University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The Field of Brunanburh before dawn. Ethelstan's Tent overthrown. Trumpets, war-cries, skirmishes.
Enter Anlaf, Edwal, Froda, Gorm, and the Reafen-bearer with other Danes.
Anlaf.
Forward, ye warriors!—Shall they beat us off
Like drones, when we had storm'd their hive?—On! on!
Who saw the Dragon down? Did I not trample it
Under the Reafen!

Gorm.
It was Gorm that quell'd him!
The dragon-king himself, fire-breathing Ethelstan!
At once I pierced to his tent's heart and his.

Anlaf.
Saw you him die?

Gorm.
Watch'd him till on this blade
To the last drop he pour'd his red life out!
So flush a stream at onset was good omen.

Anlaf.
Forward then!—lose no fruit of first success:
Fall on, ye Danish battle-axes!—cleave them down!

All.
Forward!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Camp behind Ethelstan's Tent attacked.
Saxons and Danes at close combat, Egil with his harp cheering on the Saxons.
Egil.
(Felling a Dane.)
Take there seven feet of ground for freehold, thou!
(Striking down another.)
Thy doom slept in my scabbard!—Sleep thou here!
Well done! well done!

Saxons.
Death to the Loathèd Ones!

[Exeunt, driving off the Danes.
Another part of the field.
Enter Alger and a Captain.
Alger.
Speed fast unto the ford, where Maiden Ellisif
Expects thy message: say the tyrant's slain
Within his tent to-night, and by my aid,
For which I hope her smiles on me will shine:
Say that with him all doubt of fortune dies,
For such an idol was he with his followers
Their grief must needs unman them, while their foes
Our friends, who were their equals ere this chance,
Joy will make giants now. Her grace may therefore
Strike forward to King Anlaf's camp at once,
Where Victory and Alger, hand in hand,
Will ere an hour salute her, queen. Away!

[Exeunt severally.
Scene changes to Brunanburh Hill.
Runilda on a height overlooking the field of battle. Constantine, Fergus, and Forces, below.
Fergus.
O shame to Albin! Shall the Scots stand here
Like icicles, congeal'd and pale with terror,
When such brave deeds are doing?

Constantine.
Ours will come
Anon, believe it, boy—We must stand here
As stubborn as the hill we have to guard,
For 'tis our post appointed.

Fergus.
Would that some landslip
Moved it and us to the front!

Constantine
(to Runilda).
What see'st thou, maiden?

Runilda.
I see two dusky forests on a plain.
Each storm-bent at the other; back and fro
They swing by turns, with rustlings harsh of boughs,
Iron-grown boughs, loose swung or interlock'd!
Lo, where they grapple, limbs lopp'd off, and torn
From the poor bleeding trunks, bestrew the ground,
Brave plumy heads,—rent fibres,—stems split ope
From top to root!—There falls a stately tree!
Hear what a crash he drops with! what a groan!—
Now rises a rough murmur, like the sea's
New rushing o'er some rugged-pebbled strand,
One murmur from both foes, drear harmony!
Dismallest concord!—feel ye it shake the hill,
Loud and more loudly rumbling, till the thunder
Were but faint echo to it!—Now!—hold breath—
With that vast roar ye heard, like firm-set ice
Up-broken by the throes of ocean, bursts
To rough-edged fragments huge, the squadron'd mass,
Floating enormous, heaving bulk 'gainst bulk,
With shock on shock, riven, shattered, or sunk!—
O 'tis a rueful sight! a ruthless sound!

Fergus.
Let me away!

Constantine
(withholding him).
Hot-brain! thy duty's here;
Who would do more than his duty oft does less!
Shall we leave bare our flank?— (to Runilda)
Daughter, what now?
Tell us each change and fortune of the battle.

Runilda.
There flies the Reafen, like a fiend of air
Gloomily, gathering with restless wing
Her ravenous brood beneath her!—there she hovers,
A blackness 'tween her foemen and the sun,
Dire spot on it to them!

Fergus.
Doth she fly forward?

Runilda.
Against her,—forkèd tongue to hornèd beak,—
A Dragon breathes his scorching ire; he soars
Fix'd, as if held by magic not a man,
So proud and high—therefore she moves not forward!
Close by his staff an iron cliff of men
Frowns silent, and throws off the clamorous billows
That foam upon its steadfastness in vain;
Therefore she moves not forward!

Constantine.
Those dumb Sassenach,
How can they fight so firm without their king?

Fergus.
That scorn of raging in them ruins us!

Runilda.
Hark! their one wild Hurrah!—now mute again!

Fergus.
They are advancing!

[About to rush forth.
Runilda.
Scarce!

Constantine.
Stay, parricide!
Wilt thou be accessary to my fate,
Leaving me here defenceless and infirm,
Who could not fling even one light dart of Death,
And am like him a shrunk-up skeleton
That rattle in mine armour?—Stay, my son!

Fergus.
O duty! curb of noblest impulses,
His heart who loves to keep thy law, cold virtue!
Is bloodless.— (To Runilda.)
Well, thou piercing voice and eye,
Rock-eaglet! what canst shriek about the slaughter?

Runilda.
This way—this way—begins it now to bend
Its gory horn!

Fergus.
Ha! doth the Reafen yield?

Runilda.
No! she points forward still i' the centre! still
Flying her painted flight against the foe,
Eager to clutch him!

Fergus.
Then doth the Dragon flee?

Runilda.
Set like an ominous comet in the sky,
He glitters dun, his mournful lustre shedding
On the too crimson field a deadlier glare!—
'Tis the left wing to me, of both the hosts,
Moves scatter'dly together hitherward:
Now I could name each hero!—There he singles him,
Making his desolation round him—

Fergus and Constantine.
Anlaf?

Runilda.
Tower-heavy Turketul!—O murderous work!
Each club-swing lays a curve of lifeless men
Around his steps—sons, fathers, husbands, lovers—
On whom did hang hundreds of lives!—O cruel!
Thou slay'st us all,—men, women, babes, together!

Fergus.
Can none withstand him?

Runilda.
Who is he that stalks
The field like Death himself, where victim ranks
Lie after him in swarths? He mows his way
Toward that other Destruction, emulous of him?
I sicken at the sight!—Heart, heart, thy sex
Is changeless—O, I am all woman still!

Fergus.
Have they met yet?—Who is that champion grim?

Runilda.
His form doth seem of flame—'tis blood!—all blood!—
I cannot see him through such veil—it blinds me!—
Nearer they come!

Fergus.
Canst see him now? the hero
Striding at Turketul o'er so much slain?
Who is he, the tall ghastliness?

Runilda.
'Tis Gorm!
His eyes like wandering fires, and spectral pale,
As icy balls could burn; his whirlwind hair
Toss'd round his head, as when the tempest-cloud
Doth helm with darkness some bleak pinnacle:
'Tis Gorm! death-spreading Gorm!—They come—Prepare!
[Rushes down.
(Clashing her harp.)

Constantine.
Stand to it, Scotsmen!

Fergus.
Forth to it, prince of Scots!

[Rushes out.
Runilda
(bursting from her detainers).
Live—die—dare hell with him!

[Exit.
Constantine.
Follow, and save them!

[Exeunt omnes.
Scene changes to the Field of Battle.
Trumpets, Combat, &c. Enter Turketul.
Turketul.
I have but air to beat!—Would they'd come on,
Yea even in swarms like bees about a bear,
I'd paw them to some tune—Ho! here's a bumble-one!—
You, gallows-cheater?

Enter Bruern.
Bruern.
I am for thee, Ogre!
Demolisher of our host!

Turketul.
Where are thy backers?
Turketul ne'er lifts club for one alone!

[Passing out.
Bruern.
One that may prove too many for thee—Stand!

Turketul.
Highwayman's hail!—Pr'ythee, let harmless people
Jog on their road in quiet!—Rest you well!

[Strikes him dead, and exit.
Enter Fergus and Runilda.
Fergus.
Stout Bruern, slain!

Runilda.
Thou slay'st not churls but chieftans.

Fergus.
My sword is hack'd to teeth—give me his brand!

Runilda.
Breathe here: our friends approach not—

Fergus.
Foes are welcomer.

Enter Edmund and Haco, their swords crimsoned.
Edmund
(dropping his point as he passes.)
Ha! my old play-fellows!—

Haco.
Farewell!

[Exeunt Edmund and Haco.
Fergus.
Brave Etheling!

Runilda.
Farewell, dear Haco!—fare thee well!—farewell!

Scene changes to another part of the Field.
Saxon Forces marching over; Egil at their head.
Egil
(chanting).

Saxons.
Onward!—we are well breathed—on, noble Egil!

Egil
(chanting).
Let the axe heat its steel on the helm!
And the ruddy blade burn in the wound!
If the Dane will remain in the realm,
Cleave him straight to the hips and the ground!

Saxons.
Infidels!—heathen robbers!—loathèd-ones!—

Egil.
The locusts of the Baltic!—See! a cloud of them.

[Exeunt rapidly.
Enter Anlaf and Edmund, fighting.
Anlaf.
Follow thy hell-bound brother, thou more damnable!—
Two-fold apostate, thou shalt not escape me!—
So renegade! (disarming Edmund)
thou shalt never turn again,
Except to earth!

[As he is about to strike, enter Ethelstan.
Ethelstan.
Hold, and defend thyself!—
Art safe, boy?

[Anlaf flies.
Edmund.
Generous brother! I, that deemed
Thou sought'st my life, owe it thee!

Ethelstan.
Doubt no more!

[Exeunt.
Another part of the Field.
Enter Froda and Gorm, meeting.
Gorm.
Well happ'd on, brother-ranger of the brine!
How fares it with us?

Froda.
Thou'rt so blind with dust
And blood and sweat, thou canst not see how goes
The general field!

Gorm.
By mighty Thor, blind-drunken
With the hot fumes of gore!—How flies the Reafen?

Froda.
Methinks as I can see her through the darts,
Her beak droops somewhat.

Gorm.
'Tis to pluck the dead!
She stoops to pluck the swine-gorged Saxons bare!
Never had else look'd down!

Froda.
Brave Edwal's slain.

Gorm.
True: as I pass'd him now, a javelin
Stood upright in his heart.—Havoc! let's on!

Froda.
My bands are this way.

[Exit.
Gorm.
This way, Gorm alone!
Enter Turketul.
Monstrous!—the north-sea Kraken come on land!
I thought till now that grisly animal
Had upwards of two feet!—By Thor, I'm proud,
Whate'er he is, to catch the prodigy
At last!—Where must I pierce his leathern scales?

Turketul.
Take thy good leisure—view me round and round!

Gorm.
Thor, what an ancle!—Thor, what limbs!—O Thor,
What depth of brawn to bury a sword in!

Turketul.
Humph!—
There's no such superabundance about thee,
Thou skeleton of a Norway skiff on end!
Thou bugbear from the Valley of Dry Bones!
O how my club will clatter among thy ribs!
I will make broken ice of thee!

Gorm.
This sword
That strews a field with carnage of itself,
My sway makes Ruin's scythe!—Look how it glitters,
My blood-wash'd battle-axe, that erst was brown!
Are these to be despised?—Know ye my name?
Gorm, the Shield-Render!—Has it never clove
Through thy dull ear?

Turketul.
Ay, but I've doff'd my shield,
Ergo, thou'rt no shield-render unto me!

Gorm.
Of nine accomplishments I am full master;
In the Norse warrior's circle of the arts,
Am perfect: At bow, battle-axe, and brand,
None can approach my skill; being ambidexter,
I with two javelins take two lives at once;
I play at chess well, besides other games,
As tossing up three darts, two kept in air,
One in the hand; I swim shark-swift; I skate
Over earth's broadest bridge, the Arctic ice,
Fast as the north wind; I could ride the Nightmare
Even in her wildest rage, and shoe her after
Like your most cunning War-smith: I can row
Sleeker than swallow skims, and round my boat
Run outside on the slippery oars at play:
What think'st of Gorm the Sea-king, now?

Turketul.
Nought worse!
Come let us have a spice of thy perfections,
Knight of the Nine Accomplishments!

Gorm.
O joy!
I combat, dauntless hero, one of the Gods,
Even mighty Thor, the thunderer's self, in thee!

Turketul.
Thou art more like the Spirit of Evil, Lok,
After thy pagan creed!—Impious, I'll teach thee
Some reverence to thy gods, false though they be!

[They fight.
Enter Egil with Saxons, Froda with Danes, who pause in conflict to admire the single combat.
Danes.
The Dane! the Sea-king! lightning-sworded Gorm!

Saxons.
The chancellor, and his iron mace!—the Saxon!—

Froda.
Who would have thought the Wild Bull could so wheel him,
Supple-back'd as the serpent?

Egil.
Or the serpent
Raise him upon his footless coils as firm,
To dart a blow, as the wild bull can stand?

Danes and Saxons.
Gorm! Gorm!—Turketul! Turketul!—Now!—

Egil and Froda.
Well fought! fair trial!—Southron against Norman!—

Egil.
There is the blow from both that must end one!—

[Gorm stricken down.
Turketul.
Fell, laugh'd, and died!—he made a goodly end!

Froda.
The yellow-footed bird will long bewail
Him who purveyed her many a feast,—brave Gorm!

[General combat; the Danes driven off.
Part of the Field, with a coppice.
Fergus wounded; Runilda supporting his head on her lap.
Fergus.
Dying, dear Maiden!—dying!—weep not!—dying!—
Ay, leaving thee for ever!—weep not, Herva!—
Nay, now I look at thee, I prithee weep;
That tearlessness, that wide unwinking gaze,
Is kin to frenzy!—Weep girl! I am dying!—
O righteous judgment on my faithlessness
To that good king!—death makes my sin more clear!—
O my poor gray-hair'd father!—wilt thou, Herva,
Be in my stead a child to the old man?
Thy lips say yes, but have no voice!—Alas,
That comfort spoke by dying friends is none,
But disconsoles the more!—I cannot soothe her!—
Maiden, the sound of struggling feet draws near:
Help! I'll to shelter in the brake, and die
Bird-like, unseen: lift thou my heavy locks
That they touch not the tainted dust.—
(He retires).
Now, lay them
Carefully on my bosom, as becomes
A prince and warrior!—Let them mix with thine
Dishevell'd o'er me thus, that face to face
As in a little loving cave together,
Thou shalt alone receive my last, fond sigh!

Enter a crowd of combatants: amongst them Ethelstan and Anlaf engaged hand to hand.
Anlaf.
Tyrant, lay corse and crown here at my feet!

Ethelstan.
My life and kingdom both upon the blow!

[He strikes, and his faulchion breaks. Anlaf is rapt away in the crowd.
Ethelstan.
Bare-handed, at the mercy of the Dane!
My sword a traitor?—half sawn through the hilts,
To fail me when most needed!—But one moment,
I had a victory in this grasp, and now
Not even poor vengeance for defeat and death!—
See what base rabble mouths yell hither at me!
Anlaf, why com'st not thou with kingly ire
To give me a king's fate!—nay, while there grows
A weapon here, one life shall cost them twain:
[Approaching the Copse, Runilda meets him with the sword of Fergus.
A sword!—Heaven-dropp'd!—Salvation!—God, I thank thee!—

Enter several Welsh-kin: Ethelstan defends himself, with Runilda at his side, and before him the body of Fergus, who has dragged it expiring to the King's feet. Soldiers driven out.
Ethelstan.
What Guardian Spirit art thou, that gav'st this sword,
And fought'st so fiercely calm, so mute beside me?
For very superstition at thy air,
They cower'd and fled!—Why buriest thy face?
[She motions to the body of Fergus.
My hostage! and my Glee-maid!—guests, and ingrates!—
No! my life's saviours!—Ah, young, dead defender!
Thou hadst my heart's forgiveness ere thou died'st.—
[Runilda falls at his knees and embraces them.
Poor Youth!—poor Maiden!—ill-starr'd, luckless pair!
O what a fathomless spring of sorrow is love,
When not of joy!—Ay, cast thee on his corse!
I scarce can wish thee e'er rise from it more!—
This is no time for tears or ye should have them:
The scales are trembling with still heavier fates;
My sword must be thrown in, to weigh one down!

[Exit.
View of the Danish Camp. Trumpets. Flight and pursuit.
Enter Anlaf and Froda.
Anlaf.
Whirl'd from him, when his life was in my hands,
When,—his sword being lost,—on mine grew white
My knuckles with strong grasp,—when to the stroke
Tiptoe I rose,—then was I whirl'd away
By our own reeling runagates!—O rage,
Thou'lt do the office of a sword upon me,
Riving both head and heart!—See where they run!
Stop them, good Froda!—if no other way,
Smite them to earth! there let the vile ones die,
Fit death for dastards, smother'd in the mire?

Froda.
I'll smite!—I cannot bawl them back;—My lungs
Are torn to thongs!—I'm suffocate myself,
Throat-full of blood, and foam, and swelling ire!

[Exit.
Anlaf
(exit, crying aloud).
Rally around the Reafen! Anlaf! rally!
King Anlaf! rally! Rally around the Reafen!

The Danish Camp at Brunanburh. Assault and defence.
Enter Anlaf and Ethelstan with the Reafen and Dragon standards on opposite sides.
Anlaf.
Again, usurper!—Thanks to the Hall of Gods,
I have thee under my sword's edge again!
Robber of kingdoms! plunderer of palaces!
Thou thief of my regalia! who hast stepp'd
Into the jewell'd shoes which thou didst steal,
And stand'st so high in now!

Ethelstan.
Husband thy breath;
Scold it not all out; thou wilt need it soon,
Whether to fight, or flee.

Anlaf.
Hast thou not stolen,
Huge-handed larcener! Northumbria from me?
Stol'n it?

Ethelstan.
Say wrench'd,—for a first step to truth:
My word makes dint like thine, with less of din.

Anlaf.
Doth not the violent wrench and rob at once?

Ethelstan.
He robs not who but wrenches his own rights,
Where there's no law regarded, that awards them.
True, I have wrench'd Northumbria from thy grasp,
And hold it in mine own; rob it again
Thence, if thou canst, as while my hand lay on it
Loose in Security's sleep, thou didst before.

Anlaf.
It was my father Sihtric's, and so mine!

Ethelstan.
He was my vassal,—but a vice-king o'er it.
I gave him it, and more, for wife my Sister,
Edgitha, now the fairest saint in Heaven,
Whom he, from that old hate of devils to angels,
Divorced injuriously; divorced his soul
Too, from the Mother of Saints, our Christian Church,
Whom at same time with like oaths he had spoused:
Thus, an apostate, and adulterer,
Return'd to Danish idols, false-wed wives,
Heaven's hand was swifter than mine own to venge me,
Ere I could reach him he had died!

Anlaf.
Thy tongue,
Red sword of the mouth, is feebler still, I swear,
Than that in thy faint hand.

Ethelstan.
It drips, withal!

Anlaf.
Did Anlaf spouse thy Sister or thy Church?
Did he divorce them? What did Anlaf,—Anlaf?

Ethelstan.
Forswore no faith as vassal-king, I grant,
But vassal-subject!—Anlaf ne'er was king,
Except of Irish kerns and Danish pirates!—
Anlaf, ambition-swell'd, bore him too big
At home: and so was sent to find at large
Without this small isle, scope for his great merits!

Anlaf.
Fool, he did find it!

Ethelstan.
Wolf-like, in the wilderness!
Sea-wolf and land-wolf, both!—whether he prowl'd
The watery waste for spoil, or denn'd himself
In bleak Ibernia's glacial isle, and taught
Its habitants his fierce howl!—still wolfish ever!

Anlaf.
Who made him so but thou?—Turn forth a dog,
The fondest, faithfullest, most docile creature,
Into the foodless wild, and he returns
A hell-hound! his once silky coat like thine
Shaggy as this I wear! his bark of welcome,
A growl, that shakes his very ribs with ire,
Like thunder running through them, when he sees thee;
Now furious for thy life, which he before
Had lost his own defending!

Ethelstan.
Docile thou wert not,
Nor any of thy blood! When ye rebell'd,
And fate of rebels made thy brother, Godfrid,
My prisoner, I fain had call'd him guest;
But still his fierceness would encave itself
Glaring in some dark corner of my Court,
Nor could rich fare, mild looks, nor soothing words,
Tame down the tiger in him; no, not once,
Soften to thankfulness or kind regard,
His anger-lighted and cold-blazing eye!
Ere four short days he fled, and perish'd savagely.
Thou art his brother both in spirit and blood!

Anlaf.
For these foul taunts and scorns, thou spurious king,
The space of a long night awaits thee!—Ay!
Even though thy falchion with miraculous power,—
A Saxon boast,—cleft Dunbar rock in twain!
'Twill be my greater glory to cleave thee,
Stone-hard of heart, and let the reptile out
That centres rancorous there!

Ethelstan.
We've stood too long,
Like opposite cliffs that only frown defiance,
Re-echoing empty threats, and noise for noise!

Anlaf.
Mountains shall meet in us!

Ethelstan.
England and Denmark!

[They fight. Battle joined.
Another part of the Camp.
Enter Turketul and Saxon rear-guard rushing past him.
Turketul.
Lead up the Londoners and the men of Mercia!
This way, stout hearts!—Your king has thrown himself
Standard-like midst the foe, ye must recover him!
The Danes are rallied, and return full roar
Like ocean from his ebb!—On! on!—Proud Anlaf
With devilish fury, giant arrogance,
Swells both in spirit and form beyond a man,—
Threats Victory herself!—Would that the king
Had let me undertake him! If I fell
'Twere nobody! if the King fell, it were all!

[Exeunt omnes.

SCENE III.

Interior of a Danish Tent.
Upon a buckler, supported by trestles, is laid the body of Fergus. Constantine, his hands locked, and Runilda, sitting each side of it.
Enter Ellisif hastily.
Ellisif.
The camp assaulted! Up for shame, old king!
Myself have drawn a dagger that shall give
A woman's blow,—incurable,—to the heart!
Up! even a man can do as much when age
Makes him as faint of arm, if as fierce-will'd!
Thou couldst destroy one Saxon; one, it might be,
Who is the life of millions!—O what a deed,
Glorious and utilous, which a child might do,
Seventy or seven years old, of weakest nerve,
With its nurse-tender's needle nicely driven!
Up, royal host! defend thy guest—thyself—
Save both—perchance the field.

Constantine.
I care not for it—
The pillars of earth and heaven may fall together
On miserable me!—I care not for it!
Would the last day were come!

Ellisif.
The last day come?
'Tis come long since! and daily going on
To thousands,—all, with whom this world is ended!—
Destruction now strides hither,—hark his step!—
He and Confusion with her numberless feet,
His helpmate dear!—Faith, I'll lend her my hand
For sake of common sex; and who knows all
Disorder may turn up to a steady eye?—
Ha! Ethelstan!—by my presaging hopes
And hates, this way he stumbles!—said I not,
'Twas never in mischance too late to die?
Victory's crown may from the head be pluck'd
Even as it drops there, and upon its place
Vengeance pour out her vial!—Firm, be firm!

Enter Anlaf, driven in by Ethelstan: others combating; the tent overthrown.
Ethelstan.
Yield self or life!

Ellisif
(striking at Ethelstan with her dagger).
Yield them both, thou to me!
[Runilda rushing between, receives the blow through her breast.
Baffled!—hadst thou a hundred arms and eyes,
Thou hadst not 'scaped, but for this fond—fool—Woman!

Ethelstan.
Take up the girl, and lay her by her lover:
Devotedness, how beautiful thou look'st,
Yea in the blood of thy self-sacrifice!—
(To Turketul entering)
Hath Anlaf 'scaped?

Turketul.
Fled fast!

Ethelstan.
Pursue him, Chancellor!
But make the road smooth for his swift retreat.

[Exit Turketul.
Ellisif.
Take off thy silent eye from me: thou see'st
Enough already what I am,—save this—
Thy brother's widow!—Edwin's!

Ethelstan.
Waked at last!

Ellisif.
Now to the block!—You have a host of headsmen!

Ethelstan.
Convey her to her cell at Beverley.—
(To Ellisif.)
Seek there Heaven's pardon; though such deeds might well
Drain Mercy's fountain dry!—Hope, like myself,
Nought in this life, but leave to quit it soon!
[Exit Ellisif guarded.
(Looking after her.)
I stand like one deserted on an isle,
That keeps the parting vessel long in view,
Till a mere sun-bright speck,—which vanishes
And tells him—hope is gone!
(Beholding Constantine.)
My self, grown old!
Cypress, thou art the real crown of kings!—
Thy punishment is heavy, sovran neighbour,
Losing both child and realm by one sad chance;
I give thee back this last, as some poor solace
In such a sorrow: How more glorious far
To make a king than be a king!
Enter Edmund, Egil, Goderic, and Saxons, with the Reafen Standard.
All fled?

Edmund.
All, but five kings, seven yarls, and churls by thousands,
Left on the field.

Egil.
O ay! ay! others, flocks of them!—
Their kindred,—eagles, ravens, hawks, kites, cormorants,—
Sure to bide with them till their bones are bleach'd!
(Chanting.)

Ethelstan.
Thanks noble Egil, for thy sword and song!—
Thanks every one!—But are the Cambrians fled?
The Picts? the Gael?

Egil.
Like flying crows, all wings!

Ethelstan.
Well, slay them not, but scourge them sharply home:
I am full king of England now, and lose
The conqueror in the father, over all!
Edmund, thou art mine heir; no other son
Shall wifeless Ethelstan e'er have but thee:
I feel swift dissolution in my blood;
Let me devote my poor remain of years
To glean the harvest of this glorious field,
Honour, and peace, and union to the Isle:
Be this my sole aim, and some solacement!

Scene closes.