University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

An Orchard.
Fergus and Runilda.
Fergus.
Wilt thou forsake the bower that shelters thee?
Where beauty's lip chirps love, sweet bird! to thee?
Where a king's gorgeous hand caresses thee?
Where kneeling chiefs serve up rich food for thee?
Wilt thou unto the moory wealds, and hills
Barren of berries even, reckless begone?
Where the broad-winnowing kite, poised but to swoop,
Soars with wide survey and earth-fix'd eye;
Where foxes prowl, and catamountains spring
Like creatures of the pinion on their prey?
Bethink thee, beauteous songstress! O, bethink thee,
Within these wildering woods, all over Isle,
No covert safe but this for bird so rare!

Runilda.
It shall not be my cage, though it be golden!
What! mew me here, who should, by right of song,
Range the Isle round, like ocean's margin-wave,
Pouring a tide of melody on each strand?
Coop with these tame fowl, yet not of their kin?
Let my brave plumage rather be pluck'd off,
And cut away my crest!—Why should I stay?
My place is given another! Maiden Ellisif
Is the king's Glee-maid now, and hath stole from me
The chaplet of my fame!—I will not stay!
He calls me—mad—too!—I'll not stay an hour!

Fergus.
Whither wilt thou betake thee, homeless child?

Runilda.
Hist! hist!—but for our two lives tell it not!—
I know a mossy nook the sun-bred winds
Visit on wing, like swallows when they cheer
Their nestlings with sweet play; it is as warm
As Love's breath makes his arbour: from that promontory
Where Humber writhes his serpent head to sea,
This cave looks forth; and o'er the broadening ooze,
Its chalky brows, that gleam against the sun,
Beacon the wanderers of the elements
Thither for refuge. Thitherward my comrades
Are flocking now on salt-wet wing:—They're safe!
I see them over-swarm the cliff's bleak head
Despite all bluster from the land!

Fergus.
Thy comrades!
Who, under heaven?

Runilda.
The brood of that proud Raven
Under whose hovering darkness is! whose pinion
Flaps like a pall, dark standard of old Death!—
With them the long-wing'd Seamews troop, spray-speckled,
That midland come, prowling the river-banks,
Sharp famine in their cry, when Southward driven.

Fergus.
I guess thy meaning; but art sure of this?
Art sure thy friends be there to aid thee?

Runilda.
Sure!
As of one here, to aid me unto them:
Thou must hie with me! Fearless for myself
Weapon'd as I shall be with harp and skene,
'Tis for thy sake alone thou must come with me.
Destruction hangs o'er this king's head, and thine,
Flee him and it together!

Fergus.
Being a hostage
So trusted by this unsuspective king,
With license large to range as forest deer,
How can I break my promise, understood
Though never ask'd nor given, not to flee?
How stain my princely honour so?

Runilda.
Then break
Thy promise unto me thou would'st be mine
Ever and everywhere! Stain thy pure honour
Thus—to a princess, not to a baseborn king!

Fergus.
Sibyl, thy words are spells!

Runilda.
Listen again:
Thou hast my dearest secret, why not this?
The fox of kings, the lion-fox, is with us,
Wagging his bush for prey; wilt thou not come
To shield red-grizzled Constantine? Unfilial!
What ties thee here? As Ethelstan bereft
Unrightfully thy father of his crown,
Bereave him of the pledge he took for it,—
Thyself; that is true nature's equity,
As our wild laws deliver it—wrong for wrong!
Little doth Herva, in Runilda's guise,
Owe to this king; he reft me, royal nursling,
With wolf's paw from my foster-father's crib,
When his fierce litter ravin'd all Northumbria,
My state unknown to him; and rear'd me up
Forsooth his glee-maid, marking in mine eye
Gleams of the gentle craft, through all my sullenness;
For woodland airs, sweet brooks, and waterfalls,
Had so entuned my soul, that, bred among them,
Bird-like, its native speech had needs been song.
But what was this fine favour? weighs it even
One grain against the globe of ill he wrought me?
No! yet, to quiet Conscience, the heart's worm,
Most gnawing tenderest natures,—here I promise
If this crown'd robber fall, at least for once
The gray gull shall not feast on him, the Raven
Shall not pluck out his heart:—yea, he shall scape
The Wild-cat near his bed, with flame-green eyes
Watching his throat lie bare!—will that content thee?
Come dallier, come!

Fergus.
She draws me by the heartstring;
'Twill break if I hold back, and life give with it,
Lost to me like my loved-one—I must go!—
To leave her under guide of her own wildness,
Helpless, yet holding out such baits for harm,
Starr'd so with gems, herself pure beauty's pearl,—
Impossible! impossible!—Farewell
All foresight, prudence, memory, and remorse,
Young Wisdom's soft resolves, that melt away
Before Love's sunny curls and ardorous smile!—
On then!

Runilda
(opening the orchard gate).
Come forth, thou solitary bittern!
For ever booming deep, as thou didst swell
The hollowest reed i' the vale,—thy hate to man!
Enter Bruern.
Murmur as low to me—Are the steeds come?

Bruern.
Down in the bosky dingle, where Eve's shadows
Have thicken'd into Night: we've but to skirt it
Like bats, and be within the wilds at once.

Runilda
(to Fergus).
This is my harp-bearer—

Bruern.
Who bears a sword
Too, that can make sweet music on a helm
As e'er struck up by War-smith!

Runilda.
Let's begone!

Fergus.
O what a momentary step it is
From safety into peril, weal to woe,
From right to wrong!—Who is thy prompter, Maiden,
In this most fearful act? Or is it alone
Fantasy's lamp thou followest, as a star,
When but a gilded vapour?

Runilda.
Thou'lt hear all
As we go on—but first come on!—Ah! faithless—

[Exeunt through the orchard gate.