Ethelstan ; Or, The Battle of Brunanburgh A Dramatic Chronicle. In Five Acts |
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| 9. | SCENE IX. |
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 | Ethelstan ; Or, The Battle of Brunanburgh |  |
57
SCENE IX.
The Danish Camp, with the Reafen standard flying.Anlaf, Constantine, Edwal, Froda, Gorm, Fergus, Runilda. Sea-kings, Chiefs, and Soldiers.
Constantine.
Were it not well, sage Kings and prudent Yarls,
Our fluttering host at length flock'd round the Reafen,
Into some order? A wild flight of swans
Or geese, methinks, hath more!
Anlaf.
A stirring scene,
In sooth, gray sire; it moves yet fixes still
My glorying soul and gaze!—What would you have?
The swing of the billows must go out of us
Ere we can steady us!—A tide of men!
Lo! how the living deluge sinks and swells,
Down slope—up steep—bursting away bytimes
O'er rock or hill, like black floods fringed with foam,
And with an angrier murmur! To my ear
'Tis sweet as amorous coo of coupling doves!
Believe me it looks well: I like to mark
These children of the Sea-mew and the Raven
Settling uneasily on such rich fields
Full of their larger purpose to seize all,—
Not fixing, poor tame fowl! on first-come farm.
Gorm.
And I!—Ho, how my heart bounds in my bosom,
Mine eyes burn in their caverns for great joy
To think of striding these broad cultures o'er,
And strewing them with limbs!
Constantine
(looking forth).
Who are those heroes
I see with plumeless helms?
Gorm.
Jomsburgers all!—
We know not fear, they not the name of it!
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Ay: they've just slaughter'd to a man, I see,
Those Welsh-kin, at a struggle for some kine.
Gorm.
By Thor, good strikers! it was quickly done!
Edwal
(drawing).
My Britons slain?—help, Cymri!
Gorm
(drawing).
All Sea-riders,
Help the sea-city of Jomsburg!—Havoc! havoc!
Anlaf.
Hold!—who to quarrel moves one step, I send
The lightning of this sword-flash through his heart!—
How shall we prosper, noble chiefs and princes,
'Gainst Ethelstan, war-crafty as he is,
If thus, when we should fall like mountains on him,
Hurtling we crush ourselves to dust? O shame!
Gorm.
Why, let's fall on, then—somewhere, if not here!
Froda.
Whither speed first?
Anlaf.
Wherefore not straight to York,
Deem'd by my father, Sihtric, and the Danes,
Mid-fortress of their kingdom?
Gorm.
On then—on!
Constantine.
Green wit for once jumps with grey wisdom: Ay!
No elsewhere than to York.
Runilda
(coming forward).
Anywhere else!
A shower of blood hangs in that crimson sky,
Which our own thunder would bring down upon us!
Go elsewhere than to York! The Dragon's there!—
Listen and learn:
[She chants to the harp.
The knot in the trunk
Is the tough of the tree!
The bale of the barque
Is the breaker at sea!
The fortress in fight
Ever keepeth the field!
The Dragon's at York
Who yet never would yield!
Go not to York, I say!Is the tough of the tree!
The bale of the barque
Is the breaker at sea!
The fortress in fight
Ever keepeth the field!
The Dragon's at York
Who yet never would yield!
Anlaf.
Hear our young prophetess!
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Hear dark-eyed Herva!
Gorm.
Hear King Ella's daughter!
(Kneeling)
Gorm to the bright divinity in woman
That shines on heroes, bends his iron knee!—
Whither wouldst have us wing? where is our prey?
Runilda
(chanting).
Go where the wild Bear-seekers go!
Where the wild winds bleaker blow!
Go where paler springs the corn!
Where more pale doth spring the Morn!
Northman's still Northumbria land!
Northumbria shall to Northman stand;
Where the wild winds bleaker blow!
Go where paler springs the corn!
Where more pale doth spring the Morn!
Northman's still Northumbria land!
Northumbria shall to Northman stand;
There shall aye the Reafen hover,
His wings broad-shadow him on the ground,
All that his black shape shall cover,
Be his, while earth the sun goes round!—
To North!—by far-off axes hewn
I hear the groaning forests fall,
Forests of men, in ranks bestrewn,
Northward! to north, ye Northmen all!
His wings broad-shadow him on the ground,
All that his black shape shall cover,
Be his, while earth the sun goes round!—
To North!—by far-off axes hewn
I hear the groaning forests fall,
Forests of men, in ranks bestrewn,
Northward! to north, ye Northmen all!
Several.
Northward! north! north!
Constantine.
Doth it so well become
Grown men to take a rapturous girl for guide?
Runilda
(chanting).
Gray head! get thee gone thy best gate with thy Gael to the Grampians!
Woe waits thee, deep heart-wounds, as wise as thou art and as warlike!
The blood-drinking barb bends her way to the breast of the bright-hair'd!
The spear speedeth swift on the wind to the wound, her red station!
Each moment, to man the misguided, is mother of mourning!
Anlaf.
How sweet she rings the letter through her rhyme,
With double, treble tricks of curious art,
In every stave!—She hath the gift of Song
Better than any Skalld!
Froda.
Most sure, inspired!
Constantine.
Well, let us northward; you'll be nearer friends.
Gorm.
Let's sweep along the coast, that so our plunder
In the brown-bosom'd ships may glide beside us.
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To horse then!—Pluck the Reafen from her perch!
[It is brought forward.
Thou ravager of earth! grant us good spoil,—
Ethelstan, rich in bracelets, and his host
Bright with his goldenness that shines on all!—
To horse, ye Danish Riders! let the ground
Thunder beneath our steeds, till this whole land
Shake inwardly! that he alone, Usurper,
Whilst his men fly him, shall stand fix'd in fear,
Till the black war-cloud bursts upon his head,—
Then be no further found when all is still!
Northward!
[Exeunt omnes.
| Ethelstan ; Or, The Battle of Brunanburgh | |