man service;
So confident, and reckless?

SECOND KNIGHT.
Faith I know not.
The lady Bertha found him, a weak infant,
Cradled midst roses and all summer sweets
In that fair chamber, now young Agnes' bower,
Fast by the blooming garden. The strange elf,
Lapt in deep slumber, smiled, and waking stretch'd
Its little arms as if imploring kindness;
And she, just risen from a matron's throes,
To pitying love by that endearment moved,
Kiss'd its chill'd lips that ask'd the milk of nature,
And on her beauteous bosom bade it hush.
Protection first, then favor he obtain'd,
Waxing in years, and worth, and valor; proud
As if from kingly blood, hot as a lion,
And mastering all spirits by his strength,
The people's darling, and the bolt of battle.

FIRST KNIGHT.
Saving your prowess, I would pawn my sword
He wins to-morrow: for of Denmark's knights
There lives not one can stand this Ubald's onset.

REYNALD.
Is it thus? Yet shall he find one shaft too doughty,
Tried oft at Acre and at Ascalon,
Which hath beat down the brunt of Mahound's chieftains,
Though arm'd with spells of Paynim sorcery.

FIRST KNIGHT.
God speed you, sir! 'Twill be no mean encounter
Shall stoop his crest to-morrow.

SECOND KNIGHT.
Till then, Reynald,
Let us be joyous, and with some free cheer
Kill lagging time.

REYNALD.
E'en so; we have seen no spectres;
And yet methinks all heaven's blasts are stirring,
And its rent bosom seems one sheet of flame.

[Exeunt.

Scene II.

A Grove in the Garden before the Castle, which is seen through the trees. The storm is abating.
THE WIERD WANDERER
(alone.)
Hist! hist! Wild striving elements, be still,
Ominous and still, as brooding mischief is!
When the fell draft of vengeance shall be quaff'd
E'en to its bloody dregs, then, then laugh out,
Thou damned spirit of the storm! Foul fiend,
Hast thou so many years of loneliness,
Whispering revenge, still borne me fellowship,
And now, when fate's retributory curse
Draws nigh to the achievement, canst thou not wait
For hellish joy, till the full spell be woven?
Hist! hist! and thou, bright sun, shine forth in glory,
Until the moment of appointed justice!
The day has been, when I could ill have bided
The pitiless tempest and that strife of nature;
But sold to fiends, I dread not now their workings,
Lost in despair, and reft of every gift
That makes life joyous—Hark! 'Tis Sweno's voice!
The morn shall not dawn twice, ere thou be summon'd
To thy doom! life for life!—Away! away!

[Exit.
[Enter from the Castle, Sweno, Bertha.]
SWENO.
The bolts have spent their fire; yon lurid cloud
Still, and disburthen'd of its teeming wrath,
Hangs like a misty shroud on the horizon.
The air is calm; Bertha, I breathe more freely.

BERTHA.
Nay, good my lord, I needs must hold it strange
E'en to the natural temper of your soul,
That you, so far removed from taint of fear,
Instant in danger, firm in resolution,
Should start, thus from yourself estranged and wild,
At these rude flaws of nature, making
Unkind divorce between your alter'd thoughts
And that sweet peace they owe you.

SWENO.
O loved Bertha,
There be some thoughts too deep for time to medicine,
Which on the seemliest and freshest cheek
Would stamp dread's livery, though the heart were steel.

BERTHA.
What thoughts? strange roamings of the troubled fancy,
Air-blown imagination's empty bubble!
For shame, my lord; this is the bodiless spectre
Of that poor maniac, whose ill-omen'd vision
Comes, like the shadow of a passing cloud,
O'er the bright mirror of your better judgment.
Fie on't, a dream.

SWENO.
Would that it were a dream,
That I could shake the wrathful spectre from me!
The curse of that dread hour will live for ever.
Call Agnes forth: I have a fearful thought,
Some secret evil overhangs my child.
Perchance her sight may soothe me.

BERTHA.
Be more cheerly;
Sweno, our guests attend us.
[Exit BERTHA.

SWENO
(alone.)
Vengeful fate,
Dost thou indeed pursue me! Will not years
Atone for one offence! Last night methought
A voice as from my father's tomb cried, “Sweno,
“Thine hour is come! the curse is o'er thine house!”
To-day, as I approach'd the festive hall,
That flaming cherub seem'd to bar my passage,
Which in my life's most prosperous hours of pride,
A dreadful vision, oft has cross'd my path.

[Enter AGNES.]
SWENO,
(embracing her.)
Ever beloved, forefend thee, gracious heaven!
Thy father's heart is sad.

AGNES.
My honor'd sire,
This is the very breathing hour of bliss;
The storm is roll'd away, and merry birds
Do trick their plumes, and sing their cheerful welcome
To the mild beam of evening.

SWENO.
The heart of youth
Is ever blithe and buoyant.

AGNES.
Good my father,
To-day my wayward strain offended you.
Shall I sing one, which oft has sooth'd your fancy
In the slow hours of sickness? Much you praised
Its melody, and somewhat the poor skill
That gave it voice.

SWENO.
No, not a song, my Agnes.
Music itself is out of tune to-day;
Thy gladsomest notes would fall upon my ear
E'en as a passing knell.

AGNES.
Yet is this day
Held festive in our annals, chief for me
And my loved father.

SWENO.
Beshrew me, noble maid,
If thou shalt lack the joys that well beseem
Thy spring of life. The heyday of my blood
Is chill'd by the mind's winter; nature wears not
That bland aspect, which to the eye of youth
Shows all her forms in pleasant colors deck'd.
Thou shalt not miss delights or princely state,
While Sweno girds a sword.

AGNES.
I lack no joys
In thy kind presence: from thy brow to chase
The gloom, to sing to thee my playful ditties
Winning thy lips to smile, and in thine eyes
To read a father's blessing, these are joys
Enough for Agnes; nor of gayer sports
Is the voice hush'd in bounteous Sweno's palace.

[Enter UBALD.]
SWENO.
How fare our guests?

UBALD.
Sweno, we miss thy presence.
Upon my troth thou hast a royal guest!
That knight drinks deep, but yet his boastful speech
Shames his poor draught.

SWENO.
The noble Reynald, Ubald?

UBALD.
Ay, he from Palestine. O I could pluck the beard
Of such a vaunter! Pshaw! it moves my spleen
To see a comely knight and stout withal
First praise his wine, then praise himself more largely,
Still giving birth to some amazing tale
Between the cup and lip. Why, sir, this man
Kills you more sultans with each draught he quaffs
Than there be signs in the bright zodiac.—Arthur,
And he who slew the dragon, hight Saint George,
Were puny champions! Agnes, this proud gallant
Will purge all Heathendom, and place his bride
Upon the top-stone of Jerusalem.
A murrain on such talkers!

SWENO.
Thy blood, Ubald,
Knows no controul. Reynald stands well esteem'd,
And many a hard field has he fought beside
England's bold lion Richard.

UBALD.
Ay, so he has;
And mown the heads of Paynim sorcerers
As boys slay poppies. So it stands recorded
Even on the faith of his own boastful speech.
Ubald must vail his crest to such high worth.

(taking off his helmet, and walking impatiently.)
SWENO.
Rein thy rash temper. Something bodes within me
That evil hangs over the house of Sweno;
Perchance from thy quick passion. O my daughter,
If this thy hairbrain'd playmate should be victor,
Thou wilt have a wild bridegroom.

UBALD.
O good sir,
I am rejected, scorn'd! I have not taken
A soldan by the beard in Ascalon.

SWENO.
God speed thee, boy. Time was the riotous blood
So kindled in my veins; but now the frost
Of years steals o'er my pride. No son of mine
Shall reap my ample honors; when I fall,
My house is lonely. Ubald, it needs a prop,
And who shall take this guerdon from my hand
With her rich heritage, must stand approved
In feat of arms unrivall'd.

UBALD.
Princely Sweno,
Forgive the hasty and impatient spirit
Which boils within me. Whom have I on earth
But thee, my more than father? Witness heaven,
If Ubald harbours in his ardent soul
One wish, but to be worthy thee and thine!

SWENO.
And so perchance thou art. That lofty temper
Which gleams from out thy soul, shows some high birthright,
Though unreveal'd.—Agnes, we tarry long.

[Exeunt.