University of Virginia Library

5. PART THE FIFTH.

THE SINGLE COMBAT.
A Grove, in Front of Edmund's Camp.
Enter Edric in agitation, Cornwall following him.
CORNWALL.
My lord!
Why walk you thus aside, so moodily?
My lord!—Lord Edric!—be not thus disturb'd.

EDRIC.
If thou wert as a captive at the bar,
Watching his judge's lip, that shall pronounce
The instant doom, and that a doubtful one:
If thou wert as a felon at the tree,
Who, in the dead pause of the silent crowd,
Has yet some hope to hear a voice cry—“Pardon:”
If thou wert as the drowning, dying wretch,
Who, at his last gasp, sees a coming aid—
How would'st thou feel—how act?
Enter Bulloign.
Bulloign!—my fate!

BULLOIGN.
I have the king's commands, in few brief words,
To say to Edric Streon,—that his crime,
As it affects the person of the king,
Has been forgiven; but that, inasmuch
As, in its consequence, it hath committed
The kingdom's weal, it may not be forgotten.
You may assure yourself of life—nay, more,
Freedom from forced restraint.—But you must live
Even as a stranger to your house, and dwell
An alien in your native land.—You speak not.

CORNWALL.
Sir, pray you notice not this mood: despair
Preys on his very heart.

[Bulloign bows assent, and retires.
CORNWALL.
Will you not speak?

EDRIC
(after a pause).
The deep-sea wave has pass'd o'er me:—I breathe
Again!

CORNWALL.
My lord, what think you on? What would you?

EDRIC.
Vengeance!

CORNWALL.
Does vengeance need long pondering?

EDRIC.
There falters at my heart a something still
I struggle with, I wrestle with in vain.
Nay—thus I rend ye forth, and scatter ye
Unto the elements! Away!—farewell!
Thou gentler spirit, that still lingering clung,
As a good angel, to my heart!—farewell!
All sad, remorseful thoughts! instinct of conscience,
And sacred love of human-kind—farewell!
But welcome, ye black ministers of evil,
With all your tossing torches! and, throughout
The pitchy darkness of my soul, fling all
Your fellest flames!

CORNWALL.
Be prudent—we are observed.

Enter a group of Officers: Edric regards them fiercely.
EDRIC.
Why let them come—they never shall behold
A man more wretched, and so desperate!

CORNWALL.
Retire, I pray, a moment. There seems, here,
Something a watchful spirit may improve.

[Edric and Cornwall walk apart.
FIRST OFFICER.
In truth I 'm sick of this: these mountain marches,
In quest of what still, as the fire o' the fen,
Eludes our grasp, wear out my patience.

SECOND OFFICER.
Wherefore
Should the king still refuse the proffer'd truce?
Canute, methinks, from yon entrenchment looks
Like one who needs small aid from aught but weapon.

THIRD OFFICER.
Tush! the king judges (rightly, I think) that these
Circumvallating lines, and tangled passes,
But breed distrust of their own prowess in
The adverse ranks; who thus more feebly shall
Resist our onset; and more surely perish,
Caught in this labyrinth of rocks and woods,
Rivers and fens.

FIRST OFFICER.
And what care we?—Will England
Be happier for our deaths?—for sooner, trust me,
Than the Dane be dislodged, we perish. Pah!
It sours my blood, pondering on these our toils,
Dangers, and abstinence, to think that he,
Who, like the war-horse, should brave all, but trifles.
The precious moments, like a lusty palfrey
Ambling beneath a woman's silken rein.
I 'll fight no more.

EDRIC
(who has approached during this speech).
And wherefore have ye fought?—
For honour—fame? Oh, these, indeed, are titles
That proud war doth affect; but, do they last?
A glorious harvest?—true: but who the reaper?
Your common men may toil, and bleed, and die,
Bondsmen of fame—artificers of honour,
Planting the bay they wear not; garlanding
A master's brow. What is the mark ye aim at?
He that affects a diadem, should brave
The hazard of his daring; nor depute
His vengeance to an hireling; nor transfer
To borrow'd hands the peril of the deed:
Th' ambition is his own—and such should be
The triumph, or the penance. This is my counsel,
(Simple, direct, and honest, as befits
Plain-spoken soldiers)—I would have these kings,
With their own swords, close their peculiar quarrel,
And fight for mastership: so shall we save
Much innocent blood, and many doubtful days:
Or, let them take this kingdom, this poor soil,
This home of sorrow, this degraded England,
And e'en divide it. It has own'd seven masters,
And may suffice for two.

THIRD OFFICER.
By Heaven! my lord,
It is a thought the king, most joyfully,
Will give his heart to.

FIRST OFFICER.
Ay, it takes my fancy.

SECOND OFFICER.
And mine.

FIRST OFFICER.
Then haste we to the camp, and urge
The general voice to back our suit.

THIRD OFFICER.
The king
Hath sought this course before, and now will leap
T' anticipate our prayer. Brave comrades, forward!

[Exeunt.
EDRIC.
Edmund!—my star looks brightly from its cloud,
While thine is on the wane. Soon shall thy fate,
Now soaring as an eagle, stoop to earth,
Like a kite struggling in a serpent's folds.
There may be darker spirits in their camp
Than these: 'twere well we probed this malady.
Cornwall—steal thou unto their camp to-night,
And touch the plague spot with a fearless hand.
Go—in thy wiliest caution mantled: dive
Deep in the soldiers' hearts—and learn—and prompt—
Nay, this must be well weigh'd. My Cornwall—come,
Blest with a friend like thee, can I despair?

[Exeunt.
The Danish Camp.
Enter Canute, Turkill, Gothmund, and Officers.
CANUTE.
Roll'd in her shadows, the wan spirit of night
Descends: so frowningly our fortunes lour;
And angry nature heralds in a day
Of danger, it may be of doom, to us.

GOTHMUND.
The road is open to retreat.

CANUTE.
Not so.
From a fair field the brave have no retreat.
I have consider'd deeply, and here plant
My standard—on this rock.

Enter Bulloign, introduced.
CANUTE.
The Earl of Bulloign?
Welcome, brave soldier!

BULLOIGN.
Royal sir, my errand
Is of such nature as a princely heart,
Swoln with the blood of warlike ancestry,
Will glory to make good. Our valiant Edmund,
Who in this tug of war hath well approved
His noble lineage, and may proudly deem
Canute his glorious peer, hath long in tears
Of blood deplored this desolating strife;
And, even in death, would gladly seal a peace
By his best blood cemented: therefore it is,
(And with no sanguinary, vengeful thought,
Or vain disparagement of Canute's prowess)
He hath commanded me—waving all vantage
The chance of this unequal field allows—
To dare his rival to the mortal lists:
There, hand to hand, as well becomes brave men,
To terminate this quarrel. In such spirit,
Here I fling down his stainless knightly gage.

CANUTE.
My lord! my heart leaps to requite your challenge
As its brave bearing well deserves. What say ye,
My Danish men? Shall we not fitly thus
Purchase triumphant peace? Nay, nay, good Turkill,
Obstruct me not—the tide of common blood,
Could that suffice, too freely has been pour'd.
—Eustace of Bulloign, take this glove of mine
Back to the King of England: pledge that to-morrow
The Danish or the Saxon sun shall set.
On our part we appoint Earls Turkill, Gothmund,
And Anlaffe, marshals of the lists.

BULLOIGN.
On ours,
We shall depute Lords Frithegist and Morcar,
And (though scarce worthy of such fellowship)
Myself, poor Eustace Bulloign, brother of England.

CANUTE.
Bulloign, your hand! I know none worthier.
Farewell!
[Exit Bulloign.
The time, my lords, 'twixt heaven and me
May be but brief; which, for our kingdom's welfare,
And our soul's comfort, must be husbanded.

[Exeunt Turkill, Gothmund, &c.
CANUTE.
(after pacing apart for some time, with hurried step).
I thank ye, spirits of my ancestors!
Now look ye down on my aspiring soul,
And make me dreadful as the icy winds
That slay whate'er they breathe upon! Just vengeance!
Rush to my heart! make all my muscles steel—
Keen as my wrongs, as pliant as my will!
Spirit of Odin! to my life-blood leap—
And with thine ancient terrors light mine eyes,
That with my port I may appal all hearts!—
Thou gory mace! thou trenchant sword! twin ministers
Of fate and glory, to my heart I catch ye—
Fonder than ever father clasp'd his first-born!
—Ha! at the touch, the hot blood through my veins
Rushes like molten metal—Vengeance, thou 'rt mine!
Glory, thou art my mate! empire, my guerdon!
—Lash your o'erwearied team, thou sluggish day,
And light me to the goal!—I tread on air!

[Exit into his tent.
The Door of Edmund's Tent. Midnight.
EDMUND
(alone).
From the dear arms of love I break one moment,
To commune with sad thoughts. Oh king!—oh slave!
What is the power that thus the popular voice
Can, at a breath, dispel? The general foe
Was in our grasp; and now, on one weak arm
The fate of millions must depend: so will
The many, in their blindness. Whence this weight
Upon my spirit? That the foe thus dares me,
Should be a triumph; which my heart hath long
Sigh'd for in vain: yet now it comes, at last,
More like an evil. Some men say, that Fate,
As from a palpable form, casts a true shadow
Down on the victim she pursues: if so,
Even now I need the prayers of holy men.
—How strange, how very strange it is to think
On all the changes of this mortal being,
Standing thus 'neath th' eternal cope of heaven!
Yon zone of stars, whose congregated rays
Distinctly mark an angel pathway through
A wilderness of glory! this fair earth,
With its enduring features—high brow'd mountains,
Bright-beaming lakes that glance 'neath shaggy cliffs,
Rivers that through the bloomy meadows wander,
With their blue-branching veins; and all those sounds
Of breathing and pervading life:—these, these,
Have an imperishable frame, whose youth
Is bosom'd on eternity:—but we,
Poor fragile atoms! dust upon the whirlwind!
We are at best but parasitic things:
Moss on the cliff, green ivy on the tower,
The barren misletoe upon the oak,
The limpet on the tide-wash'd rock, or, meaner,
The insect on the lion's throat, that stings
Yet lives!—
Forgive me, Heaven! in petulance
I spoke, forgetful. Oh! my wife!—my wife!
How full of bitterness 'tis now to dwell
On what we have been—what thou may'st be, scarce
Dare I to think. Life was to me, till lately,
A thing I set light thought upon, save only
As yielding paths to fame; but thou hast pointed
Such beauties in its maze, that now I prize it
For thee, perhaps beyond its worth. I tremble,
As a tried warrior should not, when I reflect
How a chance blow may leave thee desolate.
—I must avert my mind from this; nor feign
Pictures to freeze my heart's blood, when th' occasion
Needs ev'ry pulse.—

Enter Bulloign.
BULLOIGN.
The midnight chimes have pass'd,
And the thick-beating tread of preparation
Will soon awake our camp. Your grace already
Anticipates the time.

EDMUND.
My armour?

BULLOIGN.
Bravely
Is burnish'd, and the rivets well assured.

EDMUND.
By my best hopes! it shames me to have dwelt
On such a thought. Methinks an active frame,
A nimble eye, and a well-practised hand,
Nerved by a fearless heart, are better aids
Than on the cumber'd limbs harness of proof.

BULLOIGN.
Why leave you still that sullen malcontent,
Edric, to sow sedition through our camp?

EDMUND.
I heed him not—it matters not—this day
Shall leave his crook'd fangs venomless: forget him.

BULLOIGN.
My mind misgives me—

EDMUND.
As does mine: but not
For him, or any mortal thing. Dear Eustace,
I have had secret converse with my heart,
And find that, in its giddy youth, 't has been
Wanting to its Creator. I have thought
On every thing but Heaven!

BULLOIGN.
Now saints forfend!
You wrong yourself, my lord: I know you better.

EDMUND.
I cannot think the man hath ever lived,
Who in his secret heart abjures his God.
Believe it not:—there may be fops and fools
Who aim at singularity of thought,
(Or to whom nature hath denied all thought);
But, that a sentinent and reflecting being
Can look round and deny, I'll not believe it.
Oh no! oh no!—Observe this flower—its texture,
Its tints, its odour: on yon southern hill
Harvests more precious than the gold they rival:
There the fair fruitage on the leafy tree,
Shading the juicy carpet of the grass:
And, amid all, the bee that booms along
Rejoicing o'er his fragrant task: the small birds
Chirping their nuptial songs beside the nest:
The wild doe, with her fawn, through dim glades bounding:
Th' unshackled colt, on the hill-side careering:
Sleek heifers, 'mid the tufted herbs reposing;
And man, intelligent man, with lordly port,
Stepping, a monarch, o'er his subject realms.
How perfect all in beauty and in use!
Link'd in a chain of mutual dependence—
How various, yet combined in harmony!
How curious each in separate construction!
Yet, in their application, obvious—oh!
How utterly inimitable!—Trust me,
There cannot live the man, who, seeing these,
Bows not in humblest adoration to
The good, the great, the wise, the present God!

BULLOIGN.
Mine own dear prince! it fills my heart with joy
To hear these wholesome words: in these we conquer!

EDMUND.
Ah! words are vain—vain, empty air! our deeds
Shall at the last avail us. Good, my brother,
The time is short, which I would dedicate,
Partly, (with heart abased) unto my God;
And part devoted to those blessed ties
Which he has consecrated. Brother, adieu!

[They separate. Edmund retires apart.
Enter Algitha, from the tent.
ALGITHA.
My love!—He 's gone. Alas, my fainting soul!
A host of phantoms terrify my brain.
Vainly I chide my self-betraying heart,
And whisper that 't has ever been the lot
Of human greatness to endure this penance.
Oh royalty! thy robe is hemm'd with jewels,
But penitential sackcloth wounds thy skin.
—Vain are these thoughts: I 'm but a woman still—
Whose present joy, whose future hope, is love;
Whose treasury of hoarded thoughts is love;
Whose task, whose duty, whose reward, is love.
—Oh! mine own husband, can I bear to watch
This coming day, when, to thy country's altar,
A victim with thy glories garlanded,
Thou com'st?—and I—even I, poor weeping fool,
Conspire thy ruin: have I not deprived
Thine eyes of rest, with my vain sorrow; sobbing
My weary soul to sleep upon thy bosom,
That still was wakeful in its cares for me?
—But see, where yonder on his knees, bow'd down,
Beneath the starry vault of Heaven, he prays.
His manly front uncover'd, and upraised
In meek devotion—his persuasive lips
Disparted in their breathing piety—
His bright, commanding eye soften'd with feelings
That link him with God's holy ones;—his hands
Folded in patient prayer on his bare breast.
Thou sacred warrior!
I feel an awful hope spring in my bosom,
Caught from the radiance of thy tranced eye:
A deep, religious joy thrills my swoln heart,
As I behold thy manifest converse with
Beings of holier worlds!—Thus gazing on thee,
I feel that I could look even on thy death
Less in despair than hope. I will retire,
And gather all things that he loves, to greet
His homeward eye, and gently minister,
Like a fond, faithful slave, to all his wants.
—Bless thee, my husband!

[Exit.
The Lists.
Crowds of English and Danes, Soldiers and Peasants.
EDRIC
(coming forward).
Curse on ye all!—Heaven's wrath descend upon ye!
Vile, fickle, heartless minions! There ye crowd,
And strain, and elbow, and, with dissonant cries,
“Canute!” now “Edmund!” shout upon the wind,
As each gay pageant, in its bravery,
Supplants its rival. Ay, ye brainless clowns!
Gaze on the show, (albeit, an hour shall dim
Its sheen in gore, dapple its plumes with dust)
As if it were some holiday tournament,
Where, with fond favours stuck upon their crests,
Fair, beardless gallants tilt at female hearts.
That shout again!—my heart is sick—my brain
Reels with this senseless clamour.
Enter Cornwall.
What from the camp?
The troops—the officers—my native Mercians?—
Does discontent make head?—allegiance falter?
May an old chieftain's voice still challenge sway?
Can memory of ancient favours still
Urge on the bold, or paralyze the weak?
What say ambition, jealousy, hate, fear—
The fickle, the voluptuous, the feeble?
Speak!—through my heart and brain a thousand passions
Tumultuous rush.

CORNWALL.
Silence would better suit
What I have learn'd, and language cannot soften.

EDRIC.
Dare not to trifle—speak!

CORNWALL.
What shall I say?
'Twere better not to speak, than (pardon me)
To speak, at such a time, unwelcome truths;
But, thus it is. There is not, in yon camp,
'Mid all their growing discontents, one false
In his allegiance to the king: and many
(I grieve to say 't) were lavish of dispraise,
When, though with cautious surmise, I but named
Your grace's claims and merits: which they noted
With irony, or most unmanner'd censure.

EDRIC.
Traitor! thou durst not swear it!—by this light,
Which, like a sulphurous fog, deadens my eyes,
And chokes my breath, thou durst not!—Ha?

CORNWALL.
Unhand me!
It is too much, my lord:—am I to blame,
That fate so ill accords to your desires,
Or that your reputation mars your fortunes?

EDRIC.
Ha! ha!—thou dæmon!—I—I—cannot breathe!

CORNWALL.
Why, what is this?—awake! and be a man!—
Know you no shorter way than plots?—would blood
Stagger you now?

EDRIC.
Know me, Lord Ethelmar.
I am a man that was not born to blood,
Though circumstance hath train'd my hand to blood.
I have been wrought upon by dæmons, dragg'd,
Spite of my better nature, to a stake
Where I must combat to the death, with hell
Gaping beneath my foot!—(and hell ne'er bought
A soul more surely lost). Yet, have I dared
More than earth's treasures—power, good fame, delights,
(Even had I won, as I have lost, all these)
Could compensate; and, having stepp'd so far,
I will not now abate my will one inch;
Though it should lead me on o'er leagues of carnage,
Float me in blood, steep me in blackest guilt,
And plunge me in perdition's deepest gulf.
[A distant salute of trumpets, shouts, and military music.
Hark! heard you not the brazen voice of death
Peal his wild summons to the feast of blood?—
Cornwall! the hour is come!

The Procession to the Lists.
HERALD.
Ho! stand aside.

EDRIC
(menacing).
Slave! dost not know me?

CORNWALL.
Stand aside, my lord,
And, like the crouch'd wolf, watch your time.

HERALDS.
Keep silence!

[A salute of Trumpets: then,
ENGLISH HERALD.
Know all men! that Lord Edmund, King of England,
Defies unto these lists the King of Danes;
And, with his good sword, on this field, will prove him
A false usurper!—so Heaven guard the right!

[A salute of Trumpets.
DANISH HERALD.
Canute, the king, defies to mortal quarrel
Edmund of England; and, within these lists,
Will, in his recreant blood, make good his cause!
So Heaven advance the bold!

[The English and Danish troops, with appropriate banners, respectively pass: then grooms, with led horses; who range themselves at each side. Enter, from different quarters, Edmund, and Canute, completely armed. The former attended by Bulloign, Frithegist, and Morcar; the latter by Turkill, Gothmund, and Anlaffe, as joint Marshals of the Lists.
SOLDIERY ON EACH SIDE.
“God save King Edmund!”
“Canute! Canute!”

[Canute steps forward.
HERALD.
Silence!—the king would speak.

CANUTE.
To you, lords, who surround me, ere the trumpet
Summons to horse, I would in brief address me;
Trusting to right my motives in some hearts
Which now mistrust me. That for England's crown
I stand a bold competitor in arms,
The will of half the noblest of your realm
Shall be my plea: that I was wrought to this
By the sore wrongs wherewith King Ethelred
Assail'd my nation and my house; by all
The violated treaties, perjured oaths,
Whereby our earlier vengeance had been stay'd;
I do confess: that I have sundry claims,
Touching the justice of this enterprise,
All men know well—most will admit: and, further,
That, as a victor in so many fields,
I may not yield what faithful hearts have bled for,
To all brave men I make appeal!—Thou, Edmund,
(Whose virtues, and true royalty of soul,
Freely I own, and, owning, hope to win
Much honourable fame in this day's strife),
Be thou my witness, that I meet thee here
With no malignant passions in my heart,
But with the aspirations of a soldier,
Who with a worthy compeer stands confronted,
And knows that one, or both, ere set of sun,
Must die.

EDMUND.
Canute, if thou surviv'st this field,
(Though otherwise I hope) I counsel thee
To put thy trust in action more than words.
With my sword's point I press my arguments.
What ho! my horse!—we waste the precious time!
Born to this kingdom, I will die a king!
[English Soldiery shout.
Long live King Edmund!

EDRIC
(from the side).
I say, long live—Canute!

[Saxon Soldiers menace, and Danish protect, Edric.
EDMUND
(interposing).
Hold back! disperse!—Canute, call off your ban-dogs
That threat me thus.—Brave English gentlemen,
Unhand that madman: by my heart, he is not
Worthy a brave man's vengeance! Traitor, begone!
Thou sav'dst my life once; take thine own: th' account
Is balanced:—look that you forget it not.

[Both Kings, at the trumpet-signal, mount their chargers, and, attended by their respective suites, proceed towards the inner part of the lists, passing under a triumphal archway.
CORNWALL.
What tempted you, my lord, to that wild sally?

EDRIC.
It matters not. Look, and report what passes.

CORNWALL.
You spared his life—

EDRIC.
Look to the lists.

CORNWALL.
He now
Spares yours—

EDRIC
(impatiently).
The lists, I say!

CORNWALL.
Yet taunts you gravely.

EDRIC.
I 'm dangerous!—tempt me not.

CORNWALL.
He bids you note
That the account is balanced.

EDRIC.
I shall remember!
No more: look forth, and say—what of the lists?

CORNWALL.
This is a scene, my lord, that all men crowd to
With hungry eyes, that may not be appeased:
Why shrinks your eye, alone, from marking it?

EDRIC.
Search not my heart: it is inscrutable
Even to myself.

CORNWALL.
It seems to me, thus gazing
Upon your hollow eyes and sallow cheeks,
Sparkling and spotted with contending passions—

EDRIC.
What am I fallen to?—Be silent! Darest thou
Thus to dissect my mind, and measure me,
As if I were some idle prodigy,
For fools' lips to descant on? Say that I hate
This man, and will not look on his chance triumph—
Say that 'tis envy; and these plaudits writhe me
Like serpent hisses, ere the sting be felt—
Say that 'tis weakness, madness, pitiful folly—
Say—what you will—I care not!

CORNWALL
(suddenly).
Lo! they burst
The barrier—and the rushing waves of armour
Flash onward—a bright cataract of heroes!
There springs the King—by Heaven! th' Archangel Michael
Look'd not more terrible to Satan! See him—
As borne upon some courser of the elements,
Whose light ethereal limbs sport on the air,
Making the winds they paw their well-known paths
On which to spring! With what a graceful ease
The royal Edmund sits! his snowy plumes
Surging, like crested billows, to each bound
Of the wild charger; and his jewell'd mail,
As, with true knightly skill, his supple form
Sways to the motion, glancing in the sun
Like rippling waters, or the morning dew-drops
Upon a mountain-thorn! Hark! those glad shouts
With which the royal presence is saluted!
What flight of bonnets leaping on the air!
What press of banners sweeping the green grass!
What throng of streaming scarfs waved by fair hands!
And now, with graceful courtesy, he doffs
His plumy casque, and loosens o'er his shoulders
A flood of golden curls—glorious, by Heaven!

EDRIC.
'Sdeath, what a coil of bootless sound is here!

CORNWALL.
And see! with scornful toss, he flings away
His helm, disdainful of its aid; first rending
Its regal circlet, which on his fair brow
He plants, and looks round on the throng, as one
Who, or in life or death, will be a king!

EDRIC.
Hast thou no eye for Canute?

CORNWALL.
I regard him
Firm in his seat, like a collected soldier,
Stepping his sinewy, well-managed steed
Along th' elastic turf; whose gather'd haunches,
Arch'd, bridling neck, and keen protruded ears,
Mark his impatient vigour for the charge.
Canute right nobly, as a tried knight, bears him.
So steadily, with such an upright port,
(Resting his glaived hand on his ample thigh,
And his brows shadow'd by his raven crest),
He spans his well-mail'd charger, it were surely
No figure of the fancy to name both,
Like the famed Centaur, but one animal.

[The trumpets sound.
EDRIC.
The trump! the trump!

CORNWALL.
They spring upon each other!

EDRIC
(with a rush forward).
Who falls?—By heaven! by hell! the Dane is down.

CORNWALL.
Dismiss your fears—King Edmund flings away
His fortunes with his lance. He leaps to earth!
And, with drawn sword, assaults the wary Dane.
Ha! he gives way—retreating, step by step—

EDRIC.
Death! who gives way?

CORNWALL.
Canute. He aims no blow;
But parries the hot onset with fix'd eye.
Hark! you may hear their clashing swords; they now
Approach so near.
[A tumultuous crowd rushes in, shouting
“An Edmund!”—“A Canute!”

[Through the crowd an open space is formed. Canute, faint and exhausted, enters fighting with Edmund, who presses him vigorously.
EDMUND.
Dost thou renounce thy claim? Crav'st thou for life?

CANUTE.
Strik on!

EDMUND.
May Heaven accept thy valiant soul,
Which thus I speed!
[He strikes Canute down, shattering his sword.
Wilt yield? Canute, submit,
And I will spare thy life.

CANUTE.
Strike, once again!
Strike at my throat!

EDMUND
(turning from him).
No! Take another sword.

CANUTE.
By Heaven! I hate thee more for this disdain
Than for thy prowess, Edmund! Oh for vengeance!
Oh for a valiant arm, bravely to rid me
Of this foul shame! Ay, I would raise that arm
And head, above his proudest peers!

EDRIC
(approaching CANUTE).
What said'st thou?
Say that once more, fair prince; but once again.

CANUTE.
Thou tempt'st me—hence!

EDRIC
(muttering).
Enough—I comprehend.

EDMUND.
Canute! betake thee to thy sword—I wait!

EDRIC
(aside, drawing his dagger).
Now, fatal steel, come forth! and let me carve,
With thy most trenchant edge, one pathway yet
Towards Hope's lost beacon. Thus let me clutch thy haft!
Vengeance make keen mine eye! Hate nerve my arm!

[He joins a group of Danes, towards whom, in the combat, Canute is again beaten back. As Edmund aims a blow, Edric, over the shoulder of a Dane, stabs him.
EDMUND.
Treason! ho, treason!—Some base hand hath stabb'd me!

BULLOIGN.
My prince!—Alas! his lips grow white—the blood
Spouts forth in torrents! Lean on me.

EDMUND
(faintly).
Once more
Let me look on my Algitha—my moments—
Are number'd—haste! my heart 's sick—haste!

Algitha rushes in.
VOICES FROM THE CROWD.
The Queen!
The Queen!—Make way!

ALGITHA.
Where—where is my husband?
[Seeing, and flinging her arms round him.
Ah! thou art slain—my love! my life!—my all!
I will not leave thee! tear me not hence, hard men!

EDMUND.
This hurt is slight—my love—a scratch. I shall
Be better—quite well—presently.

ALGITHA.
Alas!
Thou art dying—see—see—he grows pale—some help!
His eyes swim. Savages!—will none bring aid?
Help—help! he bleeds to death.

EDMUND
(apart to BULLOIGN).
Gently remove her—
This sight will kill her—take her away.
(To Algitha).
Nay, see
How strong I am!
[He endeavours to walk past her.
Oh! I am faint—your hand—
We meet—again—in heaven—farewell—I—die!

[He falls suddenly to the ground. Algitha faints on the body.
CANUTE.
What villain hand hath done this deed? Stand back!
[All retreat except Edric, who stands moodily alone.
Behold the wretch! and, witness of his crime,
The fratricidal steel, reeking with gore!
Seize him! What, not a word?—art stupified?

EDRIC
(starting).
How's this? What have I done? Unhand me, sirs!
[He shrinks on seeing the body.
Yes, yes—I see it all—enough—too much—
I could not do 't again, though all earth's glories
Sprung round my path like weeds! What mean you? Ho!
Canute! your pledge—release me from these dogs.
Off, ye base curs! thus do I spurn ye! thus!
King, for whose glory I have staked my all
On earth, in heaven—here and hereafter—hear me!
Your pledge, great king, your pledge!

CANUTE.
Eternal justice!
What have my passions utter'd! Be it so.
To you, my lords, I here commit this wretch,
This fell, anticipating slave of sin,
Who dogs the steps of passion, and outstrips
The transient purpose of the hurried thought,
Moulding to crime the visions of despair.
Thou shalt surmount thy peers. Upon yon tower
Set up a pole, higher than ever steeple
Rear'd its sky-piercing vane; and, on its summit,
Ere yet with hurrying foot one hour hath pass'd,
Transfix his head! Traitor! away with him!

EDRIC.
Canute! for mercy!—Give me but a week—
A day—an hour, one precious hour, to shrive
My sinful soul! Bring me a confessor!
Not that way—no—not that—! See! his eyes stare—
And in each stony ball a dæmon sits,
Looking damnation on me. Ho! King Edmund!
If thou art living, speak!—Canute, protect me!
Spare me—I am not fit to die—the fiends
Already pluck at me—I am not fit
To die!—crush not my soul—one moment's mercy—
I would repent! Oh agony! oh devils!
[He staggers beneath their strokes.
Spare me—oh spare!—I—I—am choked—with blood—
A sea of blood boils o'er my lip.—Avaunt!
[He creeps to the body of Edmund.
Edmund—my brother!—pardon—thy murderer.
Plead for me—plead for me—where—thou art gone—
And I—never—

[He falls dead on the body.