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VERITAS
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
E-PLURIBUS-UNUM
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From A.R.A.
January 1.1857.
EDWIN THE FAIR,
&c.
{
EDWIN THE FAIR:
AN HISTORICAL DRAMA.
ISAAC COMNENUS;
A PLAY.
AND OTHER POEMS.
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST,
BY HENRY TAYLOR,
*
AUTHOR OF PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE.'
THIRD EDITION.
LONDON:
KASASKAN LANGKA 2
i
1852.
2 403 4
EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET.
priate.
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822.8
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в
EDWIN THE FAIR
ISAAC COMNENUS
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST
"SOFT BE THE VOICE
LAGO VARESE .
LAGO LUGANO
IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE HON. EDWARD ERNEST VILLIERS
CONTENTS.
ALWINE AND ADELAIS
MINOR POEMS.
19
THE AMPHITHEATRE AT POZZUOLI
((
SONNET IN THE MAIL COACH
•
•
FOR ME NO ROSEATE GARLANDS TWINE
"
•
PAGE
1
197
347
369
371
374
379
387
388
396
397
vi
CONTENTS.
ROBERT SOUTHEY
OLYMPIA MORATA
SONG
HEROISM IN THE SHADE
ST. HELEN'S-AUCKLAND
ERNESTO
ODE
NOTES
·
·
PAGE
398
399
400
401
406
409
413
417
PREFACE
TO THE SECOND EDITIONS OF EDWIN THE FAIR
AND ISAAC COMNENUS.
Of the former of these Dramas I have little to say
beyond what will be found in the Preface to the first
edition, reprinted here. I have done what lay in my
power to improve it; and besides amendments in
matters of detail and execution, there are in this
edition some corrections of more material faults.
Other faults, which are also material, remain
uncorrected, not, certainly, for want of care and
consideration, but because, after many endeavours to
correct them, I am constrained to conclude that they
are incorrigible.
With respect to Isaac Comnenus,' since few of my
readers will have heard of it before, it may be
necessary to say that it was first published in 1827,
seven years before Philip Van Artevelde,' and
without the name of the author. The book attracted
so little notice that I may perhaps be justified in
regarding it as having been rather unknown than
viii
PREFACE.
unfavourably received: and if so, the fact furnishes
some sort of plea for the re-publication.
The subject (which will be found in the forty-eighth
Chapter of Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire) is not less attractive to me now than it was
when I chose it, eighteen years ago. Far otherwise is
it with the work; and when I came to reconsider it,
the tone of mind which betrayed itself in some of the
scenes, and the treatment and workmanship in some
others, were so repugnant to my present judgment and
feelings, that I have thought it necessary to disregard,
so far as those scenes are concerned, the objections
which are commonly urged against alterations of
substance in a juvenile work. Such a work cannot be
the worse for having its manifest crudities corrected,
so its wholeness and harmony be preserved and as
the faculty of blending and harmonising seems to be
one of the tardier growths of the poetic mind-
requiring both the former and the latter rains—it will
commonly appear, I think, that a work written in
youth will rather gain than lose, in respect of harmony,
by being competently corrected in after years.
MORTLAKE,
March, 1845.
:
Mag
EDWIN THE FAIR.
'Pessima enim res est errorum apotheosis.'
Novum Organum, i. 65.
ΤΟ
HENRY HOLLAND, ESQ., M.D. F.R.S.
THIS DRAMA IS INSCRIBED,
IN REMEMBRANCE
OF IMPORTANT SERVICES
RENDERED MANY YEARS AGO
TO THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE TO EDWIN THE FAIR.
MR. TURNER's learned and elaborate work has done
much to make the Anglo-Saxon times better known
than they were formerly, and we have ceased to
regard them as antecedent to the dawn of civilization
amongst us, or as destitute of the spiritual and
chivalric features by which in reality some of the
subsequent centuries (though not those immediately
subsequent) were less distinguished than they. Of
the dark ages, in this country, the tenth century was
hardly so dark as the fifteenth; and if the aspects of
each could be distinctly traced, the civil wars of the
Anglo-Saxons would probably excite a deeper interest
than struggles such as those of the Houses of York
and Lancaster, in which there was no religious and
hardly any political principle at stake. Indeed though
the three centuries which preceded the Conquest were
on the whole less enlightened than the three which
followed it, yet the Anglo-Saxon times furnish
examples of both the Hero and the Scholar, which the
Norman can hardly match; and perhaps the real
xii
PREFACE TO EDWIN THE FAIR.
distinction between the periods is, that amongst the
Anglo-Saxons, learning and ignorance and rudeness
and refinement co-existed in stronger contrast.
But even when Anglo-Saxon history was less
read and otherwise understood than it is now, some
interest was always felt in the reign of Edwin the
Fair. There was left to us little more than the
outline of a tragic story: in some parts, indeed, even
less-for here and there the outline itself is broken
and wavering; but the little that was known was
romantic enough to have impressed itself upon the
popular mind, and the tale of 'Edwy and Elgiva' had
been current in the nursery long before it came to be
studied as an historical question.
Edwin's contemporaneous annalists, being Monks,
were his natural enemies; and their enmity is
sufficiently apparent in their writings. But notwith-
standing all their efforts, and all the influence which
the monastic orders undoubtedly possessed over the
English populace of the tenth century, there is reason
to think that the interest taken in Edwin's story may
have dated from his own times. His name having
been supplanted by its diminutive 'Edwy,' seems to
indicate a sentiment of tenderness and pity as popu-
larly connected with him from the first; and his sur-
name of 'The All-Fair' (given him, says the Monk
Ingulphus, "pro nimiâ pulchritudine"), may be
construed as a farther indication that the success of
the monastic faction in decrying him with the people,
PREFACE TO EDWIN THE FAIR.
xiii
was not so complete as the merely political events of
his reign might lead us to suppose.
Whilst the details of his story are left, with one or
two exceptions, to our imagination, the main course of
the struggle in which he was engaged, represents in
strong and vivid colours the spirit of the times. It
was a spirit which exercises human nature in its
highest faculties and deepest feelings-the spirit of
religious enthusiasm; a spirit which never fails to
produce great men and to give an impulse to the mind
of a nation; but one which commonly passes into a
spirit of ecclesiastic discord, and which cannot then be
cast out without tearing the body. In the tenth
century it vented itself in a war of religious opinion.
The monastic orders-in this country at least-
were then in the ascetic and fanatical stage of their
existence; and the wisdom of this world at Rome,
profiting by the enthusiasm of these distant regions,
-in which the Pope had more honour than in his own
country,—was engaged in the endeavour to fasten the
obligation of celibacy upon the Secular Clergy, thereby
reducing the whole Church into a more compact and
orderly subservience to its Head. The Regulars
afforded their zealous co-operation: for they naturally
grudged to their Secular brethren the liberty which
they had denied to themselves; and for their own rule
of life they had adopted, in its fullest rigour, the
maxim of St. Augustine-" Malum est mulierem videre,
pejus alloqui, pessimum tangere." This question of
1
xiv
PREFACE TO EDWIN THE FAIR.
clerical celibacy, therefore, became one of the great
sources of divisions in the Church.
The growing influence and uncompromising spirit
of the monastic orders had been regarded by successive
Kings, sometimes with favour, and sometimes with
jealousy and fear; and according as one side or the
other was uppermost, Seculars were ejected from their
benefices and monasteries established; or Monks were
ejected from the monasteries and Seculars restored.
But upon the whole, the fanatical party had been gain-
ing ground for more than a century; and in the reign
immediately preceding that of Edwin, monasteries had
been multiplied throughout the land.
From this state of things, danger arose to the
country in more ways than one. First, there was the
weakness from internal divisions; and next, there was
the exhaustion of the King's revenues in the building
and maintenance of monasteries instead of ships and
military defences. The Danes saw their advantage,
and after sixty years' remission of hostilities, they
descended once more upon the British coasts. A
monastery was more easily stormed than a castle, and
yielded a richer recompence; and the prayer of the
Anglo-Saxon liturgy, for deliverance "a furore North-
mannorum," brought no help to those who had
renounced the duty of helping themselves. Thus the
Regulars had hardly triumphed over the Seculars.
before the latter were revenged by the Danes.
In the treatment of my subject I have brought these
PREFACE TO EDWIN THE FAIR.
IV
causes and consequences much more closely together
than the mere chronology of history would warrant.
Considering the meagreness of the records which
remain of the Anglo-Saxons in that age, it would have
been impossible to represent the spirit of the times by
means of the events recorded as occurring in the brief
reign of Edwin the Fair. I have not scrupled, there-
fore, to borrow from the bordering reigns incidents
which were characteristic of the times, and acts which,
though really performed by some of my dramatis
persona, were not performed by them during that
portion of their lives which is included in the reign of
Edwin.
I have taken the further liberty of choosing from
amongst the accounts of the reign given by its earliest.
historians, where they conflict, those which best suited
my purpose, whether or not they might have the best
claim to be considered authentic. In the accounts of
the earlier ages of a country, perhaps the truth of
history is to be sought, less in the accuracy of the
record, than in the nature and character of the events
recorded, and the manner of recording them; and the
generalizations from the facts of such histories may be
just, whether the facts be truly stated or not, provided
only they be such facts as might probably and naturally
have occurred in such times. The first decade of
Livy's History has been proved of late years to be for
the most part fabulous; but the fables are character-
istic of the times, and the Discorsi of Machiavel,
xvi
PREFACE TO EDWIN THE FAIR.
generalizing from them, have lost little or nothing of
their value. To take an example from the subject of
my drama, William of Malmesbury relates of Edwin,
"Nam et Malmesburiense cœnobium, plusquam
ducentis septuaginta annis a Monachis inhabitatum,
clericorum stabulum fecit." Whether it be true or
not, that the monastery at Malmesbury had been
established for more than 270 years, and that Edwin
ejected the Monks and put Secular Clergy in their
place, we derive from the relation the knowledge that
such was the sort of event by which that age was
agitated, and we learn also the spirit in which such an
occupation of a monastery was regarded by a Monk.
But the historians of Edwin's reign are at variance
upon more important events than this. Even the
time and manner of his death are differently related;
and I have not much cared to inquire whether the
preponderance of authority be not against the account
which I have followed. I have overleaped also, for
the sake of compression, one of the vicissitudes in
Dunstan's career-his exile in Flanders; and in short
I have considered, that where the letter of history was
so scanty and doubtful, my chief care must be to be
true to its spirit.
LONDON,
June, 1842.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
B
DRAMATIS PERSONE.
MEN.
OF THE SECULAR PARTY.
EDWIN THE FAIR, King of England.
EARL ATHULF, Cousin to the King and Brother to Elgiva.
EARL LEOLF, Heretoch or Commander of the King's Armies.
EARL SIDROC, a Leader of the King's Party.
CLARENBALD, a Secular Priest and Lord Chancellor.
WULFSTAN THE WISE, Chaplain to Earl Leolf.
ERNWAY, a follower of Earl Leolf.
GRIMBALD, the King's Jester.
RICOLA, a Secular Priest, Chaplain to the King.
OSBERN, Bishop of Rochester.
OF THE MONASTIC PARTY.
ODO SEVERUS, Archbishop of Canterbury.
DUNSTAN, Abbot of Glastonbury.
HARCATHER, a Military Leader and Governor of Chester Castle.
RUOLD, Son of Harcather.
BRIDFERTH, Chaplain to Dunstan.
SIGERIC, Secretary to Odo.
GURMO, a creature of Dunstan.
Ceolwulf, Æthelric, Eadbald, Ida, Brand, Ecfrid, Gorf, Tosty, &c.,
Military Leaders.
Leofwyn, Fridstan, Oswald, Ethelwald, Cumba, Godredud, Morcar,
Monn, &c., Ecclesiastics.
WOMEN.
ELGIVA, Cousin to Edwin the Fair and afterwards Queen.
ETHILDA, Sister to Edwin the Fair.
GUNNILDA, Queen Mother.
EMMA, Daughter to Wulfstan the Wise.
HEIDA and
THORBIORGA,
·Fortune-Tellers.
TIME-ANNO DOMINI 956.
1
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ACT I.
SCENE I.—A Forest. A Swineherd tending his swine.
SWINEHERD (sings).
The hog he munch'd the acorns brown
Till joyfully twinkled his tail,
And he twitch'd himself up and he toss'd himself down
And he wriggled and reel'd and gallop d and squeal'd
As though he were drunk with ale :
For you shall know that what by ale or wine
To man is done, that acorns do to swine.
Ah! it was so.
Alack-a-day! so it was once.
Enter a Forester.
FORESTER.
Grunt! grunt! No end to swine. Why here's a herd!
Beech-mast is scarce. Routing and grunting.
Who's here?
Ho!
SWINEHERD.
A sinful unconsolable man,
The swineherd Ulf.
B 2
4
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
FORESTER.
Why swineherds are but men,
Ulf, what grief is his?
And man is sinful.
This is a world of ever-growing griefs.
SWINEHERD.
His grief, sir, is a grief touching his swine,
Which swine have lost their appetites.
FORESTER.
SWINEHERD.
The how, sir, is a tale that moves to pity,
But if you list to hearken, it was thus:
Last Tuesday-week, the vigil of St. Swithin,
Up in the branches of an ancient tree
I perch'd myself for shade, and there the wind
Rocking the bough and snoring in my ears,
It so mishappen'd that I slid asleep.
When I awoke my herd had wander'd far,
And far had I to follow, till, God's love!
Belated in the dusky forest's verge
I found them much amazed, a furlong's length,
No more, from where the holy Dunstan dwells,
Scourging his wasted body half the night,
And wrestling with the Evil One.
FORESTER.
A tickle neighbourhood was that.
How so?
SWINEHERD.
Wish you well!
· Out swine!'
Quoth I, 'ye villains, will ye run to the pit,
SCENE I.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
5
10
And I to follow!' And with might and speed
I drave them back; but volleying behind
There came such howls as scared us to the heart,
And to my humble thinking, since that hour
We have not had that stomach for our food,
That hearty hunger and that natural joy
In eating, that we wont to have.
FORESTER.
Such howls!
What howls? The Devil's were they, or were they
Dunstan's?
I know not.
SWINEHERD.
Sir, I have ears unskilful to discern
Betwixt the twain. They might have come from either.
For Dunstan his own back not less belabours
Than he belabours Satan.
FORESTER.
Ay, 'tis true;
A holy man is he and gives his life
Simply to crucify the lusts o' the flesh.
And mastery over evil spirits achieve.
But wist ye that he hurt the swine? Poh! no.
Not he.
SWINEHERD.
FORESTER.
Thou say'st well thou know'st not,
For thou know'st nothing; thou art an ignorant swine-
herd.
6
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
'Tis not thy swine alone; through all the land
Swine have the murrain, dogs are sick o' the mange,
Rot kills the sheep, and horses die o' the staggers ;
With rust and mildew droops the earing corn,
Swarm orchards with the moth, gardens with grubs;
And shortly, man and beast and herb o' the field
Are stricken with a thousand plagues and blights
Straight from the hand of God.
SWINEHERD.
Swine, didst thou say?
Swine have the murrain! Is it come to that?
Prithee, why so?
FORESTER.
It is but our deserts.
To please the young, misguided, heedless King,
Our monks of Malmesbury, those righteous men
That ever were at work with book and bell
Praying and fasting, and with thong and scourge
Their flesh tormenting, have been rooted out,
And in their place vile Seculars are planted,
A hunting, dancing, and carousing horde,
With wenches that they call their wives forsooth!
Oh shame to clerks, that they should wive and bed
And lead their lives so beastly! Woe is me!
What but a curse could light upon the land,
When holiest men that wont to serve the poor
With alms unceasing, beg their bread themselves,
And lewdest prosper! Softly-stand aside;
Here comes a nobleman, if we may guess
By his attendance. Canst thou yet discern
His cognisance? Earl Athulf, as I live!
SCENE II.]
7
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Enter ATHULF.
ATHULF.
Save you, good friends! How far may't be to Kingston?
FORESTER.
An hour, my lord, or little more.
'Tis late,
Or you might take the road by Warlewood chase:
'Tis some mile shorter.
ATHULF.
Being so, my friend,
The lateness should be call'd a reason more.
FORESTER.
True, sir; but it should lead you near the spot
Where Father Dunstan for these three weeks past
Nightly encounters Satan.
ATHULF.
For myself
I heed not that. Howbeit, that way wending,
Methinks that my attendance would wax thin.
Please you to show me by what devious path
may eschew the Devil and Father Dunstan.
I
FORESTER,
At your command, sir. I will
go before you.
SCENE II-A Corridor in the Palace at Kingston.
ODO, HARCATHER, RUOLD.
ODO.
Earl Athulf come! I'll with you to the King.
•
8
ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
HARCATHER.
You'll find your monasteries emptied out
Under your nose, my lord, at Sheen and Sion.
Ere it be long; and why you arm not now
It passes me to guess.
ODO.
The Abbot, sir,
The Abbot listens to no mortal voice
Except his mother's; and old Cynethryth
Is fearful of divisions; for in her youth
The splitting of the realm within itself
Was wont to sound a summons to the Dane,
And fetch him o'er the seas.
HARCATHER.
An old wife's tale
ODO.
I'll bring you to the King, and testify
That what you charge on Athulf and his house
Is worthy of all credit.
HARCATHER.
Ruold, mark,
I will thee not to loiter thus at court.
Get thee again to Chester, son.
RUOLD.
Farewell.
[Exeunt ODO and HARCATHER.
Father, farewell! and then farewell the court !
To stay should but divide me from my friends
By worse than distance; for my father's hand
Is raised against them. Wherefore, fare you well,
SCENE II.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
9
Peace be with you;
Good Athulf and Elgiva.
And not the war my father fain would wage.
Enter LEOLF and ATHULF.
LEOLF.
Fair shines the hour and friendly to my spirit,
That brings thee back. Welcome once
Kingston!
I would have said to court; but, by my faith!
Far liefer would I to a cottage bid thee,
Than such a court as this.
ATHULF.
Monks for physicians.
Court, cot, or camp,
LEOLF.
Its old disorder; complex and compounded
Of many ills in even shares partaken,—
Ambition's fever, envy's jaundiced eye,
Detraction that exulcerates, aguish fear,
Suspicion's wasting pale insomnolence,
With hatred's canker.
more to
Hutch, hovel, let it be, or blasted heath,
In shine or storm, well met! What ails the court?
[Exit.
ATHULF.
To which add, no doubt,
LEOLF.
There you touch a theme
For large and leisurely discourse. At present
I will but say, the boldest of bold hearts
Is hither come in season.

10
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ATHULF.
Say you so?
Come cowl and crosier! With a cap of steel
And battle-axe in hand, we will not fly.
But softly for a season! In what current
Runs the blood-royal? Are we where we were?
LEOLF.
O'er the Queen Mother's mean and meagre soul
Hath monkery triumph'd; taking for allies
Her past misdeeds and ever-present fears.
Upon the Princess too I see it steal,
And stain her pleasant purity of spirit.
ATHULF.
But still the King is staunch?
Raving of Dunstan.
LEOLF.
Young, young and warm;
Prompt in defiance, too precipitate;
For we must have him crown'd, or it be safe
To cross them. But the passion which in youth
Drives fast downhill, means that the impulse gain'd
Should speed us up the hill that's opposite.
How found you the mid-counties ?
ATHULF.
Oh! monk-ridden;
LEOLF.
'Tis a raving time:
Mad monks, mad peasants; Dunstan is not sane,
And madness that doth least declare itself
SCENE II.]
11
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Endangers most and ever most infects
The unsound many. See where stands that man,
And where this people: then compute the peril
To one and all. When force and cunning meet
Upon the confine of one cloudy mind,
When ignorance and knowledge halve the mass,
When night and day stand at an equinox,
Then storms are rife. Yet once the King were crown'd,
We could face Dunstan; which he knows too well,
And still by one thin pretext or another
Defers the coronation, and his will
The Primate follows.
ATHULF.
Upon Edwin's head
Before the crown must come the stout steel cap;
Is it not so?
LEOLF.
I see no other end;
And therefore, Athulf, in a happy hour
Com'st thou to Kingston. Ere the day be spent
We must take counsel with old Clarenbald.
You're strong in Wessex, and can thither send
To hold your strength in readiness. Meanwhile,
Breathe not a word of menace; for at court
The monks have eyes and ears in every chamber,
And Kingston is beset by bands of theirs.
ATHULF.
Oh mercy, monks! I'll thunder in a whisper,
And say, God save the King! inaudibly,
That only heaven shall hear.-A truce to Kings,
To monks, to madmen! Leolf, at my heart
12
[ACT 1.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
There is a matter that sits closer far
Than state affairs.
How thrive
How thrive you with my sister?
LEOLF.
Indifferently. In sooth I hardly know.
We'll talk of that—but by your leave, hereafter.
Seek we the Chancellor now, and let your mind
Put off its soldierly habiliments,
And on its garb of policy, to meet
The wise old man.
ATHULF.
Off, idle hauberk, off!
Off, clattering sword! off, greave and gauntlet!-There!
Behold me politic! Old Clarenbald,
A serious politician comes to council.
SCENE III.-Warlewood Chase. Evening.
DUNSTAN (alone).
Spirit of speculation, rest, oh rest!
And push not from her place the spirit of prayer!
God, thou'st given unto me a troubled being-
So move upon the face thereof, that light ·
May be, and be divided from the darkness!
Arm thou my soul that I may smite and chase
The spirit of that darkness, whom not I
But Thou thro' me compellest.-Mighty power,
Legions of piercing thoughts illuminate,
Hast Thou committed to my large command,
Weapons of light and radiant shafts of day,
And steeds that trample on the tumbling clouds.
SCENE III.]
13
EDWIN THE FAIR.
But with them it hath pleased Thee to let mingle
Evil imaginations, corporal stings,
A host of Imps and Ethiops, dark doubts,
Suggestions of revolt.-Who is't that dares—
Enter GURMO.
Oh! is it thou? What saith my Lord Archbishop?
He will be there.
To-night.
GURMO.
DUNSTAN.
At Sheen to-morrow!
GURMO.
DUNSTAN.
And what my Lady the Queen Mother?
GURMO.
DUNSTAN.
GURMO.
I wish'd not she should come so soon.
No matter―let her choose-To-night then be it.
Go, get thee to the hollow of yon tree,
And bellow there as is thy wont.
DUNSTAN.
Yes.
Here
How long?
Till thy lungs crack. Get hence.
And if thou bellowest otherwise than Satan,
[Exit GURMO.
*
14
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
>
*4
It is not for the lack of Satan's sway
'Stablish'd within thee.
[Strange howls are heard from the tree.
Well said, Satan! Ay!
Thou feel'st the red-hot pincers at thy nose.
And call'st thou this a fraud, thou secular lack-brain?
Thou loose lay-priest, I tell thee it is none.
Do I not battle wage in very deed
With Satan! Yea, and conquer! And who's he
Saith falsehood is deliver'd in these howls,
Which do but to the vulgar ear translate
Truths else to them ineffable? Where's Satan?
His presence, life and kingdom? Not the air
Nor bowels of the earth nor central fires
His habitat exhibits; it is here,
Here in the heart of Man. And if from hence
I cast him with discomfiture, that truth
Is verily of the vulgar sense conceived,
By utterance symbolic, when they deem
That met in bodily oppugnancy
I tweak him by the snout. A fair belief
Wherein the fleshly and the palpable type
Doth of pure truth substantiate the essence.
Enough! Come down. The screech-owl from afar
Upbraids thy usurpation. Cease, I say.
Await me in the border of the forest,
By Elstan's well.
[GURMO descends.
[Exit GURMO.
A sturdy knave is yon!
He has transacted murder in his time,
Yet will he walk in darkness through the forest
SCENE III.]
15
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Nothing discomforted nor scared. Who next?
Ha! the Queen Mother!
[Enter the QUEEN MOTHER, in a Peasant's garb.
Give your grace good even!
You are a faithful servant of the Church,
And humbler weeds than these would gladly wear,
And wilder solitudes, by night or day,
Would seek to serve her.
QUEEN MOTHER.
Father, I am faint,
For a strange terror seized me by the way.
I pray you let me sit.
DUNSTAN.
I say, forbear!
Thou art in a Presence that thou wot'st not of,
Wherein no mortal may presume to sit.
If stand thou canst not, kneel.
QUEEN MOTHER.
Oh, sinner that I am!
[She falls on her knees.
Oh merciful Heaven!
DUNSTAN.
Dismiss thy fears ;
Thine errand is acceptable to Him
Who rules the hour, and thou art safer here
Than in thy palace. Quake not, but be calm,
And tell me of the wretched King, thy son.
This black, incestuous, unnatural love
For his blood-relative-yea worse, a seed
That ever was at enmity with God-
16
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
His cousin of the house of Antichrist!
Is it as I surmised?
QUEEN MOTHER.
Alas! lost boy!
I
pray
Of ruin to my son.
DUNSTAN.
Yea, lost for time and for eternity,
If he should wed her. But that shall not be.
Something more lofty than a boy's wild love
Governs the course of kingdoms. From beneath
This arching umbrage, step aside; look up;
The alphabet of Heaven is o'er thy head,
The starry literal multitude. To few,
And not in mercy, is it given to read
The mix'd celestial cypher. Not in mercy,
Save as a penance merciful in issue,
Doth God impart that mournfullest of gifts
Which pushes farther into future time
The bounds of human foresight. Yonder book
In mercy to the King and not to me
Unfolds its tragic page. Is written there
Something that must be, something more that may,
But yet may be prevented.
On my knees,
thee, holy Dunstan, read not there
QUEEN MOTHER.
DUNSTAN.
What there is writ
Needs must I read; and if this wily wench
That profiting by the softness and green sap
S
:
SCENE III.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
17
Of ignorant youth, doth round her finger twine
The sceptre like a sliver—
QUEEN MOTHER.
Insolent jade!
Were it not, father, a good deed in Christ
To have her-in a manner. . .say...removed?
For truly, truly I may say, my lord,
Yea and in sooth I witness it against her,
That with her witcheries and wanton looks
She hath inveigled and ensnared the King,
Bewitch'd past reason, that he flouts his mother,
Forgets his duty-woeful woeful day!
Says Silence,' if I do but say 'God bless him!'
And all by her procurement and behest,
Scandalous minion! Were it not, I say,
An excellent deed and righteous before God
To take her from his sight, that she should cease
To vex good men and holy with her wiles?
DUNSTAN.
With thee the cry is ever Kill and Kill.'
I tell thee once again, my soul abhors
This vulture's appetite, not more foul in act
Than gross in apprehension. Look we round:
In Wessex Athulf more prevails than we;
Leolf in Sussex; which of us is first
In Hampshire, hard to say. I tell thee, no;
It must not be.
QUEEN MOTHER.
Or but to mew her up
•
•
DUNSTAN.
Nay, worse and worse; it were but to inflame
с
18
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
By opposition the boy's passionate will.
Be patient; meddle not with means put trust
In Providence, whose ways how knowest thou?
Say that loose access to that girl were gain'd
Despite thy watch and ward, by that loose boy-
What thence should follow is not for us to know;
Nought, peradventure, that should thrive with her.
In women's breasts the passions that are bred,
Which for a summer's season work their will,
As surely with the dangerous hour's approach
Rise like arm'd Helots raging, and are found
Of their worst enemies the best allies.
With--with a woman's passions, not against them,
He takes the field who wisely would pursue
Her ultimate overthrow.
QUEEN MOTHER.
Most excellently true!
Most true, my lord,
DUNSTAN.
I bid thee not
By either mean to practise to that end;
I do but tell thee 'tis a patient part
To stand aside in faith, nor put thy hand
To work that is not thine.
QUEEN MOTHER.
Command me always.
Oh, man of God!
DUNSTAN.
Hist! I hear a Spirit!
Another and a third. They're trooping up.
SCENE IV.]
19
EDWIN THE FAIR.
QUEEN MOTHER.
St. Magnus shield us!
DUNSTAN.
Thou art safe; but go;
The wood will soon be populous with Spirits.
The path thou cam'st retread. Who laughs i' the air?
Ecce crucem, spargere lucem,
Spiritûm Trias, pandite vias!
The way
is open. To St. Elstan's well
I will attend thee, and there Gurmo waits.
SCENE IV.-A Chamber in the Palace.
Enter ATHULF and ELGIVA.
ELGIVA.
This is the chamber where the Council sits:
I leave thee here: the very rushes bristle,
Disdaining to be trodd'n by female feet.
Indeed I am.
ATHULF.
To meet at eight, the summons said. By this
They are at hand; but ere you go, one word.
I see a trouble sit on Leolf's brow.
Elgiva! oh my sister! art thou true?
ELGIVA.
ATHULF.
And doth he know thee true?
ELGIVA.
I trust he knows the truth.
C 2
20
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
These are short answers.
ATHULF.
The truth, Elgiva?
Dost thou love him still?
ELGIVA.
Sincerely and in truth and honesty
Have I dealt with him always and do now.
I verily believed I loved him once.
I think I love him still.
ATHULF.
Alas! alas!
But not him only, no, nor yet him most.
Beware, my sister, that ambition's weeds
Choke not the garden where thy love should grow.
In Man of questionable quality
Ambition has been holden; but in Woman—
Oh! 'tis the veriest beggary of the heart
That winter ever witness'd!
ELGIVA.
Athulf, no;
A weaker to a stronger love may yield;
But not in me will love or weak or strong
Yield to ambition ever.
ATHULF.
Oh, this head!
So shapely and by nature so adorn'd!
Far rather would I see the glossy braid
Of its own golden tresses circle it
Than England's jewell'd crown.
[An Attendant, who appears at the door, announces The Chancellor."
Good night, Elgiva. Said'st thou a stronger love?
"
SCENE IV.]
21
EDWIN THE FAIR.
The strength of love is constancy. Farewell!
As came the honey from the lion's carcase,
So sweetness comes of strength. Beware, I say ;
Kings love like other men—or other boys :
Not so they marry.
[Exit ELGIVA.
Gone in anger! Well;
Reproof that vex'd not never yet sank deep,
Nor ever of a warning that was welcome
Came needful caution. Tush! a woman's wrath.
And yet the very day that first we meet
To send her from me angry! Tush! to-morrow
Had she but said, Good night!
Enter CLARENBALD.
CLARENBALD.
My lord, well met !
If I be late, let them that are to come
Plead for me.
<
ATHULF.
Nay, you do but prove it true
That ever are the busiest the most punctual.
CLARENBALD.
Sir, they have leisure. Only frugal men
Are truly liberal, and for like cause
Will he that husbands time have time to spare.
Enter the KING, with EARLS LEOLF, SIDROC, ALWINE, the BISHOP
of ROCHESTER, and two or three other Lords of the Council.
EDWIN.
My lords, we meet you here to be advised
Touching our coronation. My Lord Chancellor
Will set this thing before you.
22
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
CLARENBALD.
My good lords,
What, if I err not, each of us with each
Hath weigh'd in several conference, the King's Grace.
Commands me that I finally propound
For your collective sanction. From the West
Come tidings that the monks of Glastonbury
(Doubtless apt implements of their Abbot they!)
Have practised with Prince Edgar in such sort
As hardly may decline the name of treason.
Whilst they this child's simplicity seduce,
Their brethren in the ignorant multitude
Work a persuasion that the King not crown'd
Lacks half the warrant of his sovereignty,
Which till the Pope thro' them shall please bestow,
The kingdom is disposable. This creed
Spreads day by day, and till the King be crown'd
Will daily breed new dangers. From the hands
Of my Lord Primate, neither crown nor chrism
By any instance can the King obtain :
Wherefore, my lords, our counsel to his Grace
Methinks should be, that scattering like the sun
All clouds of hindrance and delay, at once
He should rise crown'd, and on a summer's morn
Shine in the feeble faces of the monks
A consummated Monarch.
EDWIN.
And his aid
Will this true servant of the church and state
Afford us; [turning to the BISHOP OF ROCHESTER] from
whose pure and holy hands
SCENE IV.]
23
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Much rather than from that disloyal Odo's
Would we receive the crown.
BISHOP OF ROCHESTER.
Much honour'd were the See of Rochester,
More honour'd still were these unworthy hands,
Should they perform the office.
EDWIN.
Most royal sir,
You, my lord Heretoch, speak first.
LEOLF.
Sirs, your votes.
Forces conclusions, and Necessity
Sits in the seat of Counsel. Dunstan gains
By every hour's delay, and with my will
Uncrown'd your Majesty shall not remain
Beyond St. Austin's eve.
ATHULF.
All hail that eve!
Dunstan would rather Beelzebub were crown'd.
THE REST.
All.
The time
SIDROC.
And Odo when he wash'd the Devil's feet
(Shame to him for his pains!) felt not his nose
So sorely troubled as his ears will be
To hear of this. Enough-St. Austin's eve
We're all agreed on.
LEOLF.
Then must all join
24
EDWIN THE FAIR.
[ACT 1.
Their speediest with their wariest endeavour
To bring up forces.
CLARENBALD.
To this end, my lords,
His Majesty will give you means to meet
In cover of the chase your chiefest friends,
And Wednesday he appoints a day of sport
For hunting of the boar. He then with us
Will lose himself, bewilder'd in the wood,
And others that shall likewise lose themselves
Shall find him, and in sylvan convocation
Shall all consult together and concert
The parts that each shall play.
EDWIN.
THE REST.
Agreed.
Agreed.
EDWIN.
Then for this present, trusted friends, we part.
SCENE V.-Another Chamber in the Palace.
ELGIVA and ETHILDA.
ELGIVA.
How is it I find favour in the sight
Of the Queen Mother, and so suddenly?
When I was last at court no word she spake
Of welcome by herself, the King, or thee.
Whence is the change?
SCENE V.]
25
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ETHILDA.
I know not; but I know
That but one change in thee would work in us
All love that thou couldst wish. Oh sweet Elgiva,
Restore thyself to God in his true church,
And stray not in that howling wilderness
Where never is the voice of gladness heard,
Of bridegroom nor of bride.
ELGIVA.
My royal cousin,
"Tis thou that strayest in that wilderness.
Except amongst the monks, I know not where
The voice is silenced of the bride and bridegroom.
I pray you be not factious for the monks.
Ask Athulf—ask my brother. Have you seen him?
He came but yesterday.
ETHILDA.
I saw him not.
ELGIVA.
Oh he is bright and jocund as the morn,
And there is not on earth that wilderness
Which he could not reclaim, and in its wastes
Detect the springs of fruitfulness and joy.
ETHILDA.
When last I saw him-ere he went to the west,
I was almost a child; but I remember
How wild he was with pleasantness and mirth.
I was gay then, although I seem'd not so
Beside his bounding spirit. Is he now
Of the same temper?
26
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ELGIVA.
Not so thoughtless now,
And more in broken lights; but nature still
Predominates, whose revels in his heart
Hardly can care suspend.
Enter EDWIN.
EDWIN.
Oh this is kind!
You know not, my fair cousin, what a cloud
Came over all the court when you were gone;
It was as dreary as a city churchyard.
Now we shall smile again.
Enter an Usher.
Your Majesty...
USHER.
Her Majesty
Prepares for her devotions, and bade say
She waits the Princess.
ETHILDA.
For this night, adieu.
ELGIVA.
Adieu, good night, sweet kind Ethilda!
EDWIN.
Kind is she always; she is kind to stay
Ever, when you are absent, by my side,
And also kind to go when you are here.
ELGIVA.
Yes;
[Exit.
[Exit.
SCENE V.]
27
EDWIN THE FAIR.
1
EDWIN.
We are alone, Elgiva;
Oh how I hate my title in your mouth,
Whence every other utterance is a charm.
Rather than speak as in the audience-chamber,
Let us be children once again, to rove
O'er hill, through vale, with interlacing arms,
And thrid the thickets where wild roses grow
Entangled with each other like ourselves.
Can you and will you those sweet days remember,
And strive to bring them back?
ELGIVA.
Those days-Oh Edwin! ..
Can I remember? when can I forget them?
When flowers forget to blow and birds to sing,
And clouds to kindle in the May-day dawn,
And every spring-tide sight and sound shall cease,
Or cease for me, then too for me shall cease
The sweet remembrance of the tender joys,
The smiles, the tears of those delightful days.
You are a King.
EDWIN.
And can they not repeat themselves? Again
Let us, though grown, be children in our hearts.
Then with the freedom and the innocence
Which led our childish steps we'll wander on
Through after life, but with a fuller joy.
Let recollections of the past, if sweet,
Plead sweetly for the present.
ELGIVA.
Edwin, Edwin !
28
[ACT 1.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
EDWIN.
Now, see! I've summon'd up,
Like a magician whose strong spell evokes
A beautiful spirit, the spirit of the past,
And bid it speak and prophesy and plead;
And lo! it nothing answers but the words
The herald spoke, when o'er my father's grave
He brake his wand of office. I am a King,
But may not Kings be happy? Nor not love?
ELGIVA.
Oh they are most unfortunate in that!
For when their hearts would rise from earth to heaven,
Leaving low aims, which can but be thro' love,
Then strangers intermeddle with their joy.
And strangers such as those that thee surround
Are opposites to joy and love not more
Than they are to all monarchy malignant.
The monks are enemies that Kings may fear,
Though of the bravest, and my father's house
Is hateful in their sight.
EDWIN.
Nay, talk not of them;
I loathe this monkery, and if I live
Will root it from my realm.
ELGIVA.
Oh that you may!
And earls not few and many a gallant thane
Would gladly in that cause their hearts' best blood
Pour out like water. Athulf is but one,
Yet if you knew him is he many's worth.
I
SCENE V.]
29
EDWIN THE FAIR.
EDWIN.
If more of him I know not, yet that much
I amply know. Then surely with his aid
We may defy the monks, or better still
We may forget them, ay forget the world,
Its cares, its kingdoms, and unbank the hours
To that soft overflow which bids the heart
Yield increase of delight. Beloved Elgiva,
Thy beauty o'er the earth a passion breathes.
Which softly sweeping through me, brings one tone
From all this plural being, as the wind
From yonder sycamore, whose thousand leaves
With lavish play to one soft music moved
Tremble and sigh together.
ELGIVA.
What a charm
The neighbouring grove to this lone chamber lends!
I've loved it from my childhood. How long since
Is it, that standing in this compass'd window
The blackbird sang us forth; from yonder bough
That hides the arbour, loud and full at first
Warbling his invitations, then with pause
And fraction fitfully as evening fell,
The while the rooks, a spotty multitude,
Far distant crept across the amber sky.
But hark! what strain is this? No blackbird's song,
Nor sighing of the sycamore!
EDWIN.
Some friend,
As if the key-note of our hearts divining,
Accordant music ministers. Hist! Hist!
30
ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR,
(A Song from without.)
God speed thee, false day,
With thy gauds and thy splendour;
Thy glare frights away
All that's truthful and tender.
It dies away.
Give place then above
To the star that of old
Lit the glances of Love
When his secret was told.
ELGIVA.
EDWIN.
It is but distant more.
(Song resumed.)
On the bosom of night
Lie the tresses of truth,
But its moments take flight
With the light steps of youth.
Make the most of the least,
For too soon comes the warning,
When announced in the east
Is the grey-headed morning.
EDWIN.
Come, follow it; but stop-let me leap down
And help you from the window-sill. So quick!
If you are light of foot as Atalanta,
You ought like her to give your Love the start.
[Exeunt.
Enter the QUEEN MOTHER and DUNSTAN from opposite sides.
QUEEN MOTHER.
So, well-so, well. It may be so, my lord;
But mercy on my soul! if she should prosper!
SCENE VI.]
31
EDWIN THE FAIR.
I
DUNSTAN.
To bed, to bed; 'tis late.
QUEEN MOTHER.
But if she should!
DUNSTAN.
The sky is clear; the air is still; the blue
Of yonder firmament is pure and soft.
God rules the night. Saw'st thou the falling star?
SCENE VI.-A Court in front of the Palace.
Enter the Chief Huntsman followed by other Huntsmen,
a Bugleman, and Hounds.
CHIEF HUNTSMAN.
What! none astir? By the Lord! the King lies long:
Young blood, sirs—ay it tingles when it wakes,
And yet it sleeps the soundest. Ranger! Churl!
What! down, sir, down! Oh, flatteries of dogs!
We're courtiers all. Come, Uthric, where's thy horn?
We'll sound them a reveillée.
BUGLEMAN.
"
By the mass!
'bellows to mend !
But no matter;
I wheeze to-day as who cries,
I'm out of breath with snoring.
Here is a puff on't left.
CHIEF HUNTSMAN.
[Winds his horn.
Why, so that's well.
32
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Another whiff, then.
BUGLEMAN.
SECOND HUNTSMAN.
Prithee, wake not the moon;
'Tis but a half hour gone since she turn'd pale
And went to bed.
THIRD HUNTSMAN.
This dog is full of fleas.
SECOND HUNTSMAN.
Excuse him; he has been amongst the monks.
CHIEF HUNTSMAN.
Who's here? Earl Sidroc. You are first, my lord.
Enter EARL SIDROC.
SIDROC.
I'm risen this hour; a snuff of the dawn for me!
My nose doth love it better than a nosegay.
[Horn winds.
CHIEF HUNTSMAN.
Right, my good lord. You see her there, sir-Elf;
Oh, the best bitch! She holds them all together;
Relay or vauntlay 'tis the same to her;
Endways she runs it still and orderly.
SIDROC.
She is a good one. Sound another call.
To keep the King's dogs waiting is unmannerly.
Most true, my lord !-I
Plague of this asthma!
BUGLEMAN.
am not what I was!
Better have the mange!
[Winds a recheat.
i
SCENE VI.]
33
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Enter ATHULF, followed by a Page.
ATHULF.
Set forward with the dogs-the King desires it.
[Exeunt Chief Huntsman and his train.
And hark ye, we shall hunt to-morrow too;
Here-boy! Tell whom it may concern, to-morrow
The King gives leave that I should ride Greymalkin.
I'll wear my hunting suit of green and gold.
See that Greymalkin is brought here betimes,
For we start early.-Grace be with thy thoughts
And peace with grace and joy be with thy heart
Sidroc the sober!-Go thy way, my boy.
Hast thou a moral ready? Come, a moral.
SIDROC.
For what? Greymalkin, or the green and gold?
Am I a coxcomb?
ATHULF.
Neither they serve-they come but second now—
Appliance-means.
SIDROC.
[Exit Page.
No more-why that is well.
ATHULF.
SIDROC.
Who can answer that?
Thou wast not yesterday; but lo! at court
If but a man shall stoop his head a minute,
Leaps a bespangled monkey on his back.
And grins at all beholders.
D
34
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ATHULF.
Oh my soul!
Be not coxcombical I beg of thee!
For I am lifted in mine own conceit,
That is most certain.
But that is nothing.
SIDROC.
I lament thy rise.
But come discourse it orderly; by what beck
Of Fortune's crookedest finger wast thou led
Up this ridiculous ascent? The King?
Some special favour?
ATHULF.
Pooh! The King is kind,
SIDROC.
Nothing good, I grant you.
The sun that striking in upon thine hearth
Puts out thy fire, may yet too weakly shine
Itself to yield thee warmth: true, you say well,
The King is nothing. What less chilling light
Has beam'd upon thy fancy?
ATHULF.
By my soul
I know not that I shall not be ashamed
To tell my story. As I went to court
Late yesterday, the Queen, who saw me, sent
Commanding my attendance. A long hour
I waited, conning in the Troy-Town chamber
The stories in the tapestry, when appear'd
The Princess, with that merry child Prince Guy.
SCENE VI.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
35
He loves me well, and made her stop and sit,
And sate upon her knee, and it so chanced
That in his various chatter he denied
That I could hold his hand within mine own
So closely as to hide it; this being tried,
Was proved against him; he insisted then
I could not by his royal sister's hand
Do likewise: Starting at the random word
And dumb with trepidation, there I stood
Some seconds as bewitch'd; then I look'd up
And in her face beheld an orient flush
Of half-bewilder'd pleasure: from which trance
She with an instant ease resumed herself,
And frankly with a pleasant laugh held out
Her arrowy hand.
SIDROC.
What could she less? a hand
To have and hold is something; but to hold
And not to have—but end your tale—this hand-
ATHULF.
I thought it trembled as it lay in mine,
But yet her looks were clear, direct, and free,
And said that she felt nothing.
SIDROC.
ATHULF.
What felt'st thou ?
A sort of swarming, curling, tremulous tumbling,
As though there were an ant-hill in my bosom.
-I said I was ashamed.-Sidroc, you smile;
If at my folly, well! But if
you smile
D 2
36
[ACT 1.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Suspicious of a taint upon my heart
In this its first affection, far you stray
From the fair truth; I could no more commingle
Impure imaginations with my love
Than with my prayers.
SIDROC.
No, no, I did not smile.
Proceed, I pray you,-speak it; of this hand
The issue in experiment? the proof?
This lesser quantity-this in majore—
Was it containable?
ATHULF.
I proved it not.
More manly, wise and courteous I deem'd it
Not to press hard on opportunity
Or wring it dry, but something leave behind
In warrant that no greedy grasping heart
Was mine, that on a light and trivial token
Feeding might grow in self-encouragement
Too fast to fatness.
SIDROC.
I conceive your counsel;
Not all devouring was your policy;
Something you left for bait.
ATHULF.
'Twas not in craft.
SIDROC.
Your pardon; in myself it would have been;
But let me not misjudge thee by myself;
For by a happy instinct art thou led
SCENE VI.]
37
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Unerringly and unsuspiciously,
When timid craft, too wary to be wise,
Would swerve for lack of blinkers.
ATHULF.
SIDROC.
Here's the King.
Ay, and a lady with him-Room-make room.
Enter EDWIN and ELGIVA, attired for the chase.
ELGIVA.
Remember that a king can take no step
That shall not measured be by rule and square
Of some too curious eye that follows him.
[Exeunt.
ELGIVA.
EDWIN.
We will be careful. Shall I tell thee, love?
The grim Archbishop came to me last night,
And with him Dunstan, and oh Heaven and Earth,
They preach'd me dead!
What was it that they preach'd?
EDWIN.
Alas, a thousand things! They said my crown
Was not a myrtle-wreath, and kings were call'd,
As fathers of their lieges, to affect
All equally and favour none, nor loves
Nor friendships ever to permit themselves,
Save as commended to their royal hearts
By counsels grounded in state policy.
3S
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ELGIVA.
Oh! insolence of churchmen! What a gift
Of meddling is in monks! What answer made you?
EDWIN.
I said, lord Abbot, and my lord Archbishop,
My crown, of myrtle whether it may be,
Or as your hearts would have it, sirs, of thorns,
I wear not at your will, and with God's help
I trust that I shall friendship find and love,
Counsel and policy more kind and sage
Than yours, my lord Archbishop, or than yours,
Lord Abbot Dunstan.'
ELGIVA.
I am glad you spake
So frankly and so nobly-glad at heart!
EDWIN.
Lo! who comes here? 'Tis Dunstan, by my life!
And who is he behind?
ELGIVA.
EDWIN.
Gurmo he is call'd.
'Tis a blue, swollen, unwholesome-looking knave,
That ever follows him as plague doth famine.
ELGIVA.
Let's seem to see them not and wend our way.
[Exeunt EDWIN and ELGIVA.
Enter DUNSTAN and GURMO.
DUNSTAN.
Lo there! a lovely couple hand in hand,
SCENE VII.]
39
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Go to Harcather-
But which of them is male...
Tell him the public letters I have writ
Directing the disbandment of his force
Import not present payment. It were well
He muster them from time to time to take
The guerdon promised, which, if I shall send
The moneys, he may liquidate; if not
The fault is mine, and having not the means,
He needs must put them off, but ever, mark,
To some not distant day. Take horse to-night.
SCENE VII.A Forest.
The KING, ATHULF and LEOLF, the CHANCELLOR CLARENBALD,
the BISHOP OF ROCHESTER, and divers Earls and Thanes.
CLARENBALD.
To this then cleaving, let us bind ourselves
By oath so having in our hearts the will,
There shall the conscience clench it. My lord Bishop
The oath administers.
The sacred symbol.
LEOLF.
This tree supplies
[Breaks two twigs from a tree, and transfixes them crosswise with
the point of his sword, which he then presents to the BISHOP.
THE BISHOP OF ROCHESTER [holding forth the cross to the sur-
rounding Nobles, who kneel and bow their heads towards it].
On Austin's eve to crown your rightful King
Ye swear! If peril of your lands or life
Should stand between, ye swear of life and land
To take no count; but putting trust in Him
40
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
From whom the rights of Kings are derivate,
In its own blood to trample treason out,
And loyalty in liberty to raise.
This on this cross ye swear!
ALL.
We swear! We swear!
EDWIN.
And now my lieges, lords and friends, adieu!
In very deed I thank you from my soul;
For in your looks I read that not alone
A common purpose joins you hand with hand,
But likewise that confederate hearts are here.
I thank you, sirs; adieu!
CLARENBALD.
Disperse yourselves
In twos and threes; so severally seen
You will not prompt suspicion.
[Exeunt all but ATHULF and LEOLF.
LEOLF.
Athulf, stay.
I am for Sussex, there to raise my power.
ATHULF.
Your Seneschal is there; what needs yourself?
LEOLF.
Nor you nor I can longer blind ourselves.
I am needed nowhere.
ATHULF.
Leolf, on my soul
What I do see I see with grief and shame.
SCENE VII.]
41
EDWIN THE FAIR.
LEOLF.
Reproach her not; she is a child in years,
And though in wit a woman, yet her heart,
Untemper'd by the discipline of pain,
Is fancy-led. One half the fault was mine.
She is a child; and look-upon my head
Already peepeth out the willowy grey.
My youth is wearing from me.
ATHULF.
LEOLF.
Nay, not so.
And youth and sovereignty, with furtherance fair
Of a seductive beauty in the boy,
What could they but prevail !
ATHULF.
No child is she;
And if she were, is childhood then so false?
She is weak of heart.
LEOLF.
No more. For Hastings I!
No more or Athulf, but one word-but one-
To her I would not say it, but to thee
My friend in all fidelity approved !
I-Athulf, she is gone from me for ever!...
But this remains . . . I can devote my life
To serve her and protect her... broken hearts
Have service in them still-Oh more than strength
Is in the sad idolatry that haunts
The ruinous fane of their deserted faith!
I can adore her, serve her, shield her, die...
I pray you pardon me . . . is shame no more?
42
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
I should be silent, for I am not licensed
To either dotage-that of youth nor age.
ATHULF.
Oh Leolf! oh my friend!
LEOLF.
Quit we the theme.
But from my griefs and me this counsel take:
Expend the passion of thy heart in youth;
Fight thy love-battles whilst thy heart is strong,
And wounds heal kindlily. An april frost.
Is sharp, but kills not; sad october's storm
Strikes when the juices and the vital sap
Are ebbing from the leaf. No more! My men
Shall stand in readiness; but for myself,
Unless a martial opposition call,
I would the King might please to pardon me
If I appear not on St. Austin's eve.
ATHULF.
I'll say that you are shaken in your health:
This shall suffice-I would it were less true.
LEOLF.
You'll hear, and that ere long, my native air
Hath done its work restorative. Farewell.
SCENE VIII.-In the Palace.
The KING and CLARENBALD.
CLARENBALD.
I swear such terror did I never see
Amongst a King's retainers! my old blood
SCENE VIII.]
43
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Sprang to my wrinkles, where it had not been
These fifty years! One said that he was sick;
Another's wife was dead; a third would go,
But he must have a warrant sign'd and seal'd.
"Good carpet-knights!" quoth I, "not one of you
Shall do this errand; for a fainting will,
A gasping utterance and a frighten'd face
Shall not be bearers of the King's commands
To Dunstan.”
EDWIN.
You said well; no timorous heart
Shall figure me in this.
Ask him to go.
CLARENBALD.
To do them right,
They'd charge a Northman in his coat of proof
And flinch not; but this shaveling's meagre face,
With his mass-hackle and his reef and stole,
Puts all to flight.
EDWIN.
Lo! here's my cousin Athulf.
Enter ATHULF.
CLARENBALD.
My lord, well met! The King
Would wish his pleasure signified to Dunstan
Touching his coronation. Some there be
That blink the service, lest through sorceries
And conjurations of the villanous Abbot,
A curse should cross them; but thy brain, we know,
Brooks not such vain bewilderments.
44
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ATHULF.
I vow
Meat to my mouth goes not with better speed
Than I upon this errand.
CLARENBALD.
Excellent!
Abounding in all fortitude of soul
And then he spat.
I ever knew you. Here's St. Tibba's thumb,
A relic of much price, which ne'er till now
Was parted from me; put it in your vest,
And heartily we bid you well to fare.
SCENE IX.-A Corridor in a Monastery at Sheen.
Two Monks.
FIRST MONK.
He slept two hours-no more; then raised his head,
And said Methinks it raineth.'
(
SECOND MONK.
Twice he cough'd
FIRST MONK.
He raised himself and said,
'Methinks it raineth '-pointing with his hand.
The word was even as though an angel's tongue
Had spoken, and when I look'd it rain'd apace.
SECOND MONK.
Against such blows what body of mortal man
Could e'er hold out? He's on the way to heaven
SCENE IX.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
45
Unless he deal more mildly with his flesh.
He cough'd and spat, and labouringly as 'twere.
FIRST MONK.
He raised his body-which is just his bones-
Upon one hand, and with the other pointed.
And father Bridferth met me in the court,
And quoth he, 'Hast thou seen the holy Dunstan ?'
I answer'd Yes, and on his wasted hand
There were red stains caught from the nightly scourge.'
SECOND MONK.
Nightly and daily, brother. At this hour
He plies it for a double 'De Profundis.'
As I pass'd out, the Primate came, and said,
C
• Is the lord Abbot risen?' And I replied,
'My lord, he is.'
Enter ATHULF, attended by the King's Jester, GRIMBAL D.
ATHULF.
God save you, holy sirs!
Is father Dunstan here?
SECOND MONK.
My son, he is.
He rose at five. I gave him his hair shirt.
FIRST MONK.
At four he call'd for me and sate upright,
And on his hand that when he raised himself
Was pointed outward—so—
ATHULF.
I
Earl Athulf, on an errand from the King,
pray you tell him
46
T
EDWIN THE FAIR.
[ACT I.
Would be beholden to his courtesy
For some three minutes of his time.
SECOND MONK.
Unless your business be of instant haste
He hardly will bestow himself so early
On aught of secular concernment.
ATHULF.
My lord,
No?
But, sirs, it is in haste-in haste extreme-
Matters of state, and hot with haste.
SECOND MONK.
My lord,
We will so say, but truly at this present
He is about to scourge himself.
ATHULF.
I'll wait.
For a King's ransom would I not cut short
So good a work! I pray you, for how long?
SECOND MONK.
For twice the De Profundis '-sung in slow time.
ATHULF.
Please him to make it ten times, I will wait.
And could I be of use, this knotted trifle,
This dog-whip here, has oft been worse employ'd.
FIRST MONK.
My lord, we'll bring you to the room where stand
The poor, whose feet he washes after penance,
A
I
SCENE X.
47
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Whence you may see him in the oratory
Plying the blood-stained scourge. Tread softly, sirs,
For he were not well pleased should he discover
That stranger's eyes beheld him.
SCENE X.-An Oratory.
DUNSTAN, in a shirt of sackcloth stained with blood, reclines on
a pallet of straw. ODO stands near him. Two Choristers
are closing their books.
How farest thou, brother?
ODO.
DUNSTAN.
Brother, weak in flesh
But strong of spirit. Choristers, retire.
[Exeunt Choristers.
Brother, behoves us to compel our thoughts
An instant from above, and on this world,
Its temporalities and secular cares,
Turn them, so long averted. Say, in brief,
What tidings hear'st thou ?
ODO.
Still a gathering round
Of the King's forces, trooping to the call
Of Rehoboamn's councillor, rash Earl Athulf.
DUNSTAN.
Son of perdition, he affronts his fate!
But there are more than he?
ODO.
At Hastings still
48
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Earl Leolf stands aloof; but holds his
In present preparation.
DUNSTAN.
power
Brother, lo!
With blasting and with mildew shall they perish!
With madness, blindness, and astonishment
Shall they be smitten, the young man and the virgin,
Terror within them and a sword without!
One way against us shall their host come forth,
And seven ways flee before us. What is this?
ATHULF is heard without, singing:
Sinks the sun with a smile,
Though his heart's in his mouth,
And night comes the while
With a sigh from the south.
Like them, Love, are you,
In your coming and flying;
For you smiled me adieu,
And you welcome me sighing.
DUNSTAN.
What mumming knave is here ?-Brother I say,
Their host shall flee; the anger of the Just
Shall smoke against them.-Nay, again! What, ho!
GRIMBALD is heard without, singing:
There was a maid that was a jade,
Four lovers true had she;
What, ho
To keep the precincts?
One did so dote, that he cut his own throat,
And she poison'd the other three.
DUNSTAN.
are we attended? Are there none
SCENE X.]
49
EDWIN THE FAIR.
GRIMBALD'S song continued.
From this we learn to see and discern,
Nor hotly to desire
A maid whose store of lovers is more
Than her just needs require.
Enter BRIDFERTH (DUNSTAN'S Chaplain).
DUNSTAN.
What vile noise is this
Of juggling mountebanks that bellow and sing?
BRIDFERTH.
My lord, Earl Athulf, from his Majesty,
Attended by his Majesty's chief jester,
Expects the end of your observances,
And entertains his patience.
ODO.
Insolent scoffer!
DUNSTAN.
The King hath sent him? Nay then, bring him here.
[Exit BRIDFERth.
ODO.
Attended by a jester! Is't not monstrous?
The jester shall to prison, if not the Earl.
He shall be whipped, and make a jest of that.
DUNSTAN.
Brother, not so. A grave occasion this,
Which calls us to account and bids be still
All outward flourishes of empty anger.
Far looks the present hour and sees beyond
A fertile future Brother, in our brains,
E
1
50
[ACT I.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Not in our bloods, are we to seek the seeds
Wherewith to sow it.
Enter ATHULF.
Welcome, sir, to Sheen!
ATHULF.
My lord Archbishop, and my good lord Abbot,
I crave your blessing. Summons from the King
I bring you both, that you attend the court
At Kingston, on St. Austin's eve, to grace
His coronation, and therein perform
Each your fit function: then and there, lord Primate,
You shall anoint him King, and you, my lord,
As is your right, shall with the golden spurs
Adorn and illustrate the royal heels.
DUNSTAN.
Sir Earl, all rights that in the church reside,
And in ourselves, at all times stand we prompt
To exercise; and on St. Austin's eve,
Obedient alway to the King-next God—
As He shall give us guidance shall we walk.
ATHULF.
I will so say. The King expects your aid,
But in default thereof, his head and heels
Will punctually upon St. Austin's eve
Be otherwise attended. Fare you well!
DUNSTAN.
Ho, ho! Sir Earl; say'st thou St. Austin's eve?
Look to thy sister!
[Exit.
SCENE X.]
51
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ODO.
Nay, it shall not be.
DUNSTAN.
The wedding shall not; for the rest compound.
If, as their wanton bearing seems to boast,
It cannot be withstood, lo! give it way.
This weakling, Edwin, from the arms escaped
Of Ethbaal's daughter, the Zidonian quean,
As amiably shall answer to our call
As a tame culver.
}
ODO.
Were he but escaped!
DUNSTAN.
As with gross appetite he now enjoys
(If insight fail me not) the all of folly,
So shall we see him soon agape for change,
Loathing his love foregone. Yield, brother, yield.
Yet hold your force the while not less alert
To answer each event. Be armed within,
Be gowned without. Good brother, yield, but stand.
E 2
52
[ACT II,
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ACT II.
SCENE I.-LEOLF's Castle, in the neighbourhood of Hastings.
EMMA (alone).
He walks upon the beach. A mind perturb'd
Shall find the sea companionable. His
Is sorely troubled or my comment errs,
That is not uninspired. Oh, dearest Leolf!
You see not me with love-discerning eyes,
As I see you, or you would pity me.
When last I saw you, stately was your strength,
And you are now a very noble ruin.
Might I but be the wild flower on the wall
Of that war-wasted tower! A weed, alas!
But with a perfume.-Were I but at court
Soon should I see what currents cross him there.
The King? And if it be . . . Here's my soft slave.
Now to your work, my plotting scheming brains,
And I shall thrive.
Enter ERNWAY.
Well, Ernway, friend, what cheer?
ERNWAY.
I thank you, I am well in health. My heart
Is heavy, as you know.
EMMA.
'Tis a good heart ;
SCENE I.]
53
EDWIN THE FAIR.
But pitch me overboard this sand and gravel.
With a light heart a meagre wit may pass ;
Or with a copious wit a heavy heart;
But when the ship that's vacant of a freight
Labours with nothing but the dead-weight . .
ERNWAY.
Hush!
Although you love me not, you should not scorn me,
Lest some day you be scorn'd yourself.
What can I do?
EMMA.
'Tis true;
I should be gentle; and, good faith! I love you;
Not amorously, I own, but amicably.
You are a kind and most affectionate fool,
And beautiful besides. I love your eyes,
Your hair, your mouth, your chin; I love you piecemeal;
I love your softness, gracefulness, and warmth;
And putting you together, on the whole
I like to see you at my heart's gate sit
Upon a winter's day and toss you crumbs.
Such is my friendship, and this many a day
I have not tax'd you for returns.
But now...
ERNWAY.
EMMA.
What will you?
ERNWAY.
Nay, what not?
If my weak wit, that you despise so much,
Can compass it, I'll do it.
54
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
+
EMMA.
ERNWAY.
For you I will: I would not for myself.
Will you tell lies?
EMMA.
Thou art a virtuous youth and loving liar.
"Tis better than to be a lying lover;
And yet not good-and would you not be good?
ERNWAY.
As good as you—no better.
EMMA.
I
your conscience!
"Tis much to have one soul to answer for!
Yet will I make you sin.
I am a liar and a cheat.
Will you be like me?
As good as I?
Now say-
ERNWAY.
I have said I will.
EMMA.
You will get nothing for it.
ERNWAY.
Not a smile?
EMMA.
A smile at most-assuredly not more.
ERNWAY.
I am content to lie and cheat for that.
EMMA.
You come from court. There's much of service there
SCENE I.]
55
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Is of that kind and in that coin requited.
Now you will instantly to court again,
And for the service you can do—'tis this,
To take me with you.
ERNWAY.
I would kneel for years
But for the blessing of a morning dream
That told me you would ask me this in earnest.
At last you will.
I tell you, you shall do it. But there's more.
Think not that I will let the word go forth
That I have wander'd from my home with you
Unwedded. You must say we're man and wife.
EMMA.
And will you marry me?
ERNWAY.
EMMA.
What I? Oh no.
ERNWAY.
EMMA.
No, neither last nor first.
ERNWAY.
Well, I will fancy that you will; of that
You cannot hinder me.
EMMA.
Indeed I can;
And if your fancy once should err so far,
I will disforest its demesne for ever
56
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
That nothing wild or free shall wander there ;
Dispark its parks, dismantle and destroy
Its cloud-built castles. You are to present
The shadow of a husband—nothing more,
And this but for a season. Oh! my heart!
Dear Ernway, I will not torment you much;
And sooth to say, I'm sorry for your pain.
To-morrow, for a sin you've not committed
I'll teach you to entreat a false forgiveness.
You must ask pardon of your worthy sire
For a clandestine marriage. He will storm,
But heed him not. There, you may kiss my hand;
And now, I pray you, go.
ERNWAY.
Good bye, sweet Emma.
EMMA.
6
Call me Dear Wife'' Sweet Emma' is too loving;
'Tis an unmarried phrase; whereas Dear Wife'
Imports the decencies of dry affection.
ERNWAY.
No, I will say, 'Sweet Emma.'
EMMA.
What you will
When we're alone. Come with me to the beach.
!
SCENE II.]
57
EDWIN THE FAIR.
SCENE II.-The Sea-shore, near Hastings.
LEOLF (alone).
Perilous shelf
Once again
Rocks that beheld my boyhood!
That nursed my infant courage!
I stand before you—not as in other days
In your grey faces smiling-but like you
The worse for weather. Here again I stand,
Again and on the solitary shore
Old ocean plays as on an instrument,
Making that ancient music, when not known!
That ancient music, only not so old
As He who parted ocean from dry land
And saw that it was good. Upon my ear,
As in the season of susceptive youth,
The mellow murmur falls-but finds the sense
Dull'd by distemper; shall I say—by time?
Enough in action has my life been spent
Through the past decade, to rebate the edge
Of early sensibility. The sun
Rides high, and on the thoroughfares of life
I find myself a man in middle age,
Busy and hard to please. The sun shall soon
Dip westerly, but oh! how little like
Are life's two twilights! Would the last were first
And the first last! that so we might be soothed
Upon the thoroughfares of busy life.
Beneath the noon-day sun, with hope of joy
Fresh as the morn-with hope of breaking lights,
Illuminated mists and spangled lawns
58
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
And woodland orisons and unfolding flowers,
As things in expectation.-Weak of faith!
Is not the course of earthly outlook, thus
Reversed from Hope, an argument to Hope
That she was licensed to the heart of man
For other than for earthly contemplations,
In that observatory domiciled
For survey of the stars? The night descends,
They sparkle out. Who comes?
daughter.
Enter EMMA.
EMMA (to ERNWAY in the side-scene).
Go now and bring my father.-Good my lord,
I fear you've fallen in love with solitude.
LEOLF.
A growing weakness-not so tyrannous yet
But that I still can welcome from my heart
My pretty friend.
'Tis Wulfstan's
EMMA.
I thank you, my good lord.
LEOLF.
You find me here discoursing to the sea
Of ebbs and flows; explaining to the rocks
How from the excavating tide they win
A voice poetic, solacing though sad,
Which when the passionate winds revisit them
Gives utterance to the injuries of time.
Poets, I told them, are thus made.
EMMA.
My lord,
SCENE II.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
59
It is not thus through injury, I would hope,
That you are made poetical?
LEOLF.
Indeed
There's much that has gone wrong with me, my friend.
How wears the world with you?
EMMA.
I see so little of it, I thank God!
That like a wedding-garment seldom used
It keeps its shine.
LEOLF.
Why, then, the world wears well:
Was married, say you?
But where's the wedding-garment?
EMMA.
Why, my lord,
'Tis here for I was married as you see me.
Truly, my lord,
LEOLF.
I pray you say to whom?
EMMA.
Yes, my lord, last week;
O' wednesday, God forgive me!
LEOLF.
EMMA.
This is strange!
Alack, my lord!
60
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
To a poor foolish follower of your lordship's—
Poor Ernway.
LEOLF.
What! to him!
EMMA.
For fault of better.
Maids that are beggars cannot, you know, be choosers.
LEOLF.
Well, if you like him I am glad you have him,
And I will mend his fortunes for your sake.
EMMA.
I care not for his fortunes. Oh, my lord!
Your pardon! But I care for nothing now
Save only this, that you should break the news
To my dear father, and on my behalf
Crave his forgiveness; for he dreams not of it.
LEOLF.
He will but dream when he has heard it. Still
This life, and all that it contains, to him
Is but a tissue of illuminous dreams
Fill'd with book-wisdom, pictured thought, and love
That on its own creations spends itself.
All things he understands, and nothing does.
Profusely eloquent in copious praise
Of action, he will talk to you as one
Whose wisdom lay in dealings and transactions;
Yet so much action as might tie his shoe
Cannot his will command; himself alone
By his own wisdom not a jot the gainer.
SCENE II.]
61
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Of silence and the hundred thousand things
'Tis better not to mention, he will speak,
And still most wisely.-But, behold! he comes,
Led by your bridegroom, (is it not?) who now
Runs back.
EMMA.
Some fifty yards he has to come,
And holding us before him full in sight,
It may be he will find his way to join us.
But lest he wander and forget himself,
I will conduct him hither.
LEOLF.
Is it not strange
That such a maid should so bestow herself?
But with her courage and her confidence,
Her soft sagacity and ready wit,
Mixes the woman's weakness. For the sire,
He will but aptly moralise the theme,
And then forget the fact.
Enter EMMA with WULFSTAN THE WISE.
WULFSTAN.
For from his youth
His converse hath been profitable; yea,
In teaching him instruction made rebound
And I was wiser for my pains. In truth
I have consider'd and have studied him
With peradventure more of curious care
And critical inquiry than befits
A friend so inward; and I'll vouch for this,
That though, as you have said, the vernal bloom
Of his first spirits fading leaves him changed,
[Exit.
62
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
His mind is as a meadow
"Tis not to worse.
Of various grasses, rich and fresh beneath,
But o'er the surface some that come to seed
Have cast a colour of sobriety.
For he was ever.
He stands before you.
EMMA.
But, my dearest father,
WULFSTAN.
By my life, 'tis true!
Well met, my good lord and my excellent friend!
My daughter warns me of some tiding strange,
Surprising, unimaginable, by you
To be delivered.
WULFSTAN.
LEOLF.
Strange you needs must think it.
But should it grieve you, call to mind, I pray,
The precept I have heard a thousand times
From your own lips: philosophy, you said,
If ministering not to practice, were more vain
Than a child's rattle, for the infant's mind
The rattle doth in practice hold at rest.
'Tis true; for just philosophy and practice
Are of correlative dependency,
[Exit.
Neither without the other apt or sound
Or certain. For philosophy itself
Smacks of the age it lives in, nor is true
Save by the apposition of the present.
And truths of olden time, though truths they be,
SCENE II.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
63
And living through all time eternal truths,
Yet want the seasoning and applying hand
Which Nature sends successive. Else the need
Of wisdom should wear out and wisdom cease,
Since needless wisdom were not to be wise.
For surely if . . . .
LEOLF.
The theme I have to broach
Respects a certain marriage, which for my sake,
Though it will certes take you unprepared,
Yet you must leniently look upon
And auspicate with smiles.
WULFSTAN.
A marriage say you?
My good lord, I rejoice in your resolve.
To marry wisely is to double wisdom,
And breed a progeny of bright rewards,
Which wisdom single, monachal or lay,
Woefully wants. For think what it must be
To watch in solitude our own decay,
Jealously asking of our observation
If ears, or eyes, or brains, or body fail,
And not to see the while new bodies, brains,
New eyes, new ears, about us springing fresh,
And to ourselves more precious than are ours.
And this it is . . .
LEOLF.
I give you my consent
That a wise marriage is the crowning act
Which queenly Wisdom's sovereignty secures;
64
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
For love is wisdom, when 'tis innocent:
But for myself..
WULFSTAN.
The season comes with you
When love that's innocent may well be wise.
But not inevitably one with wisdom
Is innocent love at all times and with all.
Love changes with the changing life of man :
In its first youth, sufficient to itself,
Heedless of all beside, it reigns alone,
Revels or storms, and spends itself in passion.
In middle-age,—a garden through whose soil
The roots of neighbouring forest trees have crept,—
It strikes on stringy customs bedded deep,
Perhaps on alien passions; still it grows
And lacks not force nor freshness: but this age
Shall aptly chuse as answering best its own
A love that clings not nor is exigent,
A
Encumbers not the active purposes
Nor drains their source; but proffers with free grace
Pleasure at pleasure touched, at pleasure waived,
A washing of the weary traveller's feet,
A quenching of his thirst, a sweet repose
Alternate and preparative, in groves
Where loving much the flower that loves the shade,
And loving much the shade that that flower loves,
He yet is unbewildered, unenslaved,
Thence starting light and pleasantly let go.
When serious service calls.
LEOLF.
'Tis all most true.
SCENE II.]
65
EDWIN THE FAIR.
But of these tidings you misjudge the tenour.
'Tis not of mine, but of your daughter's marriage,
I am to speak.
WULFSTAN.
My daughter, my good lord!
Must she be married?
LEOLF.
'Twas her will to be;
gave it way.
And upon wednesday she
WULFSTAN.
Was married upon wednesday? It is strange!
She was a child but yesterday, and now
A woman and a wife! O' wednesday~
And unto whom, I pray you, was she married?
LEOLF.
To one whose comeliness in woman's eye
Excels the gifts of fortune that he wants;
To one whose innocence in the eye of heaven
Excels the excellence of an erring wit:
To Ernway.
WULFSTAN.
You astonish me, my lord.
It is most strange; indeed 'tis singular!
She never mentioned it to me.
LEOLF.
In that
She missed of what was filially owing
To a kind parent, for which lapse through me
She craves forgiveness.
F
66
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
*
WULFSTAN.
I have lost my child!
LEOLF.
Nay, nay, my worthy friend.
Does all go well?
WULFSTAN.
My lord, 'tis so.
She is my daughter, but no more my child;
And therein is a loss to parents' hearts
Exceeding great.
Enter an Officer.
OFFICER.
My lord, there's news from court;
They seek you at the castle, whither is come
Oscar, that's so much trusted of Earl Athulf,
With letters.
LEOLF.
Of what purport, did he say?
OFFICER.
To take his word, my lord,
They speak of nothing but prosperity.
My lord Archbishop, with a loyal will,
Abets the coronation, in whose wake
Comes my lord Abbot Dunstan, his lean cheek
Surprised with smiles. So smoothly runs the realm.
Missives are sent to each confederate earl
To bid his power disband; and these to you
Are of that import.
LEOLF.
Is it so? Oh, Athulf!
SCENE III.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
67
Art thou not over-reach'd? I fear it much.
Dunstan in smiles? A presage to be fear'd.
I would I were at Kingston with my power.
Conceive you what this smiling may portend?
WULFSTAN.
You read it as the scholiast of mankind
Should ever read their acts, conjunctively,
Interpreting the several by the whole.
LEOLF.
Then, Hederic, we will expedite the levies.
The daylight's lengthen'd by yon rounding moon.
Long marches and short nights-and so to Kingston.
SCENE III.-Kingston. A Chamber leading to the Banqueting
Hall in the Palace.-The Dish-Thane passes through, fol-
lowed by other Officers of the Household, by Attendants
bearing dishes, and by the Female Cupbearer. In the back
of the scene are a motley crowd, consisting of Musicians
tuning their instruments, Two Fortune-tellers, HEIDA and
THORBIORGA; GRIMBALD, the KING's Jester; BRIDFERTH,
DUNSTAN'S Chaplain; a few Monks and secular Priests,
several Thanes of the second rank, Ceorls and Soldiers.
The Persons of the scene are in constant movement, changing
their situations or passing in and out, some eagerly, others
idly. Once or twice an Earl or Ealderman passes through,
but without stopping or mixing with the crowd, which
reverently makes way. The parties who are heard to speak
are those who pass in front or pause there.
FIRST SOLDIER.
In the north aisle was I and saw it all.
F 2
68
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
SECOND SOLDIER.
The bailiff (curse him!) broke my head with his staff
Or I had got there too.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Most royally
His excellent Majesty demean'd himself,
And graciously and grandly. At the Abbot
Methought he look'd askance, but with the rest . .
[They pass,
FIRST MONK.
In the south aisle. He falter'd as he swore
To keep the church in peace.
SECOND MONK.
FIRST MONK.
It was as white as leprosy.
His cheek was pale.
BRIDFERTH.
No marvel,
For such an eye was on him in that hour
As smote Gehazi.
[They pass.
A THANE (who advances in company with a Scholar).
Hark ye! are we blind?
The Princess was led in by brave Earl Athulf ;
And didst thou mark the manner of it, ha?
SCHOLAR.
Methought she lean'd upon him and toward him
With a most graceful timid earnestness;
SCENE III.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
69
A leaning more of instinct than of purpose,
And yet not undesign'd. But think you then . .
[They pass.
HEIDA (sings to a harp).
She was fresh and she was fair,
Glossy was her golden hair;
Like a blue spot in the sky
Was her clear and loving eye.
He was true and he was bold,
Full of mirth as he could hold;
Through the world he broke his way
With jest, and laugh, and lightsome lay.
Love ye wisely, love ye well;
Challenge then the gates of Hell.
Love and truth can ride it out,
Come bridal song or battle shout.
FIRST PRIEST.
Our gallant Heretoch, the good Earl Leolf,
Should have been there methought.
SECOND PRIEST.
He should have been;
But there are reasons, look ye,—reasons-
Most excellent reasons-softly—in your ear-
-reasons-mum-
THORBIORGA (sings).
He stood on the rock,
And he look'd on the sea,
And he said of his false Love,
'My Love, where is she?
[They pass.
'Have they bought her with bracelets
And lured her with gold?
Is her love for her lover
A tale that is told?'
70
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
From the crest of the wave,
In the deep of the gulf,
Came a voice that cried, 'Save!
For behold the sea-wolf!'
He stood on the rock,
And he look'd at the wave,
And he said, 'Oh, St. Ulfrid!
Who's this that cries, Save!'
Then arose from the billow
A head with a crown,
And two hands that divided
The hair falling down.
As the foam in the moonlight
The two hands were fair,
And they put by the tangles
Of seaweed and hair.
He knew the pale forehead-
A spell to his ear
Was the voice that repeated,
'The sea-wolf is here!'
'I come, Love,' he answer'd:
At sunrise next day
A fisherman waken'd
The Priest in the Bay.
"For the soul of a sinner
Let masses be said-
The sin shall be nameless,
And nameless the dead."
Enter the Great Chamberlain with the Horse-Thane and
other Officers of the Household.
GREAT CHAMBERLAIN.
His Majesty! Make way. His Majesty!
Sound trumpets!
[A flourish of trumpets.
SCENE III.]
71
EDWIN THE FAIR.
[The KING, wearing his Crown and leading in the QUEEN Mother,
passes across the back-scene, and is followed by EARL ATHULF
leading in ETHILDA, by ODO and DUNSTAN, with SIGERIC and
BRIDFERTA, by HARCATHER, CEOLWULF, ÆTHELRIC, EADBald,
IDA, BRAND, Ecfrid, Gorf, and Tosty, all military leaders on
the Monastic side; and by CLARENBALD, EARL SIDROC, the BISHOP
of Rochester, and divers great Officers of State and Nobles of
the KING'S party. The Procession, when it passes off, enters the
Banqueting Hall.
FIRST CEORL.
The King stepp'd proudly.
SECOND CEORL.
But his countenance
Methought was troubled. Is he well in health?
There's Dunstan.
FIRST CEORL.
Now comes the Primate.
SECOND CEORL.
What, can this be he
That looks so fierce and haughty? Once before
I saw him, when a cripple asked for alms;
So lowly of demeanour was his Grace,
I had not known, but for the mitred head,
Which was the beggar, which the lord Archbishop.
FIRST CEORL.
He's humble to the poor to spite the rich.
Give me the man that's humble to his peers.
SECOND CEORL
FIRST CEORL.
What, is yonder thing alive?
GRIMBALD (the Jester, who has come up behind).
Sir, he's above ground.
72
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
SECOND CEORL.
So we see, my friend.
GRIMBALD.
A hole i' the earth
mostly: yea his life
For this occasion, sir.
Is where he lives, sir,
Is of the earth, sir, earthy.
FIRST CEORL.
It was there
That he encounter'd Sathanas.
GRIMBALD.
'Twas there.
The Devil, sir, one day, grubbing for earth-nuts-
A simple fare you'll say, but for his ends
The Devil you'll find can be a very hermit—
Digging and grubbing-what should his old claws clutch
But father Dunstan's skull! Ho, ho!' cried he,
A bigger one than ever;' but thereat . . . .
Oh mercy! here is Gurmo! Sirs, I say,
The feasting and the singing and the dancing.
Should carry us to midnight-Cockadoodle!
C
A song will I sing
Of an excellent king
That carried his crown where a bee has her sting.
Enter from the Banqueting Hall Two Ushers.
FIRST USHER.
The third cup has gone round. You're welcome now
To take your places at the lower board.
SCENE III.]
73
EDWIN THE FAIR.
GRIMBALD.
In, tag-rag-enter, rabblement—in all !
And to him the Queen said,
'Sure your senses are fled,
Put your boots in that place and your crown on your head.'
In, dregs; in, scum; in, commonalty, in!
In, many fools by nature, one by name
!
[Exeunt into the Banqueting Hall, all but the Ushers and
the Scholar.
FIRST USHER.
The Princess and a certain Earl sit close.
SCHOLAR.
Ah! she is peerless! Happy were that man
That should enthrall her though she were a peasant!
What in another might have seem'd amiss
In her was but a freshness and new charm
Loosed from the graceful nakedness of nature.
She ate but half a pigeon, and did you mark
How with her tiny fingers and her teeth
She gnaw'd and tore the bones, talking 'twixt whiles,
With such a lively and a pretty action,
That appetite itself and all its ways
Seem'd mainly spiritual.
SECOND USHER.
Hush! Hark to that!
FIRST USHER.
The ladies leave the board.
SCHOLAR.
[A flourish of trumpets.
I'll see her go.
74
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
í
She ever moves as if she moved to music.
Are ye not wanted? Oh! what's like to her!
SCENE IV.A Chamber in the Palace.
Enter EMMA.
EMMA.
Credentials? yes-Earl Leolf's may go far;
But truly I was made to thrive at court
With or without them, being merry and wise.
They trust to me already as to one
That works by miracle; and can I not
To clear the proud Elgiva from the path
Of lovelorn Leolf? Married shall she be
I will be both.
Or e'er the sun go down; so shall his wound,
Tho' deep, have rest and heal. Could twenty kings
Have turn'd aside my heart, or in my eyes
Possess'd one twentieth part the sovereignty
That crowns his kingly head!
Enter ERNWAY.
In time for once.
Seek Father Ricola out;
Take this to Sheen.
Tell him the King shall follow in an hour,
And then Elgiva.-Ernway, if thou lov'st me,
Be sudden and be secret.
ERNWAY.
Trust me, Emma,
EMMA.
Here is the private stair
SCENE V.]
75
EDWIN THE FAIR,
Which brings you past the ward, and with this key...
How dark it is! Be careful how you step.
SCENE V.-The Banqueting Hall.-Are seated at the board, all
the Male Guests who passed through in the Third Scene. But
the King's place is vacant. Goblets are passed from hand to
hand. GRIMBALD the Jester stands behind the chair of state.
HARCATHER.
Comes not the King again?
CEOLWULF.
Surely he will.
TOSTY.
He will! Nay, nay, he must.
DUNSTAN.
Content yourselves;
It cannot be but he will come again.
He cannot mean us such disparagement
As thus and at this high and solemn feast,
To quit his guests, the noblest of the land,
Without a God be with you,' or a word
To sheathe the sharp directness and the sting
Of such a plain offence.
IDA.
'Twere good, my lords,
We sent our humble duty to the King,
Craving his expedite return.
GREAT CHAMBERLAIN.
Grith, Offa,
Go seek the King; and say his noble guests
76
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Find themselves by his absence overcast
As with a cloud, and pray his swift return.
GRIMBALD.
Betwixt the new ship and the headland old
The dolphins duck'd and the waters roll'd.
Worse and more of it! the wind went mad—
But the pilot he drank no more than he had.
CEOLWULF.
A singular and unadvised retreat.
TOSTY.
Peace, Fool! The very hour that he could spare us
TOSTY.
one of us—I say if I . . .
I say if one of us-
Well, well, he's young.
SIDROC.
[Exeunt GRITH and OFFA.
TOSTY.
I say, my lords, if I,
Not being sick nor drunk, jump from my seat,
And turn on this illustrious company
My back, that is not comelier nor more pleasant
Nor acceptabler than another man's,
Why then, my lords, let me be who I may,
I
say I offer to this company,
Not being drunk, a strange discourtesy,
And quite the obverse of a salutation.
ETHELRIC.
Bear this, and we shall. . .
CLARENBALD.
Tut! he'll come again.
SCENE V.
77
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Pass round the goblet. Eadric, take the harp,
And sweeten our carouse with minstrelsy.
How now?
[Music. After which re-enter GRITH and OFFA.
GREAT CHAMBERLAIN.
OFFA.
My lords, his gracious Majesty
Bids us to say that he has calls elsewhere,
And loves not too much quaffing, which is wont
To leave you with less reason than the beasts,
Rolling upon the floor. Wherefore, my lords,
He prays you with all love and courtesy
To hold his grace excused, for he is young,
And loves not quaffing.
ODO.
Will ye suffer this?
If rated thus for nothing, what's your fate
When standing for your liberties ye check him?
If thus affronted at the festive board,
What in the Witenagemót awaits you?
He loves not quaffing!
TOSTY.
HARCATHER.
Rolling on the floor!
ATHULF.
Sirs, for his Majesty's too hasty message,
I grant it ill-advised; but, sirs, his youth,
If ye will temperately consider . . .
HARCATHER.
Youth!
Hath youth a privilege to maltreat the old ?
78
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
'
ECFRID.
Ah, my good lord Athulf,
There are sins beside.
He loves not quaffing!
But what else loves he?
Say he had left us for a lady's bower-
There is a revelling he impugns not.
DUNSTAN.
Ha!
ECFRID.
What lady she may be, my good lord Athulf,
Concerns not us.
ODO.
Ho! some of you go forth
And seek the King, and say to him from me
That he, or willingly or not, perforce
Must instantly return; and see ye bring him.
ATHULF.
Whoso shall take that errand from this hall,
Let him take that therewith.
[Throws his glove on the floor. Three or four Earls start up
in their seats. In the meantime GURMO has entered and
spoken apart to DUNSTAN.
DUNSTAN (rising).
My lords, sit still. I'll bring the boy myself.
Here, varlets, sweep this litter from the floor.
[Spurns the glove with his foot as he passes and exit,
ATHULF (his hand on his sword).
Which of you here that wears not frock nor hood
Will this vile Abbot's vilest act avouch?
SENESCHAL.
Peace, ho! My lords, bethink
[Several Earls of the Monachal party lay their hands on their swords
and spring upon the floor. The company rises in disorder.
ye where
ye are;
SCENE VI.
79
EDWIN THE FAIR.
He that within the palace draws his sword
Doth forfeit an earl's were.
Keep the King's peace!
Nor I; nor I.
Peace, peace, be still!
HARCATHER
Not I, for one.
Withdraw! withdraw!
TOSTY.
OTHERS.
SENESCHAL.
Then who will keep it not
Let him withdraw, and not pollute with blood
The precincts of the palace.
EADBALD.
MANY VOICES.
Then withdraw.
Nor I.
HARCATHER.
Keep the King's peace? If longer than three minutes
I keep it, may I die in my bed like a cow!
RICOLA.
SCENE VI.-An Apartment leading to an Oratory in the Royal
Residence at Sheen.-As the Scene opens, EDWIN and ELGIVA
are discovered before the altar in the Oratory, and RICOLA,
the King's Chaplain, is joining their hands. They all three
then advance out of the Oratory to the front.
So be ye one from this time forth for ever,
And God for ever be your gracious guide
80
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
In love and peace to live! A hasty rite
Hath solemnised your nuptials; not the less
Be ye observant of the sacred bonds
Wherein ye stand contracted for all time.
My sovereign lord and lady, ye are young,
And these are times and yours beyond compare
Stations of trial: Be ye each to each
Helpful, and fullest of comfort, next to God.
And so, my blessing pour'd in tears upon you,
I bid you well to fare.
EDWIN.
My honour'd friend,
We thank you for this service, one of many,
But of the many greatest. For awhile
Our secret kept, the Queen abides with you.
I must return to Kingston; but ere midnight
Once more you'll see me here. Farewell till then.
Shortly the Queen shall follow you.
[Exit RICOLA.
Elgiva!
Oh, past expression beautiful and dear,
And now my own for ever! Let my soul
Be satisfied, for 'tis a joy so great
To know thee mine, that nature for my bound
Seems insufficient, and my spirit yearns
Intent with thee to pass from this pale earth
Into that rosy and celestial clime
Where life is ever thus.
ELGIVA.
How joy fulfilled
Now no change can come
Makes the heart tremble!
That is not to be feared.
SCENE VI.]
81
EDWIN THE FAIR.
AwM
Re-enter RICOLA.
RICOLA.
My lord, my liege,
Forgive me--but I fear . . . . I'm old, my lord,
And shake at trifles, but I strangely fear
That mischief is afoot.
EDWIN.
At Kingston?
RICOLA.
There,
And coming hitherward; the poor fool Grimbald
Came flying like the scud o' the storm before
To warn you.
EDWIN.
And what saith he? Call him in.
[RICOLA goes to the door and returns with GRIMBALD.
Well, my good fool, and what hast thou to tell?
GRIMBALD.
There was grace after meat with a fist on the board,
And down went the morat, and out flew the sword.
ELGIVA.
Truce to thy calling for a while, good fool,
And tell us plainly what befell.
GRIMBALD.
By the ears
The nobles went together; in the fray
The Horse-Thane and the Dish-Thane were o'erborne
And sent to prison. Then I took to my heels
To bring you word.
G
82
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ELGIVA.
Earl Athulf? Where is he?
GRIMBALD.
He stood against Harcather hand to hand
When I departed; but I know no more.
Enter the QUEEN MOTHER.
QUEEN MOTHER.
So you are here, my son, and madam, you!
And is it for this you scurry from your place?
Is it for this you quit your noble guests?
Is it for this you vex the kingdom? Yea,
To shedding of blood—for there has blood been shed—
For nought but this? Oh, fie! for dalliance-oh !
And whiles you waste the hours in wantonness
EDWIN.
Good mother, speak of what you know. Not here
Was either wantonness or waste of time.
You little think how little idly spent
Has been the hour that's gone.
QUEEN MOTHER.
·
How spent? oh, son!
But here come those can speak. Lo! here they come !
RICOLA.
Enter DUNSTAN and ODO, with two or three Thanes following, who
are gradually augmented as the scene proceeds till the stage is
filled with DUNSTAN'S adherents.
Wilt please you to withdraw?
ELGIVA.
I thank you, no.
SCENE VI.]
83
EDWIN THE FAIR.
EDWIN.
Wherefore is this, my lord Archbishop? Why
Dost thou pursue me to my privacy?
When I did leave you 'twas my will to leave you.
Am I your King, or am I not?
ODO.
Sir, sir,
'Tis true, with suffrage of the Witena,
You were anointed with the holy oil
And crown'd this day by me.
That you are free to spurn us. Pather deem
That calls more urgent, bonds of stricter claim,
Enjoin the duties of your sovereignty;
Amongst which duties eminently first
Is this, that when your lords and councillors,
The pillars of the realm, in conference meet,
You should be with them, wisely there to learn
From the assembled wisdom of the state.
EDWIN.
But deem not thence
'Twas for carousal, not for conference,
They met to-day.
DUNSTAN.
Sirs, stand ye all apart,
And suffer that I reason with the King,
Whose youth betrays him. Oh unruly flesh!
Oh wanton blood of youth! the primal sin!
The first offender still! The original snare!
Perdition came of Woman, and alway since
When Time was big with mischief and mischance
He felt his forelock in a soft white hand.
G 2
84
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ELGIVA.
Of Woman say'st thou that perdition came?
'Twas of the serpent, priest.
QUEEN MOTHER.
What, break'st thou in?
Thou bold and naughty jade! Thou pit! Thou snare !
EDWIN.
Oh, mother, hold! Know you at whom you rail ?
Deem her your daughter or me not your son.
QUEEN MOTHER.
Thou art not and thou shalt not be my son
If thou demean'st thyself to her—a witch!
A practiser of sorceries!
EDWIN (kneeling).
Oh God!
I pray
Thee that Thou shorten not my days,
Ceasing to honour this disnatured flesh
That was my mother.
ELGIVA.
Never was she that:
Oh Edwin, had God granted thee a mother,
What honour had we render'd her!
DUNSTAN.
Thou darest!
And seest thou in what presence? Be thou warn'd!
Thy witcheries that inflame this carnal King
Far other fires shall kindle in the church—
The channel as of mercies, so of wrath.
Thou stand'st before its excellent Archbishop,
SCENE VI.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
85
And me its humblest minister: men both
Dead to the flesh and loathing from their souls
To company with women. To us thy charms
Are flat and futile as thy sins are sharp
And spur us to that vengeance God inflicts.
Through us on scorners.
EDWIN.
Heed them not, Elgiva.
ELGIVA.
Content thee! never were they heeded less
By God or by his angels than by me.
EDWIN.
Insolent churchmen! You renounce the world!
All in it that is loving or can be loved
You'll teach yourselves and others to renounce,
Because cold vanities with meagre heats
Alternate have consumed you to the core
And given your hearts the dry-rot. Meddlesome monks!
The love it is not in you or to feel
For women or from womankind to win
You ostentatiously deny yourselves
As atrophy denies itself to fatten.
ELGIVA.
What worth are you to us, that set no store
By you or by your threats? I tell thee, priest,
I do make no account of thee.
DUNSTAN.
Fly hence,
Pale prostitute! Avaunt, rebellious fiend
Which speakest through her!
86
[ACT II.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
My lawful wedded wife.
ELGIVA.
I am thy sovereign mistress and thy Queen.
And I tell thee more,
0.
Lord Abbot, by no
EDWIN.
QUEEN MOTHER.
Ah, woe is me!
ODO.
Thy lawful wife! How lawful? By what law?
Incest and fornication!
DUNSTAN.
Who art thou?
I see thee, and I know thee-yea, I smell thee!
Again 'tis Satan meets me front to front,
Again I triumph! Where, and by what rite,
And by what miscreant minister of God
And rotten member, was this mockery,
That was no marriage, made to seem a marriage?
RICOLA.
DUNSTAN.
What then, was it thou?
The church doth cut thee off and pluck thee out!
A synod shall be summon'd! Chains for both!
Chains for that harlot and for this dog-priest!
Oh wall of Jezreel!
EDWIN.
Villains, stand ye back!
Stand from the Queen . . . . Oh, had I but a sword!
SCENE VI.]
87
EDWIN THE FAIR.
What-felons! Ye shall hang for this ere long
Loose me or I will . . . .
ODO.
Sir, be calm, and know
'Tis for your own behoof and for your crown's.
ELGIVA.
Be of good comfort, Edwin; we shall meet
Where none can part us. Are ye men? Hold off!
I will not put you to that shame to force me.
[She is taken out.
ODO.
Thou Queen! Go, get thee gone! A crown for thee !
No, nor a head to put it on to-morrow.
QUEEN MOTHER.
Alack the law is sharp. But Gurmo, run,
See she have Christian burial; speed thee, Gurmo.
DUNSTAN.
Madam, your pardon. Gurmo, wait on me.
EDWIN.
Elgiva, oh Elgiva! Oh, my wife!
I'll find thee friends, though now.... Oh, traitors!
slaves!
When I have raised my force, I'll bring you bound
With halters round your necks, to lick the dust
Before her footstool. I will have you scourged
By hangmen's hands in every market town-
Yes, you, my lords !——O woman, get thee hence!
I cast thee from me and I curse the fate
That made thy hateful womb my habitation
$8
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Ere my blind soul could chuse. Perfidious monk!
Smilest thou, villain ! But I will raise a force . .
[Exit.
DUNSTAN.
Lord Primate, thou hast crown'd a baby's brow.
May it please you follow lest he come to harm.
[Exit ODO.
Friends, quit not my lord Primate. Follow all.
[Exeunt all but HARCATHER, who stays behind on a sign
from DUNSTAN.
Harcather, haste; convey Elgiva hence
With speed to Chester, and in strictest ward
Confine her there; but keep her life untouch'd.
[Exit HARCATHER.
So shall we brandish o'er the enamour'd King
A trenchant terror.-See we next what friends
Will stead us in the synod.—Break, thou storm !
My soul is ready. Try thy strength against me.
ACT III.
SCENE I.-The Castle at Tonbridge.—LEOLF's Army encamped
around it.
OSCAR and LEOLF's Seneschal.
OSCAR.
I would that Wulfstan might have staid behind;
He hath the Heretoch's ear, and though he's wise
His wisdom is not for the camp; we march
As with a drag-chain.
SCENE I.]
$9
EDWIN THE FAIR.
SENESCHAL.
Nay, good Oscar, nay;
We can't go further yet. The force in front
Hourly increases; our reserves are late;
And nothing comes from Wessex.
Enter WULFSTAN THE WISE.
Your daughter, as I hear, is married.
It is a blessing if her choice be yours,
And if it be not, still the father's heart
Will give the child God-speed.
WULFSTAN.
Assuredly.
I did but bid her be less mutable,
Telling her that the past, or worse or better,
If driven in her and experienced home,
Might be as piles whereon to build the future,
Else insecure. I bid her be resolved,
Her choice now planted, forth of it to bring
The fruits of constancy; for constancy
On all things works for good; the barren breeds,
The fluent stops, the fugitive is fix'd
By constancy. I told you, did I not,
The story of the wind, how he himself,
The desultory wind, was wrought upon ?
OSCAR.
Worthy sir,
Well;
Yes, sir; you told it twice.
WULFSTAN.
[Exit Seneschal.
The tale was this:
The wind when first he rose and went abroad
90
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Through the waste region, felt himself at fault,
Wanting a voice; and suddenly to earth.
Descended with a wafture and a swoop,
Where wandering volatile from kind to kind
He woo'd the several trees to give him one.
First he besought the ash; the voice she lent
Fitfully with a free and lashing change
Flung here and there its sad uncertainties:
The aspen next; a fluttered frivolous twitter
Was her sole tribute: from the willow came,
So long as dainty summer dress'd her out,
A whispering sweetness, but her winter note
Was hissing, dry, and reedy: lastly the pine
Did he solicit, and from her he drew
A voice so constant, soft, and lowly deep,
That there he rested, welcoming in her
A mild memorial of the ocean-cave
Where he was born.
Enter LEOLF, with EMMA, ERNWAY, and GRIMBALD.
All this befell?
LEOLF.
Unhappy news! last night!
Sorely I grieve-ay, bitterly repent—
Had I been in my place-oh weak recoil—
But it avails not.-Yesterday, my friends,
Was fruitful in events. The King was crown'd,
Was married, was o'ermaster'd by the monks.
The Queen the while to Chester carried captive;
Earl Athulf to the Tower.
OSCAR.
In one short day
SCENE 1.]
91
EDWIN THE FAIR.
WULFSTAN.
Oh, woe-bewilder'd day!
GRIMBALD.
A shout-a hubbub in the camp-our ears
Are but fools' ears, and yet they hear a shout.
LEOLF.
A welcome to some friend. As each arrives
They hail him thus, and as the force he brings
Is more or less, so measure they the cry.
This is the loudest I have heard.
Look out.
ERNWAY.
I see no force, my lord; and but one man,
Who hurries hitherward, and as he comes
They crowd him, and with clapping of their hands
And shouting bring him on. See!
ATHULF enters hastily.
ATHULF.
Oh my friend . .
Leolf... Alas! ... What, Grimbald with you! ... Nay,
You know it then already. Think no worse
Of us or of our fortunes than they are.
This half-faced treason will not touch the life.
Ill-starr'd ambition! Oh my luckless sister!
But think her not endanger'd.
LEOLF.
And yourself?
How came you hither? Were you not in ward?
ATHULF.
The Princess with a signet of the King's,
:
92
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Gold of her own, and promises and tears,
Wrought on my guards. They follow me.
You are avenged. My sister, oh my sister!
She is not and she could not be forgiven!
God's justice.
•
LEOLF.
These are sad tidings.
Athulf, say no more but this;
She stands within the keeping of God's love.
For earthly aid, 'twill reach her with such speed
As earthly love can minister. The light troops
Shall march with me to Cheshire, leaving you
With the main body of my force and those
That soon will join you, to relieve the King.
So shall I check the rising in the West,
Which we must look for else, and so provide
Against extremities and accidents
That else might hurt the Queen. They muster now
And wait me on the ramparts.
ATHULF.
Oh Leolf!
OSCAR.
I am with you.
[Exeunt LEOLF and ATHULF.
EMMA.
With a frightful force
They tear Earl Athulf, for his hopes were high
And he was crowding canvas. To his friend,
Whom in a foggy grief they found becalm'd,
They come but as a vivifying gust
To quicken what was dead: from this time forth
SCENE I.]
93
EDWIN THE FAIR.
A cry is in his heart, a trumpet-call
That sounds a summons to the rescue: see
If he obey it not.
OSCAR.
A settled gloom
Was in his face before.
Prey'd on him inwards.
EMMA.
A seated pain
WULFSTAN.
Ah! that inward pain!
A lobster, should his limb . . .
GRIMBALD.
The camp is all in motion.
is all in motion.
The banners fly i' the wind.
Ho! Holla! Ho!
Look! Behold!
EMMA.
A token this
That we are soon to march. Get we afoot.
[Exeunt EMMA, OSCAR, and GRIMBALD.
WULFSTAN.
A lobster, should his limb have eating sores,
Or his articulate coat of mail be pierced,
Snaps the offending member at the joint
And casts it off-such surgery is his;
And as by instinct he, so we by art
Of amputation, easily discard
The outward seats of pain-
94
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
EMMA (from behind the scene).
Come, father, come.
WULFSTAN.
The outward seats of pain-I will, my child.
SCENE II.-A Chamber in the Tower of London.
DUNSTAN (alone).
Kings shall bow down before thee, said my soul,
And it is even so. Hail, ancient hold!
Thy chambers are most cheerful, though the light
Enter not freely; for the eye of God
Smiles in upon them. Cherish'd by His smile
My heart is glad within me, and to Him
Shall testify in works a strenuous joy.
-Methinks that I could be myself that rock
Whereon the church is founded,-wind and flood
Beating against me, boisterous in vain.
I thank you, Gracious Powers! Supernal Host!
I thank you that on me, though young in years,
Ye put the glorious charge to try with fire,
To winnow and to purge. I hear your call!
A radiance and a resonance from heaven
Surrounds me, and my soul is breaking forth.
In strength, as did the new-created sun
When earth beheld it first on the fourth day.
God spake not then more plainly to that orb
Than to my spirit now. I hear the call.
My answer, God, and earth, and hell shall hear.
But I could reason with thee, Gracious Power,
SCENE II.]
95
EDWIN THE FAIR.
For that thou givest me to perform thy work
Such sorry instruments. The Primate shakes,
Gunnilda totters.-Gurmo! And of those
That stand for me more absolutely, most
Are slaves through fear, not saints by faith! 'Tis well!
The work shall be the more my own.
Enter GURMO.
You call'd.
GURMO.
DUNSTAN.
What now?
I think I did. Send me those bishops.
[Exit GURMO.
-More eminently my own. The church is great,
Is holy, is ineffably divine!
Spiritually seen, and with the eye of faith,
The body of the church, lit from within,
Seems but the luminous phantom of a body;
The incorporeal spirit is all in all.
Eternity a parte post et ante
So drinks the refuse, thins the material fibre,
That lost in ultimate tenuity
The actual and the mortal lineaments,
The church in time, the meagre, definite, bare
Ecclesiastical anatomy,
The body of this death, translates itself,
And glory upon glory swallowing all
Makes earth a scarce distinguishable speck
In universal heaven. Such is the church
As seen by faith; but otherwise regarded,
The body of the church is search'd in vain
96
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
To find the seat of the soul; for it is nowhere.
Here are two bishops, but 'tis not in them.
Enter OSWALD Bishop of Worcester, and ETHELWALD Bishop of
Winchester.
Save you, my lords! Are there no seats? A stool-
Fetch me a stool.
Who fails?
[A stool is brought, on which DUNSTAN seats himself. The
Bishops continue standing.
What business brings you here?
OSWALD.
Lord Abbot, we have served thee faithfully,
And still obey'd thy voice through many a change.
We would that others, who have done no less
In outward show, were inwardly as true.
DUNSTAN.
ETHELWALD.
We do not say distinctly who,
Nor positively point by point wherein;
But this we say, that we whose hearts are known
From yours inseparable, are received no longer.
By some amongst our brethren as we were.
We hear that bishops meet by tens and twelves
Unknown to us; we think unknown to you.
We therefore deem'd it parcel of our duty
To give you warning.
DUNSTAN.
Is there more?
OSWALD.
To-day
SCENE II.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
97
There spreads a rumour that Prince Edgar's force
Met on the Avon by the Heretoch
Was beaten back and scatter'd. Joining this
To what is surer, that Earl Athulf's power
Creeps close upon us, sundry citizens.
That are of credit with the baser sort
About the suburbs, stir them up to riot.
DUNSTAN.
Doth nothing happen to such men? 'Tis strange;
Good men for whom the church puts up her prayers
Are daily taken off.
ETHELWALD.
'Tis said moreover
The synod when it meets will not be pure
Nor of one mind.
DUNSTAN.
'Tis ignorantly said:
I am the synod's mind. Sirs, you did well
To bring me what had reach'd you. Leave me now.
Come back at night. The interval use well;
And what you gather give me then to know.
[Exeunt BISHOPS.
This faction runs a-head. What mean they then?
Why verily to abuse and by their wiles
Betray the synod. Nothing less. But God,
Who to the Devil incarnate in the snake
Gave subtlety, denies not to his saints
(So they shall use it to his glory and gain)
The weapon he permitted to the fiend.
Erratic Spirit, here thou art, wild worm
Piercing the earth with subterraneous toil,
H
A
98
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
And there with wings scouring the darken'd sky!
Still do I meet thee; still, wherever met,
I foil thee; sometimes as with Michael's sword,
Sometimes as with thine own. I challenge thee
To meet me in the assembled church to-morrow.
SCENE III.-Palace of the Archbishop in London.
ODO, with LEOFWYN, Bishop of Lincoln, and FRIDSTAN,
Bishop of Lichfield.
ODO.
It stands not with our honour either way
To be so overridden.
FRIDSTAN.
One sole man,
Though he were saint uprisen, no charter hath
To lead by the nose the fathers of the church,
The archbishop and the bishops. Zeal is good;
But zeal is one thing when it fasts and prays,
And when it ramps and rages 'tis another.
LEOFWYN.
When he refused the bishopric from Edred
My mind misgave me. Oh, I said, this man
Is humble upside-down. He that rejects
With publication and profession loud
Of lowliness, an orderly advancement,
Looks, be assured, what's orderly to pass,
And leave degrees behind.
FRIDSTAN.
Yea, brother, yea;
SCENE III.]
99
EDWIN THE FAIR.
He that denies himself to be a bishop
Looks further than is fitting. He means not well.
He thinks to say to us, Go here, go there!
Me, Dunstan, standing sole, the gaping world.
Shall gaze at, bidding bishops stand aside!
This is not right.
LEOFWYN.
No, nor canonical.
Admit the wench.
ODO.
Brethren, when I unfolded all the doubts
That compass'd round the cause, the enemy's strength,
The fears, the double faces, the false hearts
That walk amongst us,-reasons all that plead
For caution and some temperate composition,-
He check'd and chid me like a troublesome child
That prates at random; bade me know that God
Reveal'd it otherwise, and he must needs
Believe in God; then calling for a scourge
Said 'twas a time for exercise devout
And he entreated my good company
For mutual castigation.
Enter SIGERIC.
SIGERIC.
Honour'd lords,
The wench which had an audience upon wednesday
Is now returned, and with her an old man.
ODO.
[Exit SIGERIC.
Now we shall find how far
Earl Athulf will be compromised. Come in.
Uor M
H 2
100
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Re-enter SIGERIC followed by EMMA and WULFSTAN THE WISE.
Good wench, we have expected thee, and thou
Art welcome-but who's this?
EMMA.
A man, my lords,
Known to you all by fame though not by favour;
Wulfstan the Wise.
ODO.
Sir, you are welcome too :
Earl Athulf peradventure deems the knot
Of these affairs worthy your vindication,
Wherein by message he hath dealt till now
Conveyed us through this envoy, weak by sex,
But verily quick-witted. Sir, we know
Your great renown for wisdom, and we hail
Your advent hither; for we deem the Earl,
In calling age and wisdom to his aid,
Is wise though young; and if he be, the terms
We offer are what wisdom will commend
And modesty embrace.
WULFSTAN.
My good lords, far
Beyond my merits doth my fame extend;
But moderation alway have I praised
And peace ensued, and therefore have been held
To mediate not unfit, when Mars attired
In triple steel on this side shakes his spear,
Bellona upon that side mounts her car
By Flight and Terror drawn.
Mou
SCENE III.]
101
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ODO.
You doubtless know
The tenor of our terms,-all regulars
Since Edred's death supplanted to return,
Save those who did themselves in Edred's reign
Supplant in benefices duly holden
The secular incumbents-the new Queen
To be acknowledged so soon as the Pope
Shall grant his dispensation. Even you,
Though secular yourself, must see in this
The scales of justice balanced. To these terms
What saith the brave Earl Athulf?
EMMA.
Me, my lords,
Earl Athulf charged with what from him proceeds;
What from my father (for he is my father)
You hear, be pleased to value at its worth
As his, but not the Earl's.
LEOFWYN.
The Earl is wise.
The starling shall be true to what she's taught,
Whilst birds of divination--well-the matter-
How is the Earl inclined to us?
EMMA.
My lords,
The Earl inclines; but ere he shall impledge
Himself, much less his absent friend Earl Leolf,
In this behalf, he looks to be assured
The synod late convened for other ends
Will set its seal to this.
102
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ODO.
The Earl demands
No more than what is just and right. To-morrow
The synod meets, and if our voice prevail
Will ratify the terms. But Dunstan still
His purpose holds, and it is rumour'd now
Hath secret intercourse with Rome, for ends
Unknown to us.
LEOFWYN.
Earl Athulf is apprised
How that from us the motion may not issue;
But let it be propounded on his part,
Or by the seculars before the synod,
And we shall so foreshape the minds of men
That by the acclaim of most, if not of all,
It shall be hail'd acceptable.
EMMA.
My lords,
The Earl forgot not this, and therefore sends
With me my father, that persuasively
He may, according to his gifts, impart
The proffered compact, with the instances
That recommend it to the assembled church;
Trusting to you to second and support
What he delivers.
ODO.
Sir, be not afraid,
But speak it roundly.
EMMA.
Oh, my lords, for that,
SCENE III.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
103
The spirit within him, when it works to speech,
Fears neither saint nor devil.
LEOFWYN.
That is well.
Yet touch not Dunstan with too rough a hand,
But rather against us be seen to bear.
WULFSTAN.
My lord Archbishop and lords suffragans,
I have consider'd of my speech, and first
The order of the topics have set down
With notes and comments, if it please you, thus:
Exordium with a forecast of the close:
A forecast of the close; for mark, my lords,
An argument or abstract setting forth
In the beginning of my discourse the end,
With index to the bearings and the junctures,
Shall quicken you to apprehend my drift
And by a foreknown relevancy clench
The links and consequents, that so my speech
May, like the serpent with his tail in his mouth,
Rejoin itself, whilst in its perfect round
Its lithe articulation stands approved.
LEOFWYN.
We doubt not of your skill, but what in chief
Concerns us, is the matter and the purport.
WULFSTAN.
The dangers of division to the realm
I feelingly expose: Next I commend
The golden mean,-that wisdom's triumph true
Which seeks no conquest save by wisdom's ways
104
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
And scorns to trust to fortune or to force.
Earl Athulf's dispositions shall I then
Duly develop; him shall I disclose
As one whose courage high and humour gay
Cover a vein of caution, his true heart,
Intrepid though it be, not blind to danger,
But through imagination's optic glass
Discerning, yea and magnifying it may be,
What still he dares. Him in these colours dress'd
I shall set forth as prompt for enterprise
By reason of his boldness, and yet apt
For composition, owing to that vein
Of fancy which enhances, prudence which wards
Contingencies of peril. Then from a scroll
Subscribed by him I read the proffer'd terms,
And in my oratorical conclusion
Draw my speech round to dangers of the realm
Seen in divisions, and the joys of peace.
ODO.
'Tis dexterously devised, and with our aid
Shall win the general suffrage of the synod.
For certain of your friends the seculars,
By secret incitation hearten'd up,
Will give their voices. Till the synod meets,
Beseech you be not seen abroad. Farewell!
SCENE IV.]
105
EDWIN THE FAIR. -
A minstrel, is she?
SCENE IV.A fortified causeway leading to a chapel near the
Tower of London.-THORBIORGA is discovered leaning with
her harp against a parapet in the back-ground. The bell
for vespers is ringing, and parties pass towards the chapel.
Enter in front a patrol of two Soldiers.
A fortune-teller.
FIRST SOLDIER.
SECOND SOLDIER.
By her garb, I think,
FIRST SOLDIER.
I have seen the day
When such would travel with a princely train,
Welcome to clerk and layman, thane and churl;
But they may trudge afoot and lack a meal
Now that the monks are uppermost, God wot!
SECOND SOLDIER.
Filth of the wicked! dotage of the Gentiles!
Is all they get from them. But Heida still
And Thorbiorga, though their state is fallen,
Hold up their heads. I know not but that yon
Is Thorbiorga's self. Pass on this side.
Enter ETHILDA with Attendants, who pass on.
ETHILDA.
Forward, my maidens; I will follow you.—
The sunset with a warm and ruddy light
Colours the coldness of these gloomy walls
[Exeunt.
$
106
[ACT III.
· #
EDWIN THE FAIR.
And glances in the casements; for the day
Earl Athulf's emissary
Makes a good end.
By this time should be here. I think she comes.
Enter EMMA.
Maiden, I thank you for your diligence.
Have you the gold? How light a foot is yours!
But is it the Earl's custom to be served
By women in such things?
EMMA.
Madam, of me
He had assurance from the Heretoch,
Who knows me from my cradle, and avouch'd
That I was gifted with a woman's wit,
And ready with my tongue; and for my heart
He said it had its own fidelity,
And true to him would be if not to truth.
ETHILDA.
You serve the Heretoch and not Earl Athulf.
EMMA.
Earl Athulf at the Heretoch's behest;
And they are so entwined that serving one
Is serving both.
ETHILDA.
No, no, you serve not both;
You serve Earl Leolf only.
EMMA.
If it please you.
Here is the gold; with this he said your way
Would soon be open'd to the King, whose heart
SCENE IV.]
107
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Would then be comforted and fortified
With tidings of deliverance near at hand.
ETHILDA.
That shall be well; but yet my brother's heart
Is carefuller for the Queen's deliverance.
I would that I had comfort for him there.
EMMA.
I trust that both Earl Leolf and the Queen
Will speedily be heard of. Thorbiorga
Might tell us much; for, either by her art
Or by forerunning of intelligence,
What happens to the Heretoch is hers
So soon as it befalls if not before.
Her errand is to us.
But I have sought her fruitlessly. What's here?
I think I see her now.
ETHILDA.
If this be she,
EMMA.
Regard her not,
For she is freest of her utterance
When least importuned or observed. Talk on.
ETHILDA.
I think I ask'd you-yes-how look'd the Earl
When last you saw him?
EMMA.
Wasted much. His hair,
Which was not till this year so much as grizzled,
Is almost grey.
108
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ETHILDA.
Earl Athulf grey?
Earl Leolf, madam.
EMMA.
ETHILDA.
How look'd Earl Athulf?
Oh! your pardon. Well,
No, no,
[THORBIORGA, who has been advancing and touching her harp
fitfully, now plays a low prelude.
EMMA.
THORBIORGA (sings).
Madam, I may say
Like yonder archway, one half in the shade,
The other in the sun; for hope shines through him.
By sun and moon,
By fire and flood,
By well and stone,
And ashen wood,
By lot and torch,
By dreams and thunder,
Comes that above
That would be under.
EMMA.
She will draw nearer, if you mark her not;
She's cunning and holds off from questioning,
But she will drop you what she has to tell.
THORBIORGA (sings again).
By Wellesbourne and Charlcote ford,
At break of day, I saw a sword.
Wessex warriors, rank by rank,
Rose on Avon's hither bank;
SCENE IV.]
109
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Mercia's men in fair array
Look'd at them from Marraway;
Close and closer ranged they soon,
And the battle join'd at noon.
By Wellesbourne and Charlcote Lea
I heard a sound as of the sea;
Thirty thousand rushing men,
Twenty thousand met by ten;
Rang the shield and brake the shaft,
Tosty yell'd, Harcather laugh'd;
Thorough Avon's waters red
Chased by ten the twenty fled.
By Charlcote ford and Wellesbourne
I saw the moon's pale face forlorn.
River flow'd and rushes sigh'd,
Wounded warriors groan'd and died.
Ella took his early rest,
The raven stood on his white breast;
Hoarsely in the dead man's ear
Raven whisper'd 'Friend, good cheer!
Ere the winter pinch the crow
He that slew thee shall lie low.'
ETHILDA.
She cannot tell us of a victory past
But she must dash the triumph of our joy
With bodings of the future. Be it so.
"Twixt telling and foretelling, one is sure,
The other not.
EMMA.
Hush she can hear you, madam.
ETHILDA.
Well, Thorbiorga, hast thou aught to say?
THORBIORGA.
Princess, I may not tarry. To the King
110
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Earl Leolf sends his duty, and therewith
This writing. Fare you well.
ETHILDA.
She's gone; but this shall tell us.
Stay, Thorbiorga.
Can you read?
ETHILDA.
This, if I could but to the King convey it,
Would much sustain his spirit.
EMMA.
[Exit.
EMMA (reads).
won.
“Your Majesty shall know that a battle has been fought and
Ella the younger led Prince Edgar's power,
which ran and left him on the field. I have entered
into Staffordshire. Further forward I cannot, and
back I will not. The Queen (whom God preserve !) is
in life, but in durance: wherein she will remain till
your Majesty or Earl Athulf can help me. For her
safety, I am assured thereof at present, holding in
pawn the lives of three revolted Earls, which have
fallen into my hands. For her deliverance, should I
attempt it of myself, I should but put her to more
hazard. Meantime fear not that aught can approach
you from the West.
“Yours in all duty and fealty,
"LEOLF."
Please you, madam,
To use the gold I brought you—it is done.
[Trumpets sound at a distance.
ETHILDA.
Hark! the patrol comes round; pass to the chapel.
SCENE V.]
111
EDWIN THE FAIR.
SCENE V.-A Chamber in the Archbishop's Palace.
WULFSTAN THE WISE and SIGERIC, the Archbishop's Secretary.
SIGERIC.
With both these puissant earls, as I hear say,
You have been inward.
WULFSTAN.
Yea, sir, in my time;
With Athulf formerly, with Leolf always.
SIGERIC.
Earl Athulf is a merry man accounted.
WULFSTAN.
Much mirth he hath, and yet less mirth than fancy.
His is that nature of humanity
Which both ways doth redound, rejoicing now
With soarings of the soul, anon brought low:
For such the law that rules the larger spirits.
This soul of man, this elemental crasis,
Completed, should present the universe
Abounding in all kinds; and unto all
One law is common,-that their act and reach
Stretch'd to the farthest is resilient ever,
And in resilience hath its plenary force.
Against the gust remitting fiercelier burns
The fire, than with the gust it burnt before.
The richest mirth, the richest sadness too,
Stands from a groundwork of its opposite;
For these extremes upon the way to meet
112
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Take a wide sweep of nature, gathering in
Harvests of sundry seasons.
SIGERIC.
These two earls
Are, certes, the prime spirits of the age.
Yet hardly may we either earl esteem
A match for Dunstan. From his youth devote
To books, with chemic and mechanic art
Searching the core of things; and then caught up
To Edred's court and favour, studying there
The ways of men and policies of states,
No marvel from such training that he took
An applicable mind; and were he not
Push'd sometimes past the confine of his reason
He would o'ertop the world.
WULFSTAN.
Sir, could he sway
His proper passions, he were lord of all.
But he is more their captive than the King,
Poor innocent! is his.
SIGERIC.
When others storm
Then only is he calm. 'Twas thought at first
That when the King stood out against the terms
And would not sign, his life would be the forfeit.
But Dunstan went more craftily to work.
A wasting diet, with perpetual fear
And solitude, he made his ministers,
Himself desisting.
WULFSTAN.
His, sir, you shall find
i
SCENE V.]
113
EDWIN THE FAIR.
A spirit subdolous, though full of fire.
A spider may he best be liken'd to,
Which creature is an adept not alone
In workmanship of nice geometry,
But is besides a wary politician:
He, when his prey is taken in the toils,
Witholds himself until its strength be spent
With struggles, and its spirit with despair;
Then with a patient and profound delight,
Forth from his ambush stalks.
SIGERIC.
Is woven with a difference. He shrinks
'Tis said from taking life, unless inflamed
By anger, or by exigency press'd.
This softness hath he still.
But Dunstan's web
Enter EMMA.
EMMA.
Why halt you here?
The doors are open'd to the ante-chamber,
And soon it shall be crowded. Pray you, come.
Earl Sidroc, in a Notary's apparel,
Will follow you, and waits you here without.
SIGERIC.
You have the Archbishop's pass
?
WULFSTAN.
Yes, it is here.
EMMA.
I can pass too; I have cajoled with smiles
I
114
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
The High Gerefa's man that keeps the door.
How tardy old friends are, how prompt are new!
Taken in the flower and freshness of good-will
My friend of yesterday will run his ears
Into some risk to please me. On my back
He'll put a surplice, and amongst the choir
I sing the psalm. But linger not, I pray.
SIGERIC.
The passage to the left-I think you know it.
Come, I will show you.
EMMA.
C
I beseech you, sir,
When you address the synod, wander not;
Be mindful of the purpose.
WULFSTAN.
Yes, my child;
I'll sit the purpose close. Truly a light
That shines not in its place is worse than none;
And when the thought is prized above the purpose,
'Tis Jack o' the Lanthorn speaks. Oh, sir, your pardon!
SCENE VI.-A Chamber in the Tower.
DUNSTAN (alone).
If miracles were wrought i' the olden time
More needful are they now. But now not faith,
Not faith alone the mountains can remove;
And plainly God, who willeth not his church
Be overthrown, yet granteth not such gifts.
As those of old, ordaineth other means.
¿
SCENE VI.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
115
And what if He, by special dispensation,
Inspire my brain with miracles of art ?
For Satan is mechanical, and God
Must needs have mechanists at work to cross
The works of Satan. What if in the synod
That voice which inwardly to me declares
The will of God, should outwardly be shown
To come from heaven?
Enter OSWALD, Bishop of Worcester, and ETHELWALD,
Bishop of Winchester.
So, so, my lords, what cheer?
Or, let me say, what tiding? For our cheer,
If God be gracious to us, flies not round
With every gust.
OSWALD.
The synod is assembling
With seculars commix'd. We hear that still
Earl Athulf hangs at Tonbridge; but his force
Daily increaseth. It is good we go.
This hour we meet the synod in good heart,
What cometh with the next we know not.
DUNSTAN.
Nay,
Who trusteth knoweth. To the synod then ;
But let us be expected for a season
Before we show ourselves.
I 2
116
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
SCENE VII.-A Wide Gallery leading to the Synodial Chamber.—
It is filled with Monks, Guards, and Attendants. Two of the
Gerefa's or High Sheriff's Deputies are in front. Ecclesiastics
of rank, including two or three Abbesses, pass through more and
more frequently as the Scene proceeds, not unmixed with Civil
and Military Functionaries. Each Ecclesiastic is attended by
an Acolyte as a train-bearer.
FIRST DEPUTY.
What! a secular! Well, he must
Here they come.
pass, though he shall not be welcome.
SECOND DEPUTY.
There are more than he.
FIRST DEPUTY.
They are stricken deer; I would not come amongst
the herd if I were they.
SECOND DEPUTY.
I never saw Dunstan's chair before. "Tis a choice
piece of workmanship.
FIRST DEPUTY.
He made it himself, and they say if another were to
sit in it, it would toss him in the air. He can make
anything, and make it do his bidding.
SECOND DEPUTY.
But should his chair be set above the Archbishop's?
FIRST DEPUTY.
It was so ordered, and indeed he that is above the
King may be above the Archbishop. King, said I! Who
knows whether there be a King, or in which brother's
reign we that are living live?
SCENE VII.]
117
EDWIN THE FAIR.
SECOND DEPUTY.
Hush! Speak not so.
Here's Godredud.
FIRST DEPUTY.
Nay, 'tis the way of the beehive, and courts are no
better. Make way, sirs, if it please you. No offence.
Sirs, 'tis my office. Farther back, I pray.
SECOND DEPUTY.
FIRST DEPUTY.
I say ye shall make room.
What though he be a secular? he's noble
And of a generous life.
A MONK.
Six meals a day,
With morat and spiced ale, is generous living.
Also the gout he hath is generous.
ANOTHER MONK.
Bed, board, nor bath, he never yet forewent
The joys of for a day. Look at his tonsure;
A well grown acorn's cup would cover it.
Enter amongst others, WULFSTAN THE WISE, habited as an
Ecclesiastic, and SIDROC, in the dress of a Notary.
SIDROC (aside to WULFSTAN).
Let us stand here, and reckon as they pass
The numbers on each side.
Enter EMMA in a surplice with a band of Choristers.
EMMA (aside to the FIRST DEPUTY).
Aha! my friend
Know'st thou the merry wench?
118
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
FIRST DEPUTY.
Nay, softly; hush!
But pass no further yet; here you shall stand,
And I will tell you, as they come, who's who.
The first of men! the angels of the church!
I know them all, and most of them. . . Room, ho!
The Abbot of St. Winifred's-Room, room!
And most of them I call my friends.
SIDROC (aside to WULFSTAN).
The newt
Lived much amongst the tadpoles, and averr'd
He was acquainted with all kinds of fish.
FIRST DEPUTY.
Here is the Abbot Morcar with one hand.
A woman kiss'd the other, for which cause
He chopp'd it off. He emulates St. Arnulph,
And wears a shirt of hedgehog skins. No need
To clear the way for him.
EMMA.
Sirs, push me not.
No, they fall back unbidden.
FIRST DEPUTY.
And here is Monn,
The Abbot of St. Clive's, that heals the sick
And makes the dumb to speak. From far and near
Thousands and thousands make resort to him,
And them that may not for infirmity
He goes to; or if so be he caunot go,
He sends his walking-stick, which does as well.
SCENE VII.]
119
EDWIN THE FAIR.
EMMA.
See how they press around him.
FIRST DEPUTY.
Room, I say,
Place for the Abbot of St. Clive's!-Lo, there
Cumba, the Priest of Sherborne; more than twice
Hath he changed sides; but he's so mild and sweet
That there are ever some to hold him up.
Betwixt the monks and secular church half-way
Stands Cumba, smiling upon both.
SIDROC (aside).
A chicken
Is good for breakfast, and an egg is good;
But something half-way 'twixt an egg and chicken
Is vilely bad.
FIRST DEPUTY.
And to say truth of him,
His faith is mounted on his charity
And sits it easy.
SIDROC (aside).
Cumba is my gauge
And by the crown of his head I know the times.
Grow they ascetic, then his tonsure widens ;
Or free, it narrows in.
EMMA.
What man is this,
[Pointing to WULFSTAN.
With large round silvery head and fair round face
And those lost eyes so lustrous that see nothing?
Tell me what man is he.
120
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
FIRST DEPUTY.
Some country priest;
A man one sees and makes no mention of.
He had his pass or I had question'd him;
For with my will a priest so meanly clad
And slovenly, should take his rags elsewhere.
SIDROC (aside).
To you, sir? nothing.
Dogs take distinctions, learning from mankind
A worldly lesson, and the beggar's stay'd
When lace and gawds go free.—What say you, sir?
FIRST DEPUTY.
[A cry without of "Place for the ARCHBISHOP." A flourish of
trumpets, and enter divers Officers of the ARCHBISHOP'S
household in procession. Then the ARCHBISHOP attired in
splendid vestments and preceded by SIGERIC and BRIDFERTH
bearing his mass-book and crucifix. He is supported on the
right by the BISHOP OF LINCOLN, on the left by the BISHOP OF
LICHFIELD, and followed by a long train of Officers and
Attendants.
ODO (returning the obeisances with which he is received as
he passes through).
The blessing of God's peace, my sons, be on you;
And I beseech you, pray that by God's grace
Our counsels may be prosper'd to His glory.
[Exit with his train.
FIRST MONK.
The Primate is too ancient for the times;
He is too sudden when he's choleric,
Too slow when he's at ease.
SECOND MONK.
He is shaken both ways.
A THANE.
The Primate looks an inch or two less tall
SCENE VII.]
121
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Than he was wont, methinks; nor is his step
So firm as once it was.
AN ACOLYTE.
Time, sir, and care.
SIDROC (aside).
Or peradventure sin and fear.-Good father,
Saw you my lord the Archbishop pass?
The Abbot?
WULFSTAN.
SIDROC.
Saw you my lord the Primate?
WULFSTAN.
Yes, my son.
Was it not he that pass'd in gold and purple?
My son ?
SIDROC.
The same. We wait but for the Abbot now.
WULFSTAN.
SIDROC.
Dunstan. He is first and last.
Methinks the muster of the seculars
Is stronger than was look'd for. What is this?
Hark! Hist! A hum as of a multitude
Without the gates. Permit me, sirs. He comes.
Enter DUNSTAN solus, clad in sackcloth, with ashes on his head
and a missal in his hand. The foremost of the crowd fall
upon their knees and bow their heads as he approaches.
DUNSTAN.
Fear ye and tremble, ye that love the church,
For wolves are round about her. Watch and pray.
[Exit.
122
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
SIDROC.
Pass on, pass on; the benches will be throng'd.
Stick close to me, good father. God ha' mercy!
Sir, I beseech you to remit your elbow.
FIRST DEPUTY.
Keep order, constables! what a fray is here!
SIDROC.
Could we but pass this friar, all were won.
St. Hilda! what a mountain of a friar!
Sir, pray you die and do the church some service;
You'd choke the way to Hell.—Now is the time;
Come, father, come; stick close to me; here, here.
Knock down that chorister. I thank you, sir.
SCENE VIII. The Synodial Chamber.-All who passed through
in the preceding Scene are present in this. The Shrine
of St. Augustin is discovered at the upper end, and there
is a crucifix of large dimensions affixed to the wall above
it. A band of Monks in the Benedictine habit, with lighted
tapers, are ranged in front of the Shrine, a file of them
extending down each side of the Hall. At the lower end a
band of Choristers are closing a service as the curtain
rises.
ODO.
Friends, brethren, helpmates, councillors in Christ!
The dangers and divisions of the church
Be ye all as one.
For though the letter of citation saith
Have call'd you hither.
ઃઃ
Semotis Laicis," yet to one end
Are we assembled all,-concord and peace;
And whosoever hath God's peace at heart,
SCENE VIII.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
123
Him we rejoice to meet.
Since last I saw you here, that virtuous King,
The godly Edred, hath been hence translated,
And Edwin hath succeeded, who is young.
King Edwin, sirs, descended of a house
Illustrious no less for piety
Than earthly honours, could not but abound,
At first and by the fashioning of nature,
In Christian graces: but, sirs, being young,
He through the easiness of youth betray'd
To bad advice, and making haste to err,
Did what was not convenient in a King.
For first from many a monastery, sown
Throughout the land in Edred's bounteous reign,
With violence and with force of arms he drave
Our Benedictine brethren-not alone
Them that were placed by Edred in the shoes
Of seculars that by Edred were expulsed,
But ancient men that had been there aforetime.
And next, sirs, which is chiefly what concerns
Our present meeting,-next, sirs, did he marry!
And whom, sirs, did he marry? One like himself,
Though doubtless graced with many virtues, young
And erring, and in nothing more astray
Than in this marriage; being, as they are,
Cousins in the second degree and undispensed.
This marriage, sirs, contracted by surprise,
Was scandalous, as ye know, to all good men,
And grievous to the church; and weighing well
What evil fruit to these and after times
Might of its hasty consummation grow,
We deem'd it wise that this illustrious lady
124
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Should visit Chester, there to live recluse
Until the assembled church of what had chanced
Were advertised. 'Tis therefore ye are here.
Councillors in Christ, the cause ye meet to judge
Is, briefly, shall this marriage stand or no?
SIDROC (aside to WULFSTAN).
Stop; Cumba fumbles with the folds of his alb;
I think he'll speak; withhold yourself awhile.
ODO.
Sirs, I await your censures. For myself
I humbly seek instruction, which till I glean
From worthier men, my judgment shall be dumb.
CUMBA.
Most holy fathers and my brethren all!
To most of you 'tis known that from my youth
I have revered the regulars; excellent men,
Whom though to imitate had been in me
Alas! a vain endeavour, yet to praise
Hath been my constant care. Sirs, of this praise
And of this reverence and constant care,
I will not bate a jot; for what I was
At first, I am, and will be evermore.
But to the end unchangeable, the ways
Are various as the paths upon the sea;
And though 'tis by the stars the vessel steers,
Yet lies she with the wind. The choice of ways
That opens to you now, doth split itself
Into two opposites—the ways of war,
The ways of peace; and who betwixt the twain
Shall stand with dubious or divided heart?
SCENE VIII.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
125
When hath the church been prosperous but in peace?
What multiplies the monasteries? Peace.
What breeds endowments, treasures and demesnes ?
Why peace. Then shall we not consult for peace?
But if we void this marriage, peace is flown;
War that even now stands knocking at the gate
Must then be bid come in; nor present blows
Shall arbitrate an end, but years unborn
May in the issue of this marriage see
A hand, a sword, a claimant of the crown,
A cause of strife. I grant the marriage rash;
But out of common life this lesson cull:
A marriage unadvisedly contracted
By a hot stripling, in the parent's heart
Kindles a flame at first; but useless ire
Is transient with the wise; for were it not,
Age should in anger more exorbitate
Than youth in love. The parent pacified
Binds by a frank forgiveness to himself
In bonds of gratitude his erring son :
And even as he his son, I deem the church
With reconciling and reclaiming love
Should conquer back the King. My humble voice,
Bending to better judgments, thus concludes.
MORCAR.
O thou dead fly that spoilest the pot! O grub!
O maggot that dost grow to be a snake!
God spat thee out for being neither hot nor cold,
Thou Mammon's friend, and Lucifer lick'd thee up.
Woe to thee, Judas! Art thou not accursed?
Thou dippest with us in the dish, but lo!
126
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Thou hast betray'd us for a piece of money!
O shame! O sin! oh havoc to the church!
The Devil shall hang thee up to dry, thou rag!
For thou art soak'd and saturate with sin.
Forbear him, brother.
I say, forbear him.
ODO.
MORCAR.
O thou filthy rag!
ODO.
GODREDUD.
Brother, art thou mad?
He is no traitor, but a faithful priest.
Why dost thou rail upon him thus !
ODO.
Forbear.
ODO.
MORCAR.
Cry out and cease not! saith the voice I hear-
Search out the sleights of Bel and slay the Dragon;
And who saith cease, be dumb!
I say it, brother;
Yea, I command thee cease. Our brother Monn
Is wishful to be heard; speak, brother Monn.
MONN.
My loving friends and brethren, we are met
Upon this marriage, not to speak our own,
But to declare God's judgments, never yet
Made manifest by such apparent signs,
SCENE VIII.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
127
Think, oh, think
Such prodigies and portents.
Upon the darkness of that marriage day!
Throughout the land a dismal horror spread;
In Essex it rain'd blood; at Evesham
An image of the Virgin, as ye know,
Was seen to weep and sweat and lift its hands
And roll its eyes; at Selsey and at Wells
The vault of Heaven was fill'd with falling stars
And fiery serpents welter'd in the skies.
Have we forgotten that these things befell,
Or know we not their import? Then, alas!
Are we more careless of the cause of God
Than Gallio, more blind than Elymas.
But if we bear in mind that such things were,
We must not, dare not, judge what God hath judged.
GODREDUD.
The worthy Abbot, by my faith, my lords,
Doth excellently well to bid us weigh
These miracles and signs. They signified,
Doubtless, some untoward events, my lords;
But what those untoward events should be,
Behoves us not too rashly to deliver;
Divisions in the realm, it may be, war,
Implacable revenge and hatred dire
And wrath which wills not that its wounds be heal'd.
The birthday of a progeny like this
Would doubtless teem with warnings, which to pervert
Or put aside, should work us infinite woe.
But to those premonitions further signs.
Constructive and illustrative succeed;
And now two armies in the south and west
128
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Auspiciously afoot, give countenance
To Edwin's cause as favour'd from above;
And warn us, if fair terms of composition
Be offer'd, not to spurn them.
SIDROC (aside to WULFSTAN).
Now, now, now;
Stand up and speak-produce them.
WULFSTAN.
Here they are,
Most noble Godredud, here are the terms:
'I, Athulf, Earl, intent on sparing life,
But purposing to lodge my force in London
At latest in three days, to all concern'd
Send greeting and say thus: All regulars,
Since Edred's death supplanted, may return,
Save those who did themselves, in Edred's reign,
Supplant in benefices duly holden
The secular incumbents; the new Queen
Shall be received, and so soon as the Pope
Shall grant his dispensation, shall be crown'd;
Which yielded, no man in his life or goods.
Shall answer for the past.'-My lords and brethren,
These are the terms I bring you from Earl Athulf,
And I am Wulfstan.
[Acclamations from the Secular party, mingled with shouts of
rage and execrations from the other.
Brethren, hear me speak.
Brethren and friends, I fain would speak to you—
My friends and brethren, hear me, I beseech you.
ODO.
My sons, this passion and this noise I hold
SCENE VIII.]
129
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Unworthy this assembly. Hear him speak,
For he was never factious nor inflamed
Against us, and 'tis just that he be heard.
[Acclamations from the Seculars.
WULFSTAN,
I am not factious, brethren, nor inflamed;
For my abode was always, so to say,
On Mount Olympus-
MONN.
Fie upon thee, pagan !
Oh but I know thee and thy place full well.
WULFSTAN.
On Mount Olympus with the Muses nine
I ever dwelt ...
MONKS.
He doth confess it! Lo!
He doth confess it! Faggots and a stake!
He is a heathen-shall a heathen speak?
MORCAR.
I hear a voice that saith, Make lime of his bones.'
SIDROC.
Sirs, ye mistake him; he is a pious priest,
And what he means to say is merely this :
Against your orders and your monasteries
He speaks not; but he deems that holiest men,
If they would flourish in this warlike world,
Must feed within a fence of secular swords;
And better were it for you to engulf
But half the kingdom's treasure, so begirt,
Than to be left defenceless with the whole,
K
130
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Well said!
And thus be fatten'd but to feed the Dane.
He bids you know that in this land this day
He finds more fat than bones, more monks than soldiers.
He bids you to the seabord look, where now
A fleet of Northmen, fifty-six tall ships,
Hang in St. George's Channel, waiting there
Till half the land shall cut each other's throats
And leave the other half a spoil to them.
Bethink you, then; escape ye hardly may
From the two puissant and prudent Earls,
Athulf and Leolf; but this granted you,
Ye do but fall a weak and present prey
To Sweyne and Olaf; wherefore make your
And thrive in peace, or brave a twofold ruin.
Who's this?
PRIEST.
MONK.
ANOTHER.
A fellow that puts his legs in lambskin hose.
choice,
A lambskin man he is;
MORCAR.
The Lord shall smite him with the botch of Egypt.
SEVERAL SECULAR PRIESTS (joined by some of the Monks,
amidst clamour and confusion).
We will have peace; we are not men of blood;
Are we not Christians all? The Dane-the Dane !
Are we not servants of the Prince of Peace?
The Northmen are upon us-Olaf and Sweyne!
[DUNSTAN throws himself on his knees and bows his
head to the ground.
SCENE VIII.]
131
EDWIN THE FAIR.
SIDROC (aside to WULFSTAN).
He bends before the storm.
WULFSTAN.
Will he not speak?
SIDROC.
I know not-yes-he is in act to hatch
A brood of pestilent words, if I mistake not.
He stirs, he moves-few moments are enough.
WULFSTAN.
They say a louse that's but three minutes old
May be a grandsire; with no less a speed
Do foul thoughts gender.
SIDROC.
Ha! we'll see anon-
Faith of my body! up he goes-sit—sit.
DUNSTAN (rising slowly).
I groan in spirit. Brethren, seek not in me
Support or counsel. The whole head is sick,
The whole heart faint; and trouble and rebuke
Come round about me, thrusting at my soul.
But, brethren, if long years of penance sore,
For your sake suffer'd, be remember'd now,
Deem me not utterly of God forsaken,
Deem not yourselves forsaken. Lift up your hearts.
See where ye stand on earth; see how in heaven
Ye are regarded. Ye are the sons of God,
The order of Melchisedeck, the law,
The visible structure of the world of spirit,
Which was, and is, and must be; all things else
K 2
132
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Are casual, and monarchs come and go,
And warriors for a season walk the earth,
By accident; for these are accidental,
But ye eternal; ye are the soul of the world,
Ye are the course of nature consecrate,
Ye are the Church! one spirit is throughout you,
And Christendom is with you in all lands.
Who comes against you? 'Scaped from hell's confine
A wandering rebel, fleeting past the sun,
Darkens the visage of the spouse of Christ.
But 'tis but for a moment; he consumed
Shall vanish like a vapour, she divulged
Break out in glory that transcends herself.
The thrones and principalities of earth,
When stood they that they stood not with the aid
Of us and them before us? Azarias,
Azias, Amaziah, Saul himself,
Fell they not headlong when they fell from us?
And Oza, he that did but touch the ark?
Oh then what sin for me, what sin for you,
For me victorious in a thousand fights
Against this foe, for you as oft redeem'd,
That now we falter! Do we falter? No!
Thou God that art within me when I conquer,
I feel thee fill me now! Angelic host,
Seraphs that wave your swords about my head,
I thank you for your succours! Who art thou
That givest me this gracious admonition?
Alas! forgive me that I knew thee not,
O Gabriel! I do as thou command'st,
Appealing from this earth and all its powers
To Christ upon the cross: Oh Name Divine!
SCENE VIII.]
133
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Is it Thy will that this the assembled Church.
Should ratify these nuptials, yes or no?
A VOICE FROM THE CRUCIFIX.
UT FIAT!
[Most of the Assembly fall prostrate. There is a pause of some
moments. Then DUNSTAN, who had remained erect, with his
hands stretched towards the Crucifix, resumes.
ABSIT HOC UT FIAT! ABSIT HOC
DUNSTAN.
Oh precious guidance! Oh ineffable grace!
That dost from disobedience deliver
The hearts of even the faithless! We obey,
And these espousals do we now declare
Avoided and accursed. The woman espoused,
By name Elgiva, from the man call'd Edwin
We separate, and from the Church's pale
We cast her forth, and with her we cast forth
Those three that have been foremost to uphold her,
Earl Athulf, and Earl Leolf, and Earl Sidroc.
Them we proclaim, by sentence of the Pope,
From Christian rites and ministries cut off,
And from the holy brotherhood of the just
Sequester'd with a curse. Be they accursed!
Accursed be they in all time and place,
Accursed be they in the camp and mart,
Accursed be they in the city and field,
Accursed be their flying and abiding,
Accursed be their waking and their rest—
We curse the hand that feeds them when they hunger,
We curse the arm that props them when they faint;
Wither'd and blasted be that hand and arm!
We curse the tongue that speaks to them, the ear
134
[ACT III.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
That hears them, though it be but unawares ;
Blister'd and canker'd be that tongue and ear!
The earth in which their bodies shall be buried
We curse, except it cast their bodies out;
We shut the gates of heaven against their souls,
And as this candle that I fling to the ground,
So be their light extinguish'd in the Pit!
MORCAR AND OTHER MONKS.
Amen! So be it! Be it so! Amen!
SIDROC (aside to WULFSTAN.)
The day is lost-away-skip-scud-begone.
1
[SIDROC and WULFSTAN, with others of the Secular party, retire
amidst the shouts and execrations of the Regulars.
DUNSTAN.
Publish the miracle without the gates;
Declare the sentence of the Pope.
ODO.
Fly hence!
Ye that are secular! They will rouse the people!
There will be violence and blood. Fly hence.
This council is dismiss'd. The grace of God
Be with you all! This synod is dissolved.
SCENE 1.]
135
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-Tonbridge Castle.
ATHULF and GRIMBALD.
ATHULF.
There-take my truncheon-Thou couldst rule my force
With more acceptance in the general mind
Than I. By heaven I am ashamed to see
Such bickerings in a camp! Give me a cowl
And let me rule a monastery rather.
GRIMBALD.
There-take my cap and bells-I'll rule your force,
And wisely too; but when I look for love
In change for wisdom from the multitude,
Give me again my good old cap and bells.
ATHULF.
Ah, Fool, you're right-and that man is not wise
That cannot bear to be accounted foolish.
I must be patient. Yet it frets my heart,
Amongst my many cares, to be reviled
By shallow coxcombs whom I daily save,
Rescue, redeem, snatch from a rubbishy tomb
Amongst the ruins of their wits, pull'd down
By their own hands upon their heads, God help them!
Well, I'll be patient. Fetch me the muster-roll.
[Exit GRIMBALD,
'Tis ill to bear though.
136
[ACT IV.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
C
Enter SIDROC and WULFSTAN THE WISE.
Ha! my friends! in this
At least has fortune favour'd me. I fear'd
The tidings of our misadventurous synod
Augur'd but ill for both of you. Well met!
Bonfires shall blaze for this. What! 'twas your heels,
I think, that brought you hither?
SIDROC.
As for myself,
When I am frighten'd I can run with wings,
Fast as an ostrich; but preserve me, heaven!
From flying with Philosophy in hand!
ATHULF.
What! was our philosophic friend so slow?
SIDROC.
When I am flying for my life henceforth
Welcome be any ordinary load—
Anchises on my back, if so ye will;
But spare me, Athulf, if you love your friend,
From bringing Wisdom with me.
' WULFSTAN.
Well, my lords,
I will not cumber you again. Farewell!
I will return—
SIDROC.
To Mount Olympus.
WULFSTAN.
To such a sanctuary as that was once.
Yes,
SCENE I.]
137
EDWIN THE FAIR.
So tranquil were the elements there, 'tis said
That letters by the finger of the priest
Writ in the ashes of the sacrifice,
Remain'd throughout the seasons uneffaced.
And Oxford now hath academic bowers
Sacred to many a Muse, where such as I
May write, though in a rough, tempestuous age,
What Time shall spare. Thither, my lords, I'll go,
And there I'll chronicle your deeds. Farewell.
ATHULF.
Farewell, good Wulfstan; and I speak the word
With reverence and love; for gifts like yours
Are all unworthy to be wasted here.
But take this with you,—wild and unreclaim'd
As doubtless must appear to yours my wit,
Yet you have scatter'd in that wilderness
Some seeds that will not perish. Fare you well.
WULFSTAN.
My lord, your kindness which doth cause these drops
Will pardon them.
ATHULF.
God keep you in His peace!
If good you hear of us, you will rejoice;
If evil, you are not so chill'd by age,
But that you'll mourn.
WULFSTAN.
Long, long, my lord, if long
I live to mourn,—which may not be ! "Tis true
The sharpness of our pangs is less in age,
As sounds are muffled by the falling snow;
138
[ACT IV.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
But true no less,
It flings not off.
that what age faintly feels
I'll pray for your success.
SIDROC.
Then I beseech you to forget him now,
And tell me of your counsels and intents.
C
ATHULF.
The miracle of the time is that old man!
And kind as wise-my own eyes, too, are moisten'd-
Yet he'll forget us ere the sun go down.
[Exit.
ATHULF.
Thus do I stand: My letters from the north
Advise me that the Queen's impatient heart
Brooks not prolong'd captivity, and burns
To jeopardise herself, and with herself,
Leolf and all his power, in rash attempts
At premature escape. Meanwhile the Dane
Lurks in the Irish Sea, till civil strife,
The needfullest resources draining last,
Disarms the seabord, and as well may hap
Disables us within. My army here
Frets at the Pope's anathema.
Disheartens it besides, and I am blamed
As though I linger'd here through lack of heart.
There is a fortitude in standing still
This pause
Which leaders know, but they that follow, never.
Daily I hear ten thousand tongues cry out
Forward to London,' and I stir not. Still
I must not stand upon this strength too long,
And truth to say, the levies that come now
Are scarcely worth the waiting for. That bann
K
SCENE II.]
139
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Dispersed them on their way. All which revolved
I meditate to make a sudden march,
And seize the Tower by night.
I am with you
The more, that we have friends within the walls.
That wily wench who carried in your letters
Remains behind, and unsuspected still.
ATHULF.
Moreover she hath with her store of gold.
He is.
SIDROC.
He did.
SCENE II. London. An apartment in the Tower.
DUNSTAN and GURMO.
DUNSTAN,
Whence com'st thou? From the King? Is he awake?
Yes; he slept still.
GURMO.
DUNSTAN.
How slept he? Soundly through the night?
there.
GURMO.
DUNSTAN.
Why how? did not the dogs then bark?
GURMO.
DUNSTAN.
The watches of the night
140
[ACT IV.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Are changed too seldom. Once an hour henceforth
Let them be changed, and ever as they change
Let drums and trumpets sound.
GURMO.
Her Majesty
Has waited long. Likewise the Primate.
DUNSTAN.
Whew!
I had forgotten them. Conduct them hither.
[Exit GURMO.
The fear, but not the fact, of death. . . if this,
This only should suffice,-why then my soul
Should find a free deliverance to the work,
And after, hold its state more cheerfully.
If not, the darkness of the mortal deed
Shall yet be kindled by a light divine.
Enter the QUEEN MOTHER and ODO.
Content you, Madam. Let me hear no more.
You have another and a better son.
Though this should not deserve to reign nor live,—
As he is truly dead in his offence
Already, yea and stinketh,—yet should that
Applausively succeed. I say no more;
But leave to me the working out God's will
Touching them both.
QUEEN MOTHER.
My lord, yourself was witness
How hardy and how stout he was against me,
And how most filthily by word of mouth
He spat upon me, so to say, and rail'd
SCENE II.]
141
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Foully with evil speaking from his heart,
Renouncing and disowning me for aye,
Likewise the ten commandments. Yet, my lord,
He is my son-this womb did bring him forth-
You know not what it is to be a mother!
I do beseech you, spare him!
DUNSTAN.
To what end?
For God's behoof, or yours, or his, or whose?
Who biddeth me?
QUEEN MOTHER.
Speak, my lord Primate; bid him to spare my son.
Ad
DUNSTAN.
ODO.
Lord Abbot, by mine office
I might be bold to speak by way of bidding ;
Yet still remembering thine unrivall'd merits
And services to God, I say but this:
The times are evil; accidents may come
Yielding occasion of exceeding malice
With havoc to the Church and injury
And backward sliding, if beyond the range
Of Christian prudence, through inordinate zeal,
We push our present promise of success.
For of one colour though the city be,
And neighbouring shires the same, still is the land,
Eastward and northward specially, a web
Diversely diaper'd; for here the weft
Is spun of light and dipp'd in dyes of heaven;
There, dyed in Styx and spun of Satan's slaver.
142
[ACT IV.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
We may not think that Athulf, who is held
To number twenty thousand, will be scared
By caps of citizens toss'd up i' the air;
Nor may we count upon the citizens' caps
For courses which may seem to some extreme.
Wherefore behoves us so to use success
As not to raise against us those, though erring,
Whose honest zeal stands stoutly for the crown,
Demanding strict succession.
DUNSTAN.
Be content.
Though neither law nor usage of the realm
Did ever yet demand what these demand,
Nor ever yet did honesty so err,
Still have I ponder'd all. The godless King
Shall abdicate; he shall not be removed.
ODO.
If reason should so work with him at length
That such should be his choice, 'twere excellent.
DUNSTAN.
Since he was crown'd, experience, by my hand
Directed, hath admonish'd him to deem
The state of kings unenviable. Now
He shall be tutor'd to perceive the joys
Of privateness, best fitted for his years.
I pray you meddle not. Nor, Madam, you.
SCENE IV.]
143
EDWIN THE FAIR.
SCENE III-A Precinct of the Tower.
ETHILDA and EMMA.
ETHILDA.
They will not; for they say that I am watch'd,
And to find entrance to the King for me
Should bring a double danger; but for you
They would attempt it.
At the hour of nones
The Abbot will be with him, after which
You will have least to fear.
EMMA.
Unless a ghost
Stand in the doorway, terror is there none
Can let or hinder me.
ETHILDA.
Where is your father?
EMMA.
Fled with Earl Sidroc. We shall meet ere night.
How does your grace?
SCENE IV.-A Chamber in the Tower.
DUNSTAN and EDWIN.
DUNSTAN.
EDWIN.
What need for you to ask?
Let me remind you of an antique verse:
What sent the messengers to hell
Was asking what they knew full well.
You know that I am ill and very weak.
144
[ACT IV.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
DUNSTAN.
You do not answer with a weaken'd wit.
Is there offence in this
If so, I leave you.
my
visitation ?
EDWIN.
Yes, there is offence.
And yet I would not you should go.
Is better than this blank of solitude.
I am so weary of no company,
That I could almost welcome to these walls
The Devil and his angels. You may stay.
Offence
EDWIN.
DUNSTAN.
What makes you weak? Do you not like your food,
Or have you not enough?
Enough is brought;
But he that brings it drops what seems to say
That it is mix'd with poison-some slow drug;
So that I scarce dare eat and hunger always.
DUNSTAN.
Your food is poison'd by your own suspicions.
'Tis your own fault. Tho' Gurmo's zeal is great,
It is impossible he should so exceed
As to put poison in your food,-I think.
But thus it is with kings; suspicions haunt
And dangers press around them all their days;
Ambition galls them, luxury corrupts,
And wars and treasons are their talk at table.
SCENE IV.]
145
EDWIN THE FAIR.
EDWIN.
This homily you should read to prosperous kings;
It is not needed for a king like me.
DUNSTAN.
Who shall read homilies to a prosperous king!
'Twas not long since that thou didst seem to prosper,
And then I warn'd thee; and with what event
Thou knowest; for thy heart was high in pride.
A hope that, like Salomé, danced before thee
Did ask my head. But I reproach thee not.
Much rather would I, seeing thee abased,
Lift up thy mind to wisdom.
EDWIN.
Heretofore
It was not in my thoughts to take thy head;
That thou wouldst teach me.
But should I reign again . . . Come then, this wisdom
Harmless as the dove
I have been whilome; let me now, tho' late,
Learn from the serpent.
DUNSTAN.
To thy credulous ears
The world, or what is to a king the world,
The triflers of thy court, have imaged me
As cruel and insensible to joy,
Austere and ignorant of all delights
That arts can minister. Far from the truth
They wander who say thus. I but denounce
Loves on a throne and pleasures out of place.
I am not old; not twenty years have fled
Since I was young as thou; and in my youth
L
146
[ACT IV.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
I was not by those pleasures unapproach'd
Which youth converses with.
EDWIN.
How came they in thy sight?
No! wast thou not?
DUNSTAN.
When Satan first
Attempted me, 'twas in a woman's shape;
Such shape as may have erst misled mankind
When Greece or Rome uprear'd with Pagan rites
Temples to Venus, pictured there or carved
With rounded, polish'd and exuberant grace,
And mien whose dimpled changefulness betray'd
Thro' jocund hues the seriousness of passion.
I was attempted thus, and Satan sang
With female pipe and melodies that thrill'd
The soften'd soul, of mild voluptuous ease
And tender sports that chased the kindling hours
In odorous gardens or on terraces
To music of the fountains and the birds,
Or else in skirting groves by sunshine smitten
Or warm winds kiss'd, whilst we from shine to shade.
Roved unregarded. Yes, 'twas Satan sang,
Because 'twas sung to me, whom God had call'd
To other pastime and severer joys.
But were it not for this, God's strict behest
Enjoin'd upon me,-had I not been vow'd
To holiest service rigorously required,
I should have own'd it for an angel's voice,
Nor ever could an earthly crown, or toys
SCENE IV.]
147
EDWIN THE FAIR.
And childishness of vain ambition, gauds
And tinsels of the world, have lured my heart
Into the tangle of those mortal cares
That gather round a throne. What call is thine
From God or Man, what voice within bids thee
Such pleasures to forego, such cares confront?
EDWIN.
What voice? My kingdom's voice-my people's cry,
Whom ye devour-the wail of shepherds true.
Over their flocks, those godly, kindly priests
That love my people and love me withal—
Their voice requires me and the voice of kings
Who died with honour and who live in me,
The voice of Egbert, Ethelbert, and Alfred.
What would'st thou more? the voice of kings unborn
To whom my sceptre and my blood descends-
A thousand voices call me!
DUNSTAN.
Sir, not so.
The voices of this people and those kings
Call on prince Edgar, not on thee, to reign.
There is a voice calls thee, but not to reign,
The voice of her thou fain wouldst take to wife;
An excommunicated wretch she is
Even now, and if thy lust of kingly power
Outbid thine other lusts, and starken thee
In grasping of that shadow of a sceptre
That still is left thee, 'tis a dying voice.
For know—unless thou by an instant act
Renounce the crown, Elgiva shall not live.
The deed is ready, to which thy name affix'd
作
​L 2
148
LACT IV.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Discharges from restraint both her and thee.
Say wilt thou sign?
EDWIN.
I will not.
DUNSTAN.
Be advised.
What hast thou to surrender? I look round;
This chamber is thy palace, court, and realm.
I do not see the crown. Where is it hidden?
Is that thy throne? why 'tis a base joint-stool;
Or this thy sceptre ? 'tis an ashen stick
Notch'd with the days of thy captivity.
Such royalties to abdicate, methinks,
Should hardly hold thee long. Nay, I myself
That love not ladies greatly, would give these
To ransom whom I loved.
EDWIN.
If all I have
Be nothing worth, why ask'st thou me to give it?
I trust thee not. I deem myself a king.
But let me go at large, and knowing then
How stands my realm, what's lost and what remains,
I'll answer thee.
DUNSTAN.
Now, now, I bid thee answer.
Anon I bring the parchment that redeems.
Another and thyself, both from captivity,
And one from worse. I bid thee be prepared.
EDWIN.
Elgiva! for thy ransom, life were little,
A kingdom in itself of no account.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.]
149
EDWIN THE FAIR.
But oh an abject and unkingly act.
Done by a king, and as his foes will say,
To save himself in his extremity,-
This is a purchase thou thyself wilt scorn,
Although thyself the rescued. Yet, oh! yet...
What step is this?
Enter EMMA,
EMMA.
My lord, the Abbot comes,
And I am here at peril of my life . . .
This from Earl Leolf . . . it says the Queen is safe . .
No more or I am lost . . . Earl Athulf . . . nay
EDWIN (after reading the letter).
Farewell, then, loved Elgiva! I shall die,
As now I may, with honour from mankind,
And no one in thine ear shall dare to breathe
A defamation of my kingly name.
They shall not say but that I died a king,
And like a king in my regalities.
Re-enter DUNSTAN (holding a scroll).
Thy signature to this.
DUNSTAN.
EDWIN.
I will not sign.
[Excit.
DUNSTAN.
Thou wilt not! Wilt thou that thy mistress die?
EDWIN.
Insulting Abbot! she is not my mistress;
She is my wife, my Queen.
150
[ACT IV.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Predestinate pair!
He knoweth who is the searcher of our hearts,
That I was ever backward to take life,
Albeit at His command. Still have I striven
To put aside that service, seeking still
All ways and shifts that wit of man could scheme
To spare the cutting off your wretched souls
In unrepented sin. But tendering here
Terms of redemption, it is thou, not I,
The sentence that deliverest.
Are in God's hands.
DUNSTAN.
•
EDWIN.
Our lives
DUNSTAN.
Sot, liar, miscreant, no!
God puts them into mine! and may my soul
In tortures howl away eternity
If ever again it yield to that false fear
That turn'd me from the shedding of thy blood!
Thy blood, rash traitor to thy God, thy blood!
Thou delicate Agag, I will spill thy blood!
Ho, Gurmo! ... I have sinned like Saul... What, ho!
Gurmo, I say. The sword of Samuel . . . ho!
Enter GURMO.
Thou knowest thine office. Let me see thee soon.
[Exit.
GURMO (falling on his knees).
Mercy, my lord! I pray your grace to spare me.
EDWIN.
Mercy for thee! what mercy canst thou show?
SCENE V.]
151
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Yet thou art but another's senseless weapon,
And if thou needs must do thy bloody work,
Strike; I forgive thee.
GURMO.
Gracious lord, not I.
EDWIN.
Then I may have some minutes more to live.
But if thou falter, soon will the Abbot find
A readier hand.
GURMO.
He knows not what I know.
What dost thou know?
EDWIN.
GURMO.
Hark! hear you not, my lord?
Trumpets and shouts! Anon they storm the Tower.
EDWIN.
'Tis Athulf's cry! the guards are gone! 'Tis he!
SCENE V.- A Garden within the walls of Chester Castle.
ELGIVA (alone).
How pleasant it might seem to a bird of the air
Passing upon the wing, or aught that's free
In this delightful garden to abide,
And be a captive ever. Make me free,
And I myself should linger on this ground
152
[ACT IV.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Reluctant to depart. But as I am,
The shadow of the imprison'd spirit falls
On everything around; the warbling thrush
Is tedious in the telling of his loves,
The perfume of the wallflower taints the air.
And yet in much of this adornment lurks
A lover's hand. They gave me to the ward
Of age and bitterness in Ruold's father,
Forgetting Ruold's father had a son.
I am his captive and he mine, poor youth!
For though they stripp'd me of my royalties,
In the prerogatives of beauty still
I found myself acknowledged. Ah! he comes.
He shall have audience. No, he's not alone.
I'll hide my head awhile. 'Tis Sigeric.
[Retires into an arbour.
Enter RUOLD and SIGERIC.
SIGERIC.
The King thus rescued from that imminent fate,
The cry was now for Dunstan. Where was he?
For with his traitorous head should he atone
The meditation of that mortal blow
Which he had all but dealt. So where was he?
Gone! vanish'd! not a footstep to be found!
Whether by transformation magical,
Or subterranean egress, known to him
And not to others,-by what means I say not,—
But gone he was; and Sidroc in pursuit
Went babbling like a buckhound all abroad
That vainly seeks the slot. His creature, too,
Gruff Gurmo, disappear'd.
瞥
​SCENE V.]
153
EDWIN THE FAIR.
·
He will be heard of.
RUOLD.
Ere long, be sure,
SIGERIC.
Should he gain the coast,
'Tis thought he'll cross to Flanders. Either way
The Primate, unto whom the King speaks fair,
Demurs not to his banishment, if so
The kingdom's wounds be heal'd; and with this word
He sends me to be present on his part
At Edgar's Witenagemót. When meets it?
RUOLD.
'Tis summon'd for the Vigil of St. Chad
At Malpas, whither is my father gone
Since yesterday. He went ensuing peace,
Constrain'd, though last to be constrain'd, to own
That peace is needful. Not a day but teems
With tidings of the Dane. He threatens now
The coasts of Somerset and Severn's mouth.
This, with the loss of Dunstan from our ranks,
And Odo's inclination, looks one way.
SIGERIC.
I think it brings us peace.
RUOLD.
Which seen, my friend
Advise me, I beseech you. What results ?
A peace is made, my father last to join
The general voice, and odious more than others
As the Queen's gaoler—how shall fare his head?
154
[ACT IV.
EDWIN THE FAIR..
SIGERIC.
He must be cared for in the composition ;
An amnesty for all, and him by name,
Must stand upon the treaty.
RUOLD.
Who shall trust it?
My friend, the terms that I would trust are terms
For service render'd.
SIGERIC.
If I know your drift,
You would let loose the Queen.
RUOLD.
And wherefore not?
SIGERIC.
As servant of the Primate and the State
I say God speed you in your bold intent.
In private, as your father's friend and yours,
I bid you to beware. If peace be made,
And you have still been constant to your charge,
It is but, at the worst, uncertainties
That hang about you. But if peace be miss'd,
have set at large this royal hostage,
And you
The very aim and purport of the war,
It shall be then no question nor surmise
What shall befall you.
RUOLD.
If there were not danger,
Where were the service that could claim reward?
Keep you my counsel for my father's sake,
And if at Malpas when you meet the Witan
SCENE V.]
155
EDWIN THE FAIR.
You hear a rumour of the Queen escaped,
Call it a misadventure and mischance.
Save what shall reach
I shall know nought.
SIGERIC.
me when I'm gone from hence
God send you well to fare!
[Exit.
RUOLD.
I thank you, worthy Sigeric. Farewell.
Elgiva! Royal mistress! Beautiful Queen!
I would the danger to my head were more,
Lest thou shouldst deem it but a politic cast,
And not a loyal venture.
Re-enter ELGIVA.
ELGIVA.
My good Ruold,
'Twas Sigeric went from you, was it not?
What tidings brought he?
RUOLD.
Madam, he confirms
Our yesterday's intelligence. The King
Is rescued by Earl Athulf. Dunstan is fled.
And there is this additional,—Ethilda
Is to Earl Athulf solemnly betroth'd,
Though yet the nuptials are not; for the Pope
To Dunstan only gave authority
The sentence which he utter'd to revoke ;
And whilst the Earl is excommunicate
The princess to the marriage doth demur.
ELGIVA.
Her heart was ever scrupulous, and splits
156
[ACT IV.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
I
Betwixt the Pope and Athulf. Notwithstanding,
Athulf will prosper. Ah! my faithful Ruold,
Now must I put thy loyalty to proof.
The letters from Earl Leolf that were brought
Are full of comfort. He is in force at Audley;
And with a light and deftly mounted troop
In cover of the night could come to Tilston,
And me, there meeting him, could carry thence,
And pass the interspace of hostile ground
Ere break of day. No more of doubtful looks,
Dear, faithful Ruold. I must brush away
These cobwebs from thy brow-Ah, now 'tis clear,
Free, frank, and noble !-Well, what answer, Ruold?
RUOLD.
My Royal mistress, doubts if I have had,
They were not craven nor disloyal doubts;
They were but such as fear for you proposed
Not for myself; and now my fears are less,
My faith the same; my answer is, then,—go,
Go at your gracious pleasure, if your flight
Be deem'd more safe than your captivity.
ELGIVA.
Oh! I am sick of safety in a prison.
Give me that dangerous liberty I seek
And through the tossings of one turbulent night
Let me descry the harbour of my home
With waving hands and welcomings of friends
When mid the shoutings of the multitude
I shoot triumphant o'er the perilous bar
And pass at once to gladness and to peace.
SCENE I.
157
EDWIN THE FAIR.
RUOLD.
Even be it as you will.
But stir not yet.
Wait till the lords have drawn their forces in
And gather'd to the Witenagemót.
Then shall you send to Leolf, and appoint
The period of your flight.
ELGIVA.
Good Ruold, will it? I will try to wait.
ACT V.
SCENE I-A Heath in Hampshire.-DUNSTAN and GURMO
in flight.
"Twill not be long,
DUNSTAN.
The night shall shield us like a raven's wing.
What hear'st thou in the wind?
And not be hungry?
And he is hungry too.
Thou faint'st with hunger.
GURMO.
DUNSTAN.
GURMO.
A moaning cry.
Can I fast so long
DUNSTAN.
'Tis the cry of a wolf,
Make forward still.
158
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
I see a light.
GURMO.
DUNSTAN.
Hist in the lull of the wind
I hear the stroke of hammers. On apace!
It is a blacksmith's forge. I'll harbour there.
SCENE II-A Blacksmith's Forge.-The Blacksmith at work.
Serfs and Boors dropping in, with a Monk and others.
BLACKSMITH (blowing the bellows, and singing).
But now I wax old,
Sick, sorry, and cold,
Like muck upon mould
I widder away.
FIRST BOOR.
Look, thou horse-cobbler; call'st thou this a shoe?
I know thee: since the slaughter at the ford
Thou'rt warming old ones up.
BLACKSMITH.
Oh me, St. Giles !
SECOND BOOR.
And mark this coulter; look you at this mattock.
MONK,
Repent and do thy work more workmanlike
Or in a twinkling thou shalt him behold
That came to holy Dunstan's forge unbid
And staid unwilling. Marry, sir, thy tongs
Would touch him not, and he is roaming now
Through all the land.
SCENE II.]
159
EDWIN THE FAIR.
The print of his hoof.
And Father Ægelpig
'Twas like a goat's.
THIRD BOOR.
'Tis true; I saw myself
'Twas in Dame Umfrieg's garth;
discover'd it.
MONK.
My son, he's there and here
And everywhere, since that most holy man,
The Abbot Dunstan, by the godless King
Was driven away.
FOURTH BOOR.
I've sent for Father Cridda
To bless and exorcise my cattle and swine.
MONK.
Thou hast done well; but thy best safety lies
In holy Dunstan's prayers. At Winchester
Ye heard how in the west end of the church
The night that Dunstan fled the Devil skipp'd
And with great laughter in his roaring fashion
Took
up his O be joyful!' Who are these?
A brother of mine order is the one,
6
If I mistake not.
Benedicite!
Enter DUNSTAN and GURMO.
DUNSTAN.
God save you! holy brother: sons, and you!
We seek for shelter from the coming storm.
Father, you're welcome.
BLACKSMITH.
MONK.
Come ye from the south?
160
[ACT V.
EDWIN •
THE FAIR.
From London last.
DUNSTAN.
MONK.
From London? yea, indeed!
What tidings bring ye then?
DUNSTAN.
In Dunstan's cause?
MONK.
Canst thou be so insensible to ask?
The holy Abbot Dunstan
What fate attends him?
What would ye know?
where is he?
DUNSTAN.
That we know not yet.
BLACKSMITH.
A price is on his head-ten thousand marks.
Lilla, the King's Gerefa of the shire,
Proclaim'd it far and wide.
DUNSTAN.
Give me thy hammer;
Thou canst not make a coulter so; look here;
Strike endways—thus-and thus. What said the shire
To Lilla's proclamation? Was it welcomed?
MONK.
Torn down and trampled in the mud. This shire
Will yield them many a Peter with his sword,
But ne'er a Judas.
DUNSTAN.
Is the shire so hot
SCENE II.]
161
EDWIN THE FAIR.
MONK.
It kindles hourly. Nay
"Tis said that Lilla and his men were met
On Chilton-down by fifteen hundred boors
And scantly saved themselves by flight.
FIRST BOOR.
'Tis true;
'Twas Titchburne township that turn'd out the first :
But we of Droxford will be up betimes;
See if we be not.
DUNSTAN,
If ye be, my friends,
The Abbot will be presently amongst you;
For this way comes he, having in his mind
To cross the sea to Flanders. But my friends,
If
ye be hearty in the cause of God
Ye will not let him go. Shame to this shire,
Shame be to England and to Christendom,
If he that fasted and that watch'd for you
And day by day to save your perishing souls
Flay'd his poor body streaming down with blood,-
Shame to your country and yourselves, if he
Should flee before the wicked!
BOORS.
We'll rise! we'll rise!
It never shall be said. He shall not flee.
DUNSTAN,
him in his peril.
He will not, if ye stead
But ye must be alert. Go forth this night,
This very night go forth, and call your fellows
M
162
{ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
In all the hamlets round, to meet at Stoke
By dawn to-morrow. Thither Dunstan comes,
And ye shall bid him go no farther forth.
MONK.
What! Dunstan's very self! will he be there?
I say he will.
SECOND BOOR.
Then, mattock, go thy ways;
I'll run to meet him.
We all have souls!
DUNSTAN.
THIRD BOOR.
All-we all must run.
MONK.
Come to the abbey first,
And ye shall have your doublets lined with mead
Wherewith defended ye may face the storm,
Flying from house to house, and send the news
From village on to village.
BLACKSMITH.
And, father, you,
And this your friend, shall rest the while with me.
SCENE III.-Derby.
EDWIN and ATHULF.
ATHULF.
With patience we shall prosper. Patience only
Is wanting to us now.
SCENE IV.]
163
EDWIN THE FAIR.
EDWIN.
Nay, do not chide me.
I have been patient in a prison, Athulf;
Patient of wrongs, and cruelties, and threats,
Sickness and imminent death; but this is worse;
To be at large, and yet be check'd and curb'd,
When now my wife's deliverance only waits
On my advance.
ATHULF.
With measured speed we pass
With hurried steps
To an assured result.
We should but bring the shadow of an army
To issues that would then be full of doubt.
Our marches are too hasty, and the force
Begins to break. Pause, I beseech you.
EDWIN.
Well;
You are a soldier tried in many a field;
And I am but a King. Have, then, your way.
Could not the Queen
Of the King's army?
SCENE IV.-Audley in Staffordshire.
LEOLF and EMMA.
EMMA.
await the coming up
Must she hazard yours?
LEOLF.
My army moves not. A few mounted thanes
Alone go with me. No, she hazards nothing,-
Nothing that's worth a care, except herself.
M 2
164
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
She hazards all.
EMMA.
LEOLF.
True, for her safety's sake
I could have wish'd her to let time declare
What shall ensue at Malpas. But the signs
Bid fair for peace, and barring misadventure . .
EMMA.
'Tis a rash reckoning in such times as these
That bars a misadventure.
LEOLF.
Nay, not so.
With Dunstan fled the spirit of the storm,
And Indiscretion, that was fain to hide
Its batter'd plumage, now may gambol forth
On bolder wing.-Earl Sidroc, by my life!
Welcome to Audley !
Enter SIDROC.
SIDROC.
Nay, my lord Heretoch, nay;
Before you make me welcome, hear my news.
LEOLF.
No, you are welcome. If your news be bad,
Welcome the more, for then the more's the need
Of your good counsel.
SIDROC.
Dunstan is at large-
Nay more, has join'd the Witenagemót.
I chased him to the coast, where in a night
SCENE IV.]
165
EDWIN THE FAIR.
The boors of Hampshire rose five thousand strong
And snatch'd him from my hands.
Already there!
LEOLF.
SIDROC.
I fear he is indeed.
But have you then no tidings? Hear you not
From Malpas ?
LEOLF.
We had look'd to hear anon.
There comes a fellow with an open mouth
And eager eye.
Enter Messenger.
The sequel? Speak, my friend;
What more beside the message in thy face?
The Abbot is at Malpas ?
MESSENGER.
And he was heard?
LEOLF.
At Malpas now!
That we knew
Or nearly knew. What hath he done at Malpas?
MESSENGER.
He called the Witenagemót together
And bade them never more to speak of peace
Until the church were founded in her rights.
LEOLF.
MESSENGER.
He was opposed by some
166
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
That stood around him, but the floor fell in
And they went headlong; on the only beam
That brake not, Dunstan, standing undismay'd,
Stretch'd forth his arm and bade the multitude
Confess the hand of God.
SIDROC.
By Peter's Keys
Another miracle and a murder too
Done by this cunning carpenter!
LEOLF.
What ensued
Needs not be ask'd. Peace was renounced, no doubt?
It was, my lord.
MESSENGER.
EMMA.
The salvage may be high,
But something there is saved by this. The Queen
Will now sit close.
LEOLF.
I know not that. Another
Would do so; but adversity, to some
So sedative, to others is a goad.
Aught that disturbs her, hurries her to act.
-Then hears the King, her husband, of her peril,
And he is hurried past his reason too.—
I pray you come. But Ernway, get you ready
To carry letters south.
[Exeunt LEOLF and SIDROC.
EMMA.
Now will he write
Commending care and patience to the King,
SCENE V.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
167
And take the danger solely to himself.
But think you, Seneschal, the Earl's dear life
Should thus be thrown amongst the enemy
And all of us behind?
SENESCHAL.
What else can I?
EMMA.
Why this: So soon as he is gone, the force
Is at thy order-move it on to Lea,
Whence thou canst see, if aught ensue amiss,
To Leolf's safe return.
SENESCHAL.
Nay but the King,
If he be patient to the Heretoch's wish,
Will be but late to join us tho' we wait;
And should we move
•
•
EMMA.
The King will follow fast
Once he shall know you gone; which that he shall
In all its import know, trust to my care,
For I will forth with Ernway, and perchance
My counsel with the King in this affair
Will weigh as heavy as the Heretoch's.
SCENE V.-Malpas.-DUNSTAN surrounded by Ealdermen and
Military Leaders of the Monastic Party.
DUNSTAN.
No more of Witenagemóts-no more—
Councils and courts we want not.-Get
ye
back,
168
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Back to your posts, and pluck me forth your swords,
And let me hear your valiant deeds resound,
And not your empty phrases. Ecfrid, Gorf,
Look to your charges-Nantwich stands exposed-
Whitchurch lies open to the enemy—
Burley and Baddeley have sold themselves-
Wistaston is as naked as Godiva
And not so honest. Eadbald, Ida, Brand,
What seek ye here when honour is in the field?
Forth to your charges!-What! Ceolwulf too!
Enter the Coastwardens, CEOLWULF and ÆTHELRIC.
And Æthelric! Why come ye hither, sirs?
Must ye too have your parley and your prate
And leave your charges in extremity
To join this gossiping Gemót? St. Bride!
Is Somerset not worth your pains, my lords,
Or hath the Dane, too, from the seabord slunk
To prattle about peace?
We are not come . . .
i
CEOLWULF.
Changing
What are ye come for?
Ye seek it where it is not.
Lord Abbot, hear us;
DUNSTAN.
Not come to pule and prate?
If aught else ye seek
Back to your charge!
ÆTHELRIC.
We have no force.
Escaped by miracle.
You will not hear, my lord. We have no charge—
Our men are slain-ourselves
The Northmen, led.
•
EDWIN THE FAIR.
SCENE VI.]
By Sweyne and Olaf, landed yesternight
In Porlock Bay and clipp'd us round at Stoke,
And thinn'd as we had been, we fell perforce
An easy prey. Not twenty men are left
To tell the tale.
DUNSTAN.
In Porlock Bay! At Stoke!
—Have I not bid you to your posts, my lords,
And must I bid you twice? Get ye hence all.
If news ye came for, ye have heard it.-Stop,
Ceolwulf. Whither go the Northmen next?
CEOLWULF.
To Glastonbury it is thought, my lord.
DUNSTAN.
To Glastonbury do they go? Alas!
My mother there lies sick.
SCENE VI.-Ashborn in Derbyshire.
EDWIN and ATHULF.
EDWIN.
Still this is gain'd, -the everlasting word
Halt!' shall be heard no more; and never more
Shall my heart sicken at its detested sound.
Now, thinking of Elgiva close at hand,
We shall be fill'd with her victorious spirit.
ATHULF.
I would to God that I could think her wise.
All is in jeopardy thro' her. By heaven!
169
..
170
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
I know not which is worst-to come too late,
Or come with broken strength.
EDWIN.
To come too late
Is worst by far. When Leolf went from Audley
'Tis true he bade us to beware of haste;
But then he knew not that the enemy's force
Would move on Nantwich, which, with his own at Lea,
Shall cheek-by-jowl bring them, whilst us it leaves
More laggard than we were.
ATHULF.
I'll stake my head
'Twas ne'er by Leolf's wish his force was moved
So far as Lea. But be it so or not,
'Twas moved in error; it can bring no aid
To Leolf and Elgiva; rather, I fear,
"Twill draw the forces of the enemy down
Upon the very wayside of their flight.
Still moved it is-and I deny not now
That we should follow at our best of speed.
SCENE VII-Night. A Coppice near Acton in Cheshire.-In
front is a mortstone. Enter certain Retainers and Servants
of LEOLF.
FIRST SERVANT.
This is the road, bring up the horses, ho!
Hark! heard'st thou aught? If Dunstan knew, my
friends,
He'd ope his book and read a verse of power,
And send a goblin that should...
SCENE VII.]
171
EDWIN THE FAIR.
SECOND SERVANT.
Is it not hither the Earl should come?
FIRST SERVANT.
Hush! thou fool!
'Tis here.
Six furlongs from the chapel. What is this?
Oh me! the mortstone! No it is not here,
'Tis further on.
THIRD SERVANT.
Seest thou not something white?
FIRST SERVANT.
Jesu Maria save us! 'tis a Spirit.
Enter LEOLF and ELGIVA.
LEOLF.
Fresh horses should have met us here.
Hath hinder'd them, I know not; we must wait
Here is a rude stone-seat;
Till these be rested.
We may rest likewise.
LEOLF.
ELGIVA.
Is there danger still?
But little here; the dangers of the road,
I trust, are left behind.
ELGIVA.
LEOLF.
[Exeunt.
Oh Leolf! much
I owe you, and if aught a kingdom's wealth
Affords, could pay the debt. . .
What chance
A kingdom's wealth!
172
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Elgiva! by the heart the heart is paid.
You have your kingdom, my heart hath its love.
We are provided.
ELGIVA.
Oh! in deeds so kind,
And can you be so bitter in your words!
Have I no offerings of the heart, wherewith
Love's service to requite?
LEOLF.
The least of boons
Scatter'd by royal charity's careless hand
O'erpays my service. To requite the rest
All you possess is but a bankrupt's bond.
This is the last time we shall speak together;
Forgive me, therefore, if my speech be bold
And need not an expositor to come.
I loved you once; and in such sort I loved
That anguish hath but burnt the image in
And I must bear it with me to my grave.
I loved you once; dearest Elgiva, yes,
Even now my heart doth feed upon that love
As in its flower and freshness, ere the grace
And beauty of the fashion of it perish'd.
It was too anxious to be fortunate,
And it must now be buried, self-embalm'd
Within my breast, or living there recluse
Talk to itself and traffick with itself;
And like a miser that puts nothing out
And asks for no return, must I tell o'er
The treasures of the past.
SCENE VII.]
173
EDWIN THE FAIR.
{
ELGIVA.
Can no return
Be render'd? And is gratitude then nothing?
LEOLF.
To me 'tis nothing-being less than love.
But cherish it as to your own soul precious!
The heavenliest lot that earthly natures know
Is to be affluent in gratitude.
Be grateful and be happy. For myself,
If sorrow be my portion, yet shall hope
That springs from sorrow and aspires to heaven,
Be with me still. When this disastrous war
Is ended, I shall quit my country's shores
A pilgrim and a suitor to the love
Which dies not nor betrays.-What cry is that?
I thought I heard a voice.
So tender, so severe !
ELGIVA.
Oh Leolf, Leolf!
LEOLF.
Mistake me not.
I would not be unjust; I have not been;
Now less than ever could I be, for now
A sacred and judicial calmness holds
Its mirror to my soul; at once disclosed
The picture of the past presents itself
Minute yet vivid, such as it is seen
In his last moments by a drowning man.
Look at this skeleton of a once green leaf:
Time and the elements conspired its fall;
174
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
The worm hath eaten out the tenderer parts
And left this curious anatomy
Distinct of structure-made so by decay.
So at this moment lies my life before me
In all its intricacies, all its errors—
And can I be unjust?
ELGIVA.
Oh, more than just,
Most merciful in judgment have you been,
And even in censure kind.
LEOLF.
Our lives were link'd
By one misfortune and a double fault.
It was my folly to have fix'd my hopes
Upon the fruitage of a budding heart.
It was your fault,-the lighter fault by far,-
Being the bud to seem to be the berry.
The first inconstancy of unripe years
Is nature's error on the way to truth.
But, hark! another cry! they call us hence.
Why come they not to us? Hark! Hist! again !
A clash of swords! Our band then is beset.
Alas, Elgiva!
ELGIVA.
Leolf, we are lost.
Say, is it so? I am not afraid.-But, oh!
Forgive me, Leolf, for I have wrong'd in you
The noblest of your kind. Oh Edwin! . . . Leolf,
Tell him that I was true till death to him,
Though sometime false to you.
SCENE VIII.]
175
EDWIN THE FAIR.
LEOLF.
Our horses are at hand-we still may fly.
Fly, fly, Elgiva!
SCENE VIII.-Lea in Cheshire.
EDWIN, ATHULF, and SIDROC.
SIDROC.
Neither of them nor those that with them went
Nor those that went to meet them, can I glean
One grain of tidings. Even lies are scarce
And false reports arrive not.
ATHULF.
SIDROC.
They are lost.
EDWIN.
Peace, Athulf! if thou wouldst not see me sink
To cowardice now, when most I need my courage,
Speak not that word again. They shall be found.
Let us but march on Malpas.
By the way
It may be we shall meet them. But if news
Of them be wanting, of the Danes 'tis rife.
In Somerset, which now they leave behind,
Town, hamlet, monastery, church and grange,
Lie smoking, and at Glastonbury Sweyne
Wasted the Abbot's lands, his treasure took,
And scared his bed-rid mother, that she fled,
Though seized with mortal sickness.
176
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
ATHULF.
Strikes at the human corner of his heart.
SIDROC.
Upon him now, then, while his cheer is low.
ATHULF.
Oh, Sidroc! what is ours?
Hurt to her
EDWIN.
Nay, hope the best.
Sidroc is right. We'll march at once on Malpas,
Sending the women to our friends in Wales.
SCENE IX.-Malpas.
BRIDFERTH and RUOLD.
BRIDFERTH.
He is in much perplexity of mind.
You cannot see him. Since his mother's death
He comes not from his chamber, save at night
When the sad brethren of St. Benedict
Say masses for her soul.
RUOLD.
His mother dead!
BRIDFERTH.
At Glastonbury she lay sick, and thence
Driven by the Dane, the terror of her flight,
Conspiring with her malady, put out.
Her spark of life. To her great son she sent
Her dying charge that he as best he might
SCENE IX.]
177
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Should heal his country's wounds and give it peace,
And rescue from the Northmen's ravages
Its poor remains.
That is so instant?
He knows already.
RUOLD.
Indeed! His mother dead!
Well, had he lost ten mothers ten times told
Still must I see him.
BRIDFERTH.
What's your errand then
Of the Queen's escape
RUOLD.
That is not the last
Nor yet the sharpest of the untoward strokes
That destiny hath dealt us. What I know
I fear to tell, save to the Abbot only.
But, lo! he comes! And by my life I shrink
From telling it to him! Stand back a space.
[They retire. DUNSTAN enters.
DUNSTAN.
Why did I quit the cloister? I have fought
The battles of Jehovah! I have braved
The perfidies of courts, the wrath of kings,
Desertion, treachery,-and I murmur'd not,—
The fall from puissance, the shame of flight,
The secret knife, the public proclamation,-
And how am I rewarded? God hath raised
New enemies against me,—from without
The furious Northman,-from within, far worse,
Heart-sickness and a subjugating grief.
She was my friend-I had but her-no more,
N
178
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
No other upon earth-and as for heaven,
I am as they that seek a sign, to whom
No sign is given. My mother! Oh, my mother!
-Who's this? What are you, sir? What brings you
here?
You are Ruold.
Oh, ho! I know you.
Well,
What news from Chester? Easy watch you kept
Upon Elgiva. Let that pass. What more?
Your father's merits have redeem'd your head
That else were forfeited.
RUOLD.
Lord Abbot, still
It stands a forfeit, if adversity,
Loss and disaster make a forfeiture.
Chester is burnt. The Dane came up the Dee,
And landing in the night, ere break of day
Slew half my force and fired the town.
DUNSTAN.
So ! so!
Deem'dst thou that this should jeopardise thy head!
Far otherwise. But send Harcather here.
This news is welcome.
[Exeunt RUOLD and BRIDFERTH.
Is it not welcome? Yes;
It rings a shrill alarum in my ears,
Telling me that the murderers of my mother
Are come to judgment. Give me back, oh God,
My health of heart, and waken me to wield
The weapons of thy anger. Oh my mother!
Thy deathbed was illuminate from heaven,
And in the glory of prophetic light
Thy soul departed. From thy place thou seest.
SCENE IX.]
179
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Thy word fulfill'd-the Heathen hems us round-
Next thou shalt see thy son perform thy bidding,
And gathering into one the broken force
Of this divided realm, with headlong might
Reject the Northmen to their native rocks.
Enter HARCATHER.
Harcather, we are threaten'd, hear'st thou not?
The raven that was watching from afar
Our mortal throes, deems that she now can tear
The body of the land. Nay, ravenous Dane,
We are not yet exanimate. Let all
That ever dreamt that they were Christians, join
To fight against these robbers of the sea
And hurl them backward to their brine. Proclaim
A peace betwixt King Edwin and the church-
In furtherance whereof will I divulge
Letters of absolution for those earls
That hitherto are excommunicate.
Send me a herald to King Edwin's camp.
What staggering knave is this, with bloodstain'd pate
And livid lips? 'Tis Gurmo. What bring'st thou ?
The Queen? Where is she? Hast thou got her safe?
He cannot speak.
GURMO (who has entered).
Lord Abbot, she is dead.
DUNSTAN.
Dead! By what chance? Alive I bid thee take her,
And wherefore is she dead?
GURMO.
Her horse was fleet-
N 2
180
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
But fleeter is an arrow than a horse.
An arrow from my bow is in her heart.
And Leolf, too, is slain. But lo! I bleed;
For ere they slew him, I was hurt to death
And by his hand. Short shrift for me I wot!
A priest-a priest-not you, Lord Abbot, no-
King Edwin now comes rushing on-Look out
Or you shall be surprised.
DUNSTAN.
Harcather, fly;
The forces that are scatter'd draw together
And plant them close and strong. A herald send,
I say again, with overtures to Edwin,
Inviting him to peace. A priest, good Gurmo?
No, 'tis myself must shrive thee; to my cell
Support him. Is he dead? Not yet-not yet.
SCENE X.-A Village on the Borders of Wales.
ETHILDA, EMMA, ERNWAY, and SIDROC.
SIDROC.
To Ernway's escort must I leave you now,
Lest my return should find a foughten field
And not a field to fight. The road is safe,
And Ruthin Castle you will reach ere long,
With a warm welcome from the good Ap Rhys.
ETHILDA.
When shall the tidings of the battle come
To Ruthin Castle?
SIDROC.
When to-morrow's sun
SCENE XL]
181
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Behind the summit of Llanvarroch sinks,
Look down the valley. If the day be won,
A white flag flying in a horseman's hand
Shall fan you from afar, and kindle joy
In all your hearts.
EMMA.
No, never more in mine.
SIDROC.
If it be lost, perchance you shall descry
Some remnant that may fight their way to Wales,
In shelter of the mountains to abide
Till better times.
ETHILDA.
Commend me to the King,
And tell Earl Athulf I am strong in hope,
Rejoicing alway in his absolution,
And trusting we shall meet to part no more.
SCENE XI.-The Walls of Malpas.
DUNSTAN, HARCATHER, and a Messenger.
DUNSTAN.
With that perpetual cry?
Not knowing yet if Edwin
The Dane! The Dane!' Why pesterest thou mine ears
How face the Dane,
be for peace?
HARCATHER.
For peace, Lord Abbot! nay, he cannot choose.
DUNSTAN.
Let me know that, I say; let me know that.
See ye the herald coming?
182
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
MESSENGER.
Ay, my lord.
HARCATHER.
At herald's pace. These fellows dream and prance
Ever as in a pageant and procession.
DUNSTAN.
I bade him,-when in sight of Edwin's camp.
HARCATHER.
If he be now in sight thereof, that camp
Is nearer than we thought. It may be so.
MESSENGER.
But lo he pricks his prancing to a gallop;
And see, my lord, from forth the valley's gorge
Issues a cloud of dust.
HARCATHER.
By Egbert's bones,
It is the dust of Edwin's army. Stay-
A gleam comes through it-Run thou to my son,
And bid him lead the forces out forthwith.
Send me my horse.
DUNSTAN.
What think'st thou? Is it war?
HARCATHER.
Else wherefore this advance? To horse! to horse!
DUNSTAN.
Stop; be not hasty; now the herald comes;
Hear we his tale.
HERALD enters.
Well, sir, what saith the King?
SCENE XI.]
183
EDWIN THE FAIR.
HERALD.
He saith, my lord, what I should but blaspheme
Should I recite it.
DUNSTAN.
What! thine office, herald!
Speak me the very words.
HERALD.
My lord, he saith
That with a bloody and a barbarous hand
You have torn out the very sweetest life
That ever sanctified humanity.
He saith that should he covenant to make peace
With the revolted angels, yet with you
He would not; for he deems you more accursed
And deeper in perdition. And he saith
Not she that died at Gibeah, whose twelve parts
Sent several through the borders and the coasts
Raised Israel, was avenged more bloodily
Than shall Elgiva be, the murder'd Queen.
Wherefore he bids you come to battle forth,
And add another crime or answer this.
DUNSTAN.
Harcather, hear'st thou? To the field-away!
The gates of Hell stand wider than their wont
To let this infidel and his army pass!
184
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
SCENE XII. Before the Walls of Malpas.-The left of the field.
Alarums and skirmishing. Enter ATHULF and SIDROC
with forces.
ATHULF.
Three minutes till the rearward force is up-
Halt for three minutes-Sidroc, look, oh, look!
The King is plunging madly forward still.
Either an ambush he will find or else
They'll lure him through the gates. Go to him, Sidroc.
SIDROC.
No need of ambush for that headlong boy-
A town is not so manifest a trap
But it shall catch him.
ATHULF.
Fly, then, to his side,
And bring him back. I cannot go myself,
For now the rearward gathers up behind,
And lo! Harcather comes against us.
Charge!
SCENE XIII.-Before the Walls of Malpas.-The right of the
field. A body of Monks are seen ranged on the walls,
holding up crosses and relics. In front, EDWIN with forces.
EDWIN.
Nay, stagger ye at a show of hoods and gowns!
It is a murderer's disguise, I say,
And not a Christian's garb.-What spectre foul
Is yon that rises o'er the ruin'd wall?
I see the accursed Abbot's skinny hand
Held up aloft! Now God befriend the right.
SCENE XIV.]
185
EDWIN THE FAIR.
-
SCENE XIV. Before the Walls of Malpas.-The left of the field.
Alarums and a retreat sounded. ATHULF with a remnant
of his force, and RUOLD.
ATHULF.
I knew you not. Why press'd you thus upon us,
Alone and wounded as you are? Fall back.
RUOLD.
I seek my death,—but, Athulf, not from thee.
ATHULF.
Oh, gentle Ruold, in my sister's right
I bid thee live.
RUOLD..
Her spirit calls me hence.
Had I been resolute, she had lived to-day.
Farewell, brave Athulf. You have lost your King.
[Exit.
ATHULF.
It shall not be. Nay, hold your ground, my friends;
Turn on them-'tis the last time—ay, the last-
Lo! there Earl Sidroc gallops from the right
To tell us if the King can yet be saved.
Stand fast but till he comes. Crossbow-men, see!
They round the hill, the villains! Shoot together-
There flies the sleet that whistles in their beards-
Charge once again-Incomparably shot!
And here comes Sidroc. Well, how fares the King?
Enter SIDROC.
SIDROC.
Outwitted, lost, inveigled, snared, and worse,
SE
186
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
If worse it be, wounded, they say to death.
Soon as the execrable shape appear'd
Of Dunstan on the walls, the tempest rose
Upon his heart, and drave him to destruction.
Athulf, away! for longer now to stand
Were worse than vain.
ATHULF.
They circle us about,
But we shall break their circle to their cost.
Well have ye battled for your King, brave hearts !
And now I bid you but to save yourselves.
Look not too narrowly at the fence, but leap;
And if it chance, as like enough it may,
That we be scatter'd, we shall meet again
At Ruthin, whither is the Princess fled.
Round her we rally. Ride, sirs, for your lives.
SCENE XV.-Malpas.—Interior of the Cathedral. Candles
burning and altars decked as for a service of thanksgiving.
A corpse lies on a bier in the transept, and the chaunting of
a service for the dead is heard at intervals from a side-
chapel. Monks enter in procession, and lastly Dunstan.
DUNSTAN.
So flee the works of darkness. Sing ye the psalm
"Quid gloriaris.'-Stop: a hasty step
Rings in the cloister.
Enter a Soldier.
SOLDIER.
I am bid, my lord,
*
SCENE XV.]
EDWIN THE FAIR.
187
To seek the Lord Harcather, for his son
Ruold is slain.
DUNSTAN.
Silence! No more of that.
Harcather is gone forth to meet the Dane.
Let him not know it yet.—
Enter BRIDFERTH.
Well, Bridferth, well?
BRIDFERTH.
Athulf and Sidroc have escaped, my lord,
The prisoners say, and as I learn elsewhere,
Doing much havoc in their desperate flight.
DUNSTAN.
'Tis true. I thought no less.-What corse is this?
A MONK.
The Queen's, my lord, awaiting burial.
DUNSTAN.
Hers?-
Withdraw the winding-sheet, that once again
I may behold her.-Art thou she indeed!
The blankness of mortality in thee
Seems more than in another! Where be now
The flushings of the fervent cheek, the fires
That lighten'd from those eyes! Oh rueful sight!
Methinks that thou dost look reproachfully.
Not me-not me-upbraid not me, pale Queen!
I slew thee not, nor yet desired thy death;
I would have will'd thee to repent and live,
But lo! the will of God hath master'd mine.
PA
188
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Chaunt from the side-Chapel.
Quando caro sepelitur,
Heu de spiritu nil scitur,
Utrum gaudet an punitur.
"Quis orabit pro delicto?
Quis spondebit pro convicto?
Quis judicio tam stricto
Fiet in præsidium?"
Better be so than be the living cause
Of death eternal and a nation's lapse
To mortal sin. Nor sin nor sorrow now
Hath power upon thee; nor canst thou, fair mask,
Be ever more their minister.
Enter an Attendant.
ATTENDANT.
The King, so please you-
My lord,
DUNSTAN.
What, sir, of the King?
ATTENDANT.
He is again delirious, and hath torn
The bandage from his wound. He bleeds amain.
Chaunt again.
"Et si pœnas infernales
Agnovisses, quæ et quales,
Tuos utique carnales
Appetitus frangeres ;
Et innumera peccata,
Dicta, facta, cogitata,
Mente tota consternata
Merito deplangeres."
SCENE XV.]
189
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Enter another Attendant.
ATTENDANT.
My lord, the King, the King!
DUNSTAN.
Enter EDWIN, followed by a Physician and Attendants.
The fever had abated.
What! comes he hither?
Where art thou, my beloved? Come to me!
Art thou not here? They said so, but 'twas false-
Thou art not here, for if thou wert, I know
Thou'dst fly to meet me.-Ha! I see thee now.
And yet thou mov'st not. What! in chains again?
Not so, Elgiva-thou art free, my love-
I smote them with the sword. Oh, come to me!
Give me thy hand.
EDWIN.
But rages now afresh.
Doctor, thou mad'st report
DUNSTAN.
THE PHYSICIAN.
Had, my lord;
DUNSTAN.
How came he hither?
ATTENDANT.
He ask'd us if the Queen were buried yet,
Or where the body lay; we told him, here;
And he commanded we should bring him.
DUNSTAN.
See!
190
[ACT V.
EDWIN THE FAIR.
EDWIN.
Thy hand is very cold.-Come, come, look up.
Hast not a word to say to so much love?
Well-as thou wilt-but 'twas not always thus.
So soon to be forgotten! Oh, so soon!
And I have loved so truly all this while !—
I dream—I do but dream, I think.-What's here?
'Tis not the dress that thou wert wont to wear.
This is a corpse! Attendance, here! What, ho!
Who was so bold to bring a stone-cold corpse
Into the King's apartment? Stop-be still-
I know not that. Give me but time, my friends,
And I will tell you.
And look abroad.
THE PHYSICIAN,
Draw him from the corpse :
This loss of blood that drains the fever off
Anon will bring him to himself.
A MONK.
I hear a shout as of a multitude.
In the north suburb.
My lord,
DUNSTAN.
Bridferth, mount the tower
EDWIN.
That was a voice I knew-
It came from darkness and the pit—but hark!
An angel's song .
'Tis Dunstan that I see!
Rebellious monk! I lay my body down
Here at thy feet to die, but not my soul,
SCENE XV.]
191
EDWIN THE FAIR.
Which goes to God. The cry of innocent blood
Is up against thee, and the Avenger's cry
Shall answer it. Support me, sirs, I pray ;
yes.
Be patient with me . . . there was something still...
I know not what.. under your pardon
Touching my burial . . . did I not see but now
Another corpse... I pray you, sirs, . . . there. . . there. . .
[Dies.
•
•
·
BRIDFERTH (from the tower).
My lord, my lord, Harcather flies; the Danes
Are pouring thro' the gate. Harcather falls.
DUNSTAN.
Give me the crucifix. Bring out the relics.
Host of the Lord of Hosts, forth once again!
3
NOTES.
PREFACE.
"The prayer of the Anglo-Saxon Liturgy, for deliverance à furore
Northmannorum."
THE Anglo-Saxon ritual of the Cathedral Church of Durham,
printed by the Surtees Society, contains some curious specimens
of the religious services of the period. I am tempted to quote
the invocation by which the Devil was prevented from riding
upon horses, goats, and swine. "Habraham, Habraham! equos,
capras, et porcusque benedic latrinibus, angelus qui positus est
super animalia nostra custodiat ea, ut non poterit Diabolus
inequitare illa. Habraham teneat vos per ac divinitas Dei, Deus
ad dexteram, angelus ad sinistram, propheta vos prosequentur,
martyres antecedant
antecedant vos, patronesque persequentur, VOS
custodiat Dominus oves et boves, vitulos, equos et apes,
custodiantque vos his pastores. Signum crucis Christi Jesu, in
nomine Dei summi, per Dominum-
""
I will add the "oratio" which was used on the occasion of
shaving a virgin beard: "Deus cujus spiritu creatura omnis
adulta congaudet, exaudi preces nostras super hunc famulum
tuum juvenilis ætatis decore lætantem, et primis auspiciis
adtondendum; exaudi, Domine, ut in omnibus protectionis tuæ
munitus auxilio, cœlestem benedictionem accipiat, et præsentis
vitæ presidiis gaudeat et æterne, per―"
The former of these offices represents the superstition of the
Anglo-Saxon Church in all its grossness: the latter, though it
may excite a smile, ought, however, to be regarded with respect,
as one of those tendernesses of religious care with which the
Church in old times watched over the lives of its members.
NOTES.
193
Page 35, Act I., Scene VI.
"And frankly with a pleasant laugh held out
Her arrowy hand."
"Her arrow hand."-WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
But the epithet is less apt in my use of it.
Page 64, Act II., Scene II.
"A love that clings not nor is exigent," &c.
In case it should occur to any readers that they have seen
this passage before, it may be well to mention that I have quoted
it in a previous publication, without having thought it necessary
to say in that place that the quotation was from an MS. of my
own.
46
Page 69, Act II., Scene III.
"Have they bought her with bracelets
And lured her with gold ?"
With the Anglo-Saxons, bracelets were amongst the forms in
which wealth was hoarded or passed from hand to hand.
Page 79, Act II., Scene V.
Keep the King's peace? If longer than three minutes
I keep it, may I die in my bed like a cow!'
I have been induced here to preserve a flower of speech
recorded in one of the chronicles of the time, though perhaps
a little more peculiar than what I should otherwise have
employed.
Page 84, Act II., last Scene.
"
Oh, God!
I pray Thee that Thou shorten not my days,
Ceasing to honour this disnatured flesh
That was my mother."
This is borrowed from "The Revenger's Tragedy," by Cyril
Tourneur.
"Forgive me, Heaven, to call my mother wicked!
Oh lessen not my days upon the earth:
I cannot honour her."

194
NOTES.
Pages 89, 90, Act III., Scene I.
"The wind when first he rose and went abroad
Thro' the waste region, felt himself at fault,
Wanting a voice; and suddenly to earth
Descended with a wafture and a swoop,
Where, wandering volatile from kind to kind,
He woo'd the several trees to give him one.
*
*
*
*
#
Lastly, the pine
Did he solicit, and from her he drew
A voice so constant, soft, and lowly deep,
That there he rested, welcoming in her
A mild memorial of the ocean cave
Where he was born.”
*
Perhaps I have been indebted here, though if so, I was
unconscious of it at the time, to a well-known passage in "Gebir."
At all events, that passage cannot be too often quoted, and I
will transcribe it here:-
But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue
Within, and they that lustre have imbibed
In the Sun's palace-porch, where, when unyoked,
His chariot-wheel stands mid-way in the wave :
Shake one and it awakens; then apply
Its polish'd lips to your attentive ear,
And it remembers its august abodes,
And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there."
Page 111, Act III., Scene V.
"Against the gust remitting fiercelier burns
The fire, than with the gust it burnt before."
素
​"Existimantur incendia illa qui fiunt flante vento forti,
majores progressus facere adversus ventum, quam secundum
ventum; quia scilicet flamma resilit motu perniciore, vento
remittente, quam procedit, vento impellente."—Nov. Organon,
ii., 13.
Maou

NOTES.
195
Page 119, Act III., Scene VII.
"Cumba is my gauge,
And by the crown of his head I know the times.
Grow they ascetic, then his tonsure widens ;
Or free, it narrows in."
The tonsure was enforced upon the secular clergy, as well as
on the regulars; and as the Anglo-Saxons were very proud of
their hair, this was a point of discipline which sometimes gave
rise to difficulties.
Page 130, Act III., Scene VIII.
"He bids you know that in this land this day
He finds more fat than bones, more monks than soldiers."
(C
I have taken the words of Fuller: "Indeed one may safely
affirm that the multitude of monasteries invited the invasion
and facilitated the conquest of the Danes over England.
because England had at this time more flesh or fat than bones,
wherein the strength of a body consists; more monks than
military men."—Church History, book ii., s. 51.
Page 158, Act V., Scene II.
"But now I wax old,
Sick, sorry, and cold,
Like muck upon mould
I widder away."
I have taken the liberty to borrow this from the "Processus
Noe," one of the Towneley Mysteries, printed by the Surtees
Society. In another place I have taken a mode of expression
from the following lines in the "Mactatio Abel: "
Felowes, here I you forbede
To make nother nose nor cry:
Whoso' is so hardy to do that dede,
The Devylle hang hym up to dry.”
Page 159, Act V., Scene II.
"At Winchester
Ye heard how in the west end of the “hurch,
The night that Dunstan fled, the Devil skipp'd
o 2
196
NOTES.
And with great laughter in his roaring fashion
Took up his ' O be joyful!'"
"The Divell was heard in the west end of the church, taking
up a great laughter after his roaring manner, as though he
should show himself glad and joyful at Dunstan's going into
exile."-Holinshed, chap. 23.
Page 170, Act V., Scene VII.
Stage direction—“ In front is a mortstone.”
This was a large stone by the way-side, between a distant
village and the parish church, on which the bearers of a dead
body rested the coffin.
Page 173, Act V., Scene VII.
"At once disclosed
The picture of the past presents itself
Minute yet vivid, such as it is seen
In his last moments by a drowning man."
There are few psychological phenomena more interesting or
more worthy of scientific investigation than the one here
alluded to,—the presentation to a man in a drowning state,—
and not, as far as I am aware, to a man dying in any other way,
of innumerable acts and occurrences in a succession so rapid,
that his whole life appears to be reflected in his last moments.
There have been several examples of this in our own times,
according to the relations of men who have been resuscitated
out of a drowning state; and one of them is of such unquestion-
able authenticity and value, that some claim may perhaps be
advanced in the interest of science to have it duly recorded.
Page 188, Act V., last Scene.
The Latin verses chaunted in this scene are taken from
the "
Dominici Carthusiani Exhortatio ad Pænitentiam" in
Mr. Wackerbarth's "Lyra Ecclesiastica."
ISAAC COMNENUS.
{
A Play.
THIRD EDITION.
:
TO THE
LORD MONTEAGLE OF BRANDON.
DEAR LORD MONTEAGLE,
When this work was first published, in the confi-
dence of youth, I sent it into the world naked, to shift
for itself, without name, preface, or dedication. It is in a
different mood that I republish it now; and wishing to
indicate my sense of its faults and deficiencies, I know not
that I can do so in any better way than by dedicating it to
one whose judgment in art is invariably tempered by a
spirit of genial indulgence to all mankind, and whose indul-
gence is even more than proportionately kind in the case
of those who have a domestic claim to his regard. Allow
me therefore to commit this work to your protection, and
thus to have the pleasure of linking a part of my life when
I was unknown to you, with that happier portion of it
which has elapsed since I have been allied with your
family.
LADON HOUSE, MORTLAKE,
8th February, 1845.
Believe me,
Sincerely and affectionately yours,
HENRY TAYLOR.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
NICEPHORUS BOTONIATES, Emperor of the East.
THE PATRIARCH OF THE Greek Church.
THE ABBOT OF ST. CONON'S.
ISAAC COMNENUS,
ALEXIUS COMNENUS, his Brother,
MACRINUS, a military Leader under Isaac Comnenus.
NUMERIAN, another.
GERMANUS, a Courtier.
Counts of the Empire and military
Commanders.
EUDOCIA COMNENA, Sister of the Comneni.
ANNA COMNENA, Cousin of the Comneni.
THEODORA, Daughter of the Emperor.
Monks, Acolytes, Citizens, Soldiers, Eunuchs, Eparchs,
Exorcist, &c. &c. &c.
SCENE-Constantinople and its environs.
TIME-The year of our Lord 1088.
ļ
ISAAC COMNENUS.
ACT I.
SCENE I.-The Palace of the Comneni.
ISAAC COMNENUS and MACRINUS.
COMNENUS.
It will not keep, Macrinus; in such things
There is a rotten ripeness supervenes
On the first moment of maturity.
MACRINUS.
I well believe, my lord, that more such schemes
Have fail'd from over-wariness than rashness.
COMNENUS.
Then be our last convention held to-night;
And see that all be summon'd.
MACRINUS.
I'll look to it.
COMNENUS.
And I must to the palace.
202
[ACT 1.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
MACRINUS.
The worse errand.
COMNENUS.
It is unseasonable, but not dangerous.
I know Nicephorus well.
He'd rather that an accident befell me
In any place than there.
MACRINUS.
I hope, my lord,
You put not too much trust in Theodora.
COMNENUS.
In her? No-little enough. I could secure her,
But having not a stomach to the means,
I fain would fancy that I do not want her.
Here comes a lordling of her train.
Good day.
Enter GERMANUS.
GERMANUS.
My noble lord, the Cæsarissa waits
With infinite impatience to behold you:
She bids me say so. Ah! most noble Count!
A fortunate man-the sunshine is upon you—
Didst thou take heed of
COMNENUS.
Ay, sir, and wonderfully warm it makes me.
Tell her I'm coming, sir, with speed. Farewell.
[Exit GERMANUS.
yon homunculus ?
MACRINUS.
Ay, my lord, I mark'd him.
SCENE II.]
203
ISAAC COMNENUS.
COMNENUS.
We work in the dark and know not what we do.
He that begot him mean'd him for a man,
And yet thou see'st the issue. After dusk,
As soon as may be after dusk, Macrinus,
We meet again.
SCENE II.-The Palace of the Cæsars.
NICEPHORUS and THEODora.
NICEPHORUS.
The Count not yet arrived! still more and more
He shows a purposed tardiness of spirit.
THEODORA.
He never used to count the time by minutes.
NICEPHORUS.
The tidings that Alexius is recall'd
Cannot have reach'd him yet?
Unless by treachery.
THEODORA.
Surely they cannot.
NICEPHORUS.
THEODORA.
Whom suspect you now?
NICEPHORUS.
Nay, no one-none-but yet it may be so,
And he might thence surmise some ill intent
Was harbour'd here against him.
{
204
[ACT I.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
THEODORA.
If he should,
It were more like he came before the time
Than linger'd. But you bear an evil mind
Towards him, and 'tis therefore that you see
In all he does a sign that he distrusts you.
NICEPHORUS.
There is much cause on both sides for distrust;
'Tis thou alone who see'st not where it lies.
THEODORA.
I see that for the senseless fear of phantoms
You left the safe and sought the dangerous road,
And you have found it.
NICEPHORUS.
Dangers there may be;
But such as I shall know the end of soon.
'Tis time this tampering with our enemy
Should cease.
It has endured a long half-year
To humour thee, and thou art not content.
THEODORA.
Say you to humour me? Ay, 'twas my humour,
Doubtless, that your grey head and diadem
Should not be perill'd in a needless strife,
Nor staked for sport.
NICEPHORUS.
Thou answerest idly, child.
The strife will come at last-nor less the peril.
Thou hast made all advances which beseem thee,
And he is yet by word or deed unpledged.
SCENE II.]
205
ISAAC COMNENUS.
THEODORA.
Count Isaac's lightest words mean something more
Than in court-currency they pass for. You
Nor any man beside can say how far
His heart is pledged.
NICEPHORUS.
Why thus much may be said;
Were it his choice to join his house to mine
And take a safe succession for thy dower,
Knowing the contract might be made at once,
He would leave nothing doubtful. All the light words
Of courtesy on which thou build'st thy hopes
Do but dissimulate the other choice
Which he has made-to wit, to try his strength
With ours in war.
THEODORA.
'Tis you drive on the trial;
He never would have sought it, so your fears
Had let him live in peace; but evermore
You fear'd and fear'd till dangerous you made him.
NICEPHORUS.
Have I not shown him every favour due—
Order'd the triumph for his victories,
Myself partaking the festivities?
THEODORA.
"Twould scarcely be acknowledged as it ought
Since that ill accident the taster's death
Who tasted of the cup you proffer'd him.
NICEPHORUS.
Ill accidents are ever in thy mouth.
206
[ACT 1.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
THEODORA.
And since his triumph in the frontier war,
What has been wanting—what but open enmity,
To bid him be prepared for self-defence ?
Have you not loosed the hydra of the State-
Have you not stirr'd the vermin of the Church-
Made compact with the natural enemies
magdadala
Of order and of empire to molest him?
And you would have him move no step to meet you?
NICEPHORUS.
Too many steps-too many and too long,
Too many strides Count Isaac hath advanced
That ever he should stay his foot in peace
Short of the throne. An enemy he is,
And as such must be dealt with. Cease not thou,
Meantime, to show him favour. But beware
Thou lead'st to no surmise that aught impends . .
That aught . . . . .
I say beware
That thou endanger not thy filial faith.
•
It is not fitting that I meet him now:
Wherefore, thus warn'd, I leave thee.
THEODORA.
[Exit.
Warn'd, and fear'd.
Had I been farther trusted with his counsels
A better claim to my good faith were his.
Where trust is not, there treachery cannot be.
Were but the Count as quick to apprehend.
My leaning to his side, as long has been.
My father to suspect my falling off,
We had ere this been better understood
Each of the other.
SCENE II.]
207
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Enter COMNENUS.
Enough, Count Isaac, rise; you have forgotten.
The well-deserved exemption you enjoy
From all except the first prostration.
COMNENUS.
Asleep?
Great is my privilege in Byzantium!
In truth to stand upon two legs at court
Is what is not infrequently forgotten.
THEODORA.
But tell me, Count-we should have met ere this-
Where hast thou been then?
COMNENUS.
Ah!
Sleeping out the noontide.
THEODORA.
COMNENUS.
Why, wherefore not?
THEODORA.
Oh! it is no time for your race to sleep.
There have been tumults in the streets to-day
Might wake the dead.
COMNENUS.
'Tis true there was some shouting in the Forum;
It is a trick of the citizens: when it rains
And corn is mildew'd, straight we have a swarm
Of curious knaves will find us out the reason,
And having found, they noise it in the streets,
Which makes this outcry.
208
[ACT I.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
THEODORA.
Whatsoever makes it
It might have kept thee wakeful, for thy name
The burthen was.
COMNENUS.
I verily believe it.
I am the cause to-day; to-morrow's eve
It may be you, or, if it so chance, your father.
THEODORA.
I could reveal to you a hidden source
Of these dissensions: but I know not yet
At what you prize the confidence I proffer.
COMNENUS.
There are two values in a trust reposed:
The first, the knowledge from the trust derived;
The second, the good-will of those who give it.
For so much as 'tis given in free good-will
I value it.
THEODORA.
Supposing it so given,
What then to recompense this free good will
Would you adventure ?
COMNENUS.
Oh the infinite pain
Of hearing an interminable secret-
But not upon the instant unprepared
For I must fast a month and pray to God.
Meantime I take my leave,-unless perchance
There's aught your Highness would command me in?
SCENE II.]
209
ISAAC COMNENUS.
THEODORA,
You came at leisure-why this haste to go?
Is the escaping from my confidence
A matter so immediate ?-Thankless friend!
COMNENUS.
There you misjudge me for the warning given
You have my thanks; for what remains behind,
I can surmise its import to this length,
That 'tis intelligence more dangerous
For you to give than me thus warn'd to want.
I am content: that I am also thankful
Time may prove, or may not: 'tis true the same.
So fare you well.
THEODORA.
For my sake speak'st thou thus?
Oh if my peace thou tenderest, or my life,
Know whence the dangers come that threaten them.
I am an Emperor's daughter, but my heart,
Imperial if it be, is womanly:
One arrow is there, and one poison'd cup
I have to dread-Oh! turn but them aside
And lightly as thyself will I defy
All else that can assail me; whilst for thee
My woman's wit should weave a panoply
That nothing could transpierce. Turn them aside,
And let our counsels be of one accord,
And we will share the issue.
COMNENUS.
That can we never.
Nature has set apart our destinies,
P
210
[ACT I.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
And each must follow out the course assign'd;
I mindful of this token of good-will,
Nor you regardless of your household ties.
THEODORA.
What is this talk of nature? Hear my creed:
The strongest ties have nature's strongest sanction,
And if the ties of blood be not the strongest,
Nature doth abrogate and make them void.
COMNENUS.
| Where these are not the strongest, all are frail.
THEODORA.
Most moral Sophist!
Say there were sin, the burden of my sins
Is on my conscience; none of it on thine:
Then whom concerns it?
COMNENUS.
Happy is the man
Who, unpartaking of the evil thing,
Reaps the full harvest of another's sins.
But then what saith the casuist?
THEODORA.
What he saith
This is no time to tell.
Thus to make answer in
To overtures like mine.
What can it profit thee
didactic vein
'Tis fit thou knowest
They touch on life and death. This (learn from me)
Is not the time to speculate and ponder,
But with a resolute mind to choose thy part.
SCENE 11.]
211
ISAAC COMNENUS.
COMNENUS.
Thanks for the words of wisdom! passing sage
And profitable counsel had this been,
Were it not that-one melancholy night-
So long ago that I but then reposed
From my triumphal honors-on this night-
Lying awake through indigestion caught
At the Imperial board-my part was chosen.
THEODORA.
Then act thy part—a rash and obstinate part,
And like to prove a tragical—act thy part;
Thy life is in my hands; a few words less
And it had there been safe-but do thy will—
Rush headlong to thy ruin-I should have known
That never was there a Comnenus yet
Who would take part with any but his kin,
Or counsel save of his own proud heart.
COMNENUS.
If it be true mine ancestry and kin
Have all so stubbornly maintain'd this course,
It were presumption in my humble self
To wander from their ways. But rest assured
If nature made us not for facile friends
We are not easily made enemies
Nor eager in ill-will.
in ill-will.
So God be with you.
[Exit.
THEODORA.
Great God! preserve my heart from breaking yet,
And grant me strength to stagger through the world
Till I have struck a blow. But can it be?
No, he will not be stubborn to the last.
P 2
212
[ACT I,
ISAAC COMNENUS.
If not
'Tis but his pride, and when his power runs low
That feeds it, he will turn to me.
He'll have an enemy more dangerous
Than all that now surround him. Who are you?
Enter a Domestic.
DOMESTIC.
His sacred Majesty commanded me
To ask if yet your Highness was at leisure
And could attend him?
THEODORA.
Tell him that I come.
These menial slaves are sent to pry about
And watch my motions. Ay; the time is past
For putting trust in me.
[Exit Domestic.
SCENE III.—Streets of Constantinople.-A crowd of Monks,
Acolytes, and Citizens of the blue faction.
FIRST MONK.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Patience, fellow-citizens, I say patience. Let us all
be patient. Let us all be patient.
I say he is an Iconoclast.
SECOND CITIZEN.
Iconoclast! I know not what is Iconoclast! but this
I know, there's no man ever wore a green scarf but
deserved hanging in it.
SCENE III.]
213
ISAAC COMNENUS.
FIRST MONK.
I tell thee he is an Iconoclast if ever one of his house
was. Didn't he break the head of the holy St. Basil
(whose name be glorified!) with the butt end of his
lance?
SECOND MONK.
I say Anathema, I say Anathema, I say Anathema.
Body and soul, life and limb, here and hereafter
MONKS and ACOLYTES.
Anathema esto, Anathema.
• •
FIRST CITIZEN.
Patience, excellent friends and fellow-citizens! I say
let us debate this matter as wise men with patience and
silence.
THIRD CITIZEN.
Then to hell with him at once.
SECOND MONK.
I say body and soul, life and limb, here and hereafter
be he cursed.
SECOND CITIZEN.
Most assuredly, holy father, he shall go to hell.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Patience, sweet friends; silence, gentle countrymen ;
patience and silence, I say. I am about to explain this
matter to you.
SECOND CITIZEN.
Why all this clamour? Silence, and hear the worthy
Hypatius.
214
[ACT I.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
THIRD CITIZEN.
Silence! Why roar and growl ye thus like the bears
in the Hippodrome?
All, all.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Hem !We are all agreed in one thing, that Count
Comnenus is to be made an end of.
Agreed, agreed.
SECOND CITIZEN.
THIRD CITIZEN.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Then having come to the conclusion, which is with
us as it were the ground and beginning of the argument,
it behoves us to look to the reasons, which are, as I
may say, the ways and means of coming to the conclu-
sion. For if you fall to without knowing the reasons,
you'll be held for no better than brute beasts; since all
your wise men, look ye, when they are resolved upon a
thing, have ever sought out the reasons before they
began. Now you all know that last year's harvest in
Cappadocia was scarce worth the ingathering, and that
corn here in Constantinople cannot be had for money.
And who is the cause of this, think ye?
Comnenus, Comnenus.
ALL
FIRST CITIZEN.
And that the Huns and Bulgarians, and other such
long-haired savages, carried fire and sword, and bows
and arrows, and long spear and short spear, through the
SCENE III.]
215
ISAAC COMNENUS.
heart, and as I may say to the very neck and heels of
the Chersonese, and looked a very terrible look at us
over the long wall. And who brought all this about,
think ye?
Comnenus, Comnenus.
ALL.
FIRST CITIZEN.
But how did Comnenus bring it about, answer me
that?—You're dumb,-ye know not. Now hear me.
You all know that some years by-gone this Comnenus
was out in the Persian war, fighting in as Christian-like
a manner as I myself or any of you. Now mark;
after he was taken prisoner, there comes to him in his
tent one evening an old man, wrapped in a flowing
mantle, and holding, look ye, a cup in one hand and a
mighty volume in the other. He was as wicked a
magian as you shall see in all Persia; and he said to
him, look ye, he said . . . . by these bones and relics I
have forgotten what he said. But ever since, this
Comnenus has been one of your bloody schismatics and
heretical murdering villains.
ALL.
We know it. We know it.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Ay, and you know too the holy image of the blessed
St. Basil, in the niche over the monks of St. Conon's
gate. Now this Comnenus, no farther back than one
night I know not when, riding past like a madman with
two or three more such heathen pagan knights from
over-sea, puts me his lance in the rest with the butt
216
[ACT 1.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
end to the onset, and drives it two inches and a half
into St. Basil's eye.
Anathema esto!
Anathema!
Never, never.
SECOND MONK.
ALL.
:
Softly! you all
Saint of this city;
ever look evenly on this city again?
FIRST CITIZEN.
know that St. Basil is the Patron
now the case stands here;-will he
No, no.
ALL.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Never while Comnenus is in it.
CITIZENS
We'll drag him out of it, we'll burn him alive.
1
FIRST CITIZEN.
But they'll tell you, they of the green faction, that
he's a very Socrates, a second Cæsar, and holds your
clubs are no better than oaten straws, and will not
frighten the flies from lighting on your noses. But
mark you this-Did Cæsar ever consort with wicked
magians? Did Cæsar ever hit St. Basil in the eye?
CITIZENS.
FIRST CITIZEN.
And though I think he be neither a saint nor a
martyr, yet I'll be bound for him he was no blood-
thirsty heretic. Why then, if Cæsar was no heretic, a
SCENE III.]
ISAAC COMNENUS.
217
heretic can be no Cæsar. And look ye, what I say is
this, shall all Constantinople be starved to death
because of one man?
ALL.
Never, never. Burn his house. Cut his throat.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Then look ye, what I say is this,-if he be not
already fled forth the city gates-
CITIZENS.
Stop him, seize him, secure the gates.
SECOND MONK.
Smite him hip and thigh, hew him in pieces before
the Lord.
Enter an Eunuch of the Palace.
Comnenus, Comnenus.
EUNUCH.
Why do ye flourish your staves i'the air, good
friends? Worthy father, why dost thou ventilate thy
garment i' the east wind? Whom seek ye?
ALL.
EUNUCH.
Then your search is not like to be long, for I came
before him but half the street's length.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Count Comnenus, said'st thou? How attended ?
EUNUCH.
There is a young officer from the eastern army with
him.
218
[ACT I.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Arm'd, arm'd, said'st thou?
SECOND CITIZEN.
EUNUCH.
Ay, short sword and shirt of mail.
And I the north.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Fall on him, down with them both. I'll run and
make sure of the east gate, lest he make his escape.
And I the south.
SECOND CITIZEN.
THIRD CITIZEN.
[Exeunt all but Fourth and Fifth Citizens.
FOURTH CITIZEN.
Lo you! how they run! to my thinking, they are no
better than arrant cowards.
FIFTH CITIZEN.
Assuredly they have the gift of running. But if we
stay here alone, we're dead men.
FOURTH CITIZEN,
Certainly, dead men.
FIFTH CITIZEN.
Come along; they say this Comnenus is sworn friend
and minister to the Devil. I tell thee Satan took his
bible-oath to back him out in aught he put his hand to.
FOURTH CITIZEN.
I would go, but that it looks so villanous dastardly.
FIFTH CITIZEN.
Do as thou wilt. Fare thee well!
[Exit.
SCENE III.
219
ISAAC COMNENUS.
•
Enter COMNENUS and an Officer of the Eastern Army.
COMNENUS.
One whom my brother . . .
What dost stand i' the way for, friend?
FOURTH CITIZEN.
Nothing, worthy sir-good day, noble Count.
COMNENUS.
One whom my brother holds in trust, to me
Is as a brother welcome. I had writ
The Count Alexius to reurge his coming,
But he outstrips my expectation. Speed,
'Tis true, is needful. You yourself may see
The state in which I stand. No day goes by
But fills the streets with tumult. Even now
Methought I saw a flying rack o' the storm
Scud by to leeward. Say, what think you, sir?
[Exit.
OFFICER.
My lord, for those that I have seen, they seem
The very scum o' the city and dregs o' the Church.
COMNENUS.
Why so they are-yet these things have their source.
You are a soldier, sir, ay, and a young one.
You would instruct me-for I ever found
Young soldiers much abounding in advice-
You would inform me that these are but shadows,
And some score lances would set all to rest.
Sir, if these slight imposthumes which you see
Were the disease, not, as they are, the symptoms,
220
[ACT I.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Think you I'd send so far to have them lanced?
This multitude, this monster idiot-born,
Moves you not one of its Briarean hands
By its own brainless head; but let some chief,
Though he be ne'er so base, but whoop them on,
And they shall follow till the noblest fall.
Your master must be nearer ere I quit.
You left him at Ancyra?
OFFICER.
There, my lord,
He waits your further tidings, or will move
With his small force more gently on to meet you.
COMNENUS.
'Twere good he came no further or came fast.
I wrote with some caution, sir; I'll speak with less;
Well knowing whom my brother trusts trustworthy.
Tell him that in my mind the time of choice
Hath slidden from our grasp; tell him that now
Our only armour is the crown and purple.
Here stands the throne, and there the block-I say
To one of these must the Comneni come:
So doth suspicion drive on that it fears,
And emperors leave no refuge save in empire.
This thou shalt tell my brother is my mind.
Say further thus:
If having duly weigh'd the double venture,
He hold forbearance for the lighter risk,
Let him lead back his forces, (for myself
I'd put the issue on a throw o’the dice
As lief as on aught else); but so he view
SCENE IV.]
ISAAC COMNENUS.
221
These matters as I view them, let him on
With all the speed his lightest horse can make
To the Propontis on the hither shore,
And, barring accidents, I'll meet him there;
And you, sir, too, I hope.
OFFICER.
Thanks, thanks, my lord: I'll use my utmost speed.
COMNENUS.
Do so when clear o' the suburbs: until then
Go leisurely in ken o' the popular eye.
I've noted when I send young gallants forth
In things of trust and moment, straight they'll lash
Their snorting horses to a furious gallop
To make a noise in the streets. Take heed of this.
Use all despatch, not as to boast great things
Are staked upon thy speed, but so to join
Despatch with privacy as the stake's on both.
Deem that this trust is for the empire's weal,
And not to do thee credit. Fare thee well.
[Exit Officer.
He's a young envoy in a cause like this.
Alexius has the gift to make men zealous
Who serve him, and ne'er thinks what more is needful.
SCENE IV.-An Apartment in a Convent near St. Conon's
Shrine.
EUDOCIA and ANNA COMNENA.
EUDOCIA,
I never knew but all of us were fearless.
In tears! I'll not believe you a Comnena.
222
[ACT I.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
ANNA.
Oh! were I not I should not now be weeping;
Heaven knows it is not for myself.
EUDOCIA.
Why there!
That were the least unreasonable cause.
Is it my brother that you weep for? He
Is nothing new to dangers nor to life.
His thirty years on him have nigh told double,
Being doubly loaden with the unlightsome stuff
That life is made of. I have often thought
How Nature cheats this world in keeping count:
There's some men pass for old men who ne'er lived;
These monks, to wit; they count the time, not spend it;
They reckon moments by the tick of beads,
And ring the hours with psalmody: clocks, clocks;
If one of these had gone a century,
I would not say he'd lived. My brother's age
Has spann'd the matter of too many lives;
He's full of years, though young: ne'er weep for him.
He looks not tired of life.
ANNA.
EUDOCIA.
Not when with thee.
There is a sort of youth comes back on men
By sight of childhood. It is so with him;
At least by sight of thee.
Call him a cheerful man.
ANNA.
But others, too,
SCENE IV.]
223
ISAAC COMNENUS.
EUDOCIA.
They know him not.
You knew him not in earlier youth; and I
Can scarce believe that it was he I knew.
The false vivacity of fever'd blood
Under the press and spur of times like these,
Deceives not me; nor yet the power he hath
Of holding off the burthen of his mind
Till the time come that leaves him to himself.
Disquieting thought hath wasted him within.
Weep for Alexius, if weep you must;
His seems a life worth saving; he is now
Much what some ten years past his brother was,
Yet may be what he is. Let Fate alone;
There's many a man is best cut off betimes.
Date not their destinies.
ANNA.
You love them not,
Though you're their sister, as their cousin loves them.
EUDOCIA.
I would not have them walk in the dusk like thieves,
Nor crouch like chidden slaves, nor dig them holes
And hide like Troglodytes. I'd have them live
Even as their sires of old, link'd each with each;
Careless of kingdoms so they might live free;
If not, I'd have them kings.
ANNA.
Alas! and I
Would count it no mischance that sent us back
To our Propontic island, where we all
224
[ACT 1.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Were born and bred in peace, who now are strewn
Like a wreck'd convoy on a savage coast.
EUDOCIA.
Hush! Prophetess of woe. The ships sail well,
Though they be deep in the water.
Enter COMNENUS.
Here are we,
Obedient to your summons; both in doubt,
And one in dread, of what may be the cause.
Why have you sent us hither?
COMNENUS.
Eudocia, that it never was my wont
To clip and pare ill-tidings for your ear.
The city is no longer safe for you :
Therefore I sent you hither.
ANNA.
And yourself?
COMNENUS.
My safety will be cared for in due course.
ANNA.
And stay you with us, then?
You well know,
EUDOCIA.
No! by my faith;
That question I can answer. We seek here,
If I misjudge not, the good neighbourhood
Of Mother Church's sanctuary.
ANNA.
And he ?
SCENE IV.]
225
ISAAC COMNENUS.
EUDOCIA.
Think you the sanctuary's a place for him?
COMNENUS.
I have a safer refuge. Mother Church
Hath no such holy precinct that my blood
Would not redeem all sin and sacrilege
Of slaughter therewithin. But there's a spot
Within the circle my good sword describes,
Which by God's grace is sanctified for me.
EUDOCIA.
Yet do not be so rash to walk the streets
Without a guard.
ANNA.
Are not the riots quell'd?
COMNENUS.
They are not: they increase and will increase
Until the cause be quell'd.
ANNA.
What is the cause?
COMNENUS.
There are, if truth were known, some three or four;
But one is named.
Then they miscall it.
EUDOCIA.
And what may be its name?
COMNENUS.
Truly they call it by my name, Comnenus.
EUDOCIA.
226
[ACT 1.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
COMNENUS.
No, not altogether.
When things of evil aspect are to do,
The first cause is not named; but commonly
Some slight, remote, coöperative cause,
Whereto the people knit them soul and body,
Unknowing that which stirs them up to act,
Which is the mover's cause and not the multitude's.
The mover finds them reasons, they him hands.
EUDOCIA.
Whence hath he then these reasons?
COMNENUS.
Oh! they grow wild.
He is an arrant bungler in his work,
Whate'er it be, who is not stored with reasons.
Reasons! there's nought in life so plentiful!
They are the most besetting snares of men
Who ought to act by instinct, did they but know
How far their nature, when not tamper'd with,
Their prostituted reason would transcend.
EUDOCIA.
But how are you the cause?
COMNENUS.
The multitude
Were ready for a cause-and there was I.
There's much sedition in the gastric juice
Gnawing the empty coats of poor men's stomachs.
EUDOCIA.
This tells me nothing: prithee to the point.
SCENE IV.]
227
ISAAC COMNENUS.
What would
you
have?
COMNENUS.
EUDOCIA.
I'd have thee signify
What is our hope, what ought to be our aim,
What's to be fear'd, what to be done..
COMNENUS.
Ay-true :
I never knew a woman placed in peril
But must be doing something-dead despair,
Or fever'd action :-Muse, Eudocia,
Muse, meditate, and moralise like me.
That which I crave of thee is quietness.
Thou would'st intrust me with thy safety, Anna?
ANNA.
Truly I would not trust you with your own,
So I could find you a more careful guard.
But as for mine I'd trust it with a foe.
COMNENUS.
Where would you find one?
ANNA.
Oh! it were easy, that;
Foes are as plentiful as lukewarm friends.
EUDOCIA.
Why, Anna, can your tongue too play the Censor!
COMNENUS.
My cousin, may you ne'er have cause to prove
The fervour of your friends.-Hark! there's the bell:
Is it for vespers ?
Q 2
228
[ACT 1.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
ANNA.
It is even-song time.
COMNENUS.
And
you attend it ?-tell the Abbess, then,
That I detain my sister-has she leave?
Ay, say so, cousin.
EUDOCIA.
EUDOCIA.
And what has happen'd now?
COMNENUS.
My time is short; but something must be told
Which 'twere as well she heard not. Why it is
I know not, (for the thing must come to her
As to all else in time,) but I would not
Disclose to her—no, not a thousandth part—
The knowledge which to me, though loth to learn,
My dealings with this treacherous world have taught.
COMNENUS.
A summons came
From Theodora : I attended her,
And found her ready to betray her father.
EUDOCIA.
[Exit ANNA.
She is more passionate than politic,
Yet lacks not cunning: she has then despair'd
Of winning you by fairer means?
COMNENUS,
And these
Have fail'd her likewise: I refused her suit.
SCENE IV.]
229
ISAAC COMNENUS.
But not her tidings?
EUDOCIA.
COMNENUS.
I refused them too.
It went against my nature to accept them.
I am prepared for whatsoe'er befalls,
Or shall be on the morn. Provision's made
Where it may be adventured here within.
To-morrow night, so that his purpose hold,
Alexius may be look'd for. You, from hence,
Can reach the shrine upon an instant's warning;
There wait in safety the result: if ill,
To thee, Eudocia, I need not say
How ruin should be met.
EUDOCIA.
If it be well,
Then no instructor will my brother need
How he should wear the diadem.
Stay, one word more-
COMNENUS.
Enough.
That's as it may fall out. My brows, in sooth,
Would rather bare them to the breath of heaven
Than be so gold-encircled: yet you say well,
1 shall need no instructor.
It grows late.
Farewell, Eudocia.
I think I have said all.
It may be long ere we shall meet again,
Yet is it not for us to make long partings.
EUDOCIA.
230
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
I heard strange stories of a feast last night,
To which you bade your friends: it is not true?
COMNENUS.
It makes for me that it should pass for true.
'Twas a Damoclean feast, and we sat down
In flowing robes with corslets underneath;
And I may say I ne'er saw graver guests
Met to carouse, save at the royal board,
Where memory evocates imperial deeds
Such as betray'd Britannicus of old.
Another such has waited me too long.
Be strong of heart-be like thyself.-Farewell.
EUDOCIA,
And I could say to thee 'Be strong of heart,'
But that were needless; and Be like thyself'
Were an injunction I would qualify.
ACT II.
SCENE I.—The Palace of the Cæsars.
[Exit.
NICEPHORUS.
Priests are even all but kings, and would be kings,
But that the diadem disdains bald crowns.
That snake engender'd amid Rome's green ruins,
The inheritor of Satan's pomp and pride,
At whose fierce hiss the royal Henry shook
An emperor excommunicate, and bow'd
His haughty spirit, after three day's fast,
SCENE I.]
231
ISAAC COMNENUS.
To walk barefooted to Canusio's gates
Most abject in submission—that proud priest
Is imitated here: but I can spurn
Their interdicts, and call my crown my own,
Seeing their schism doth comminute their power.
Have I no servants ?-what! no slaves ?-not one?
Ho! Corius! Lazer!
Enter Attendant.
Comes not our reverend lord the Patriarch yet?
Not yet, my liege.
Ha! what hast got beneath thine upper vest?
Here, here; 'tis steel!
ATTENDANT.
NICEPHORUS.
ATTENDANT.
The star you bade me wear.
NICEPHORUS.
Ay, true—the star-thou hast deserved it well.
The Patriarch, as I think, is past his hour;
The moon should rise at eight, and we should see her,
But that the horizon's cloudy;-yon's her light.
Go look at the Persian water-clock; 'twill tell
Within a trifle-What! thou hast been forth
There's dust upon thy sandals! where hast been?
ATTENDANT.
You sent me for my lord the Patriarch, sire.
NICEPHORUS.
Ay, true, 'twas thou; thou art a trusty knave.
What's doing in the streets?
232
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
ATTENDANT.
Sire, here and there
The people gather, and shout out the name
Of Count Comnenus, and reproach his house
For all the ills they suffer.
NICEPHORUS.
Why so let them.
What, saw'st thou nought of the other faction, ha?
ATTENDANT.
My liege, there's none can see them; they're so few
And cowardly they dare not venture forth.
NICEPHORUS.
Well let me know the hour.
[Exit Attendant.
There never was a kingdom but comprised
Some thousands of bold men who hate the king,
And in some kingdoms there are none who love him;
And of these thousands one life sacrificed
In killing of this king would quench the hate,
The smouldering hate which burns these bosoms black.
Now it is strange, that men hang, burn, and drown
For love, religion, pride, I know not what,-
Cast away life for very wantonness,-
Yet of these thousands you shall not find one
Will dare an instant death and slay the king.
And through the lack of this one instrument,
Innocuous malice lies a coil'd-up snake
Through life till toothless age. Now I am one
Not hated like some kings-my only haters
Are the suppress'd, who would have risen too high;
And they are-
What's the matter?-
SCENE 1.]
233
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Enter Attendant.
ATTENDANT.
The Patriarch has arrived.
NICEPHORUS.
At last. Admit him.
-And they are yet more hated than they hate;
Careless withal, incautious, eating, drinking,
Sporting and sleeping like a Goth or Frank
After a victory. Then wherefore fear them?
The Church is willing too to bear my burden;
And kings should never seem to be men's foes,
There being always some to take that part
Whose malice, seeming to be bridled in,
Enter Patriarch.
Is spurr'd the while, and chafes with neck high-arch'd,
Till, once let go, it gallops to its goal,
And hath the scandal for its guerdon fair.
Thus with this headstrong priest, in extreme age
Fiercer and fierier-
Please my liege,
Most reverend lord,
We give you hearty welcome.
PATRIARCH.
May the host
Of heaven in all good thoughts preserve the king!
NICEPHORUS.
I sent for thee through pressure of some ills
That weigh but heavily on ourself and state.
234
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
How is't, my lord, that in our sovereign seat
We cannot rest in peace for slaves and monks
Careering through the streets from morn till night?
PATRIARCH.
How is it, say you, sire? Why thus it is,
Yea, thus it is. The sovereign arm is weak,
The sovereign heart is palsied, and the Church,
Reft of her strength thereby, is trampled down.
How is it? look abroad-Time, crippled sore,
Hath lost his footing and slid back three ages.
I tell thee, the spirit of Isaurian Leo,
Accursed heresiarch! is forth and fighting.
NICEPHORUS.
My lord, I know the Church doth ever cry
That heresies are growing; yet she thrives
From age to age, till crowns but hang on crosiers.
PATRIARCH.
Yea, doth she thrive? and from her very walls
The images of her most glorious saints
Down shiver'd into shards, her earthly ministers
By every uncommunicating slave.
Laugh'd unto scorn! yea, thriving call you this?
Then take thou heed, for by the bones of Basil
The Empire and the Church shall thrive alike.
Be temperate, priest.
NICEPHORUS.
PATRIARCH.
I tell thee, monarch, when the crosier bends,
The sceptre breaks; and I will tell thee more,
SCENE 1.]
235
ISAAC COMNENUS.
'Twere better for thy temples to have worn
The iron crown in Lombardy, than here
Thy golden diadem and tarnish'd thus.
NICEPHORUS.
What would'st thou have? I sent for thee to aid,
Not to upbraid me. Seek I not an end
To all these evils, or did I begin them?
Or can I with a heartier will consult
For compassing their cure?
PATRIARCH.
7
"Tis well, my liege;
The Church shall aid with her maternal arm,
Propping her aged servaat at his task.
I am gone in years, my liege, am very old,
Coreless and sapless, weak, and needs must crave
Support of secular force, else had this sore
Not grown upon us thus. It is not well
When that the Church and State divide their power,
And carp upon the difference. In my youth
I can remember, old as I may be,
I sojourn'd at the convent of St. Anne
In the Hercynian forest; and one night
Being there was a storm abroad, I walk'd
Abroad along with it, when in the wood
I saw an aged oak, which groan'd and creak'd
And flung its arms aloft, whereof the nearest
Ground each into the other till both fell,
Sawn thoro' sheer; and this I liken'd then
To Nebuchadnezzar's tree of monarchy-
But I am wandering; 'tis mine age's weakness.
236
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
NICEPHORUS.
I grant you, holy father, that for us
To be at strife, is but for each to waste
The strength that each hath need of. But the Church,
The Church it is Count Isaac hath offended,
And if her champions strike not, how should I?
PATRIARCH.
Speak but the word at once, the blow shall follow.
I will abet your majesty in all,
So it be sudden. Whatsoe'er is fear'd
In states is dangerous. The man is bold,
His friends are many; and it were not safe
To warn him retribution is at hand.
NICEPHORUS.
That is my fear: for he is not like all.
There is a desperate carelessness of life
In him which oft secures it when most menaced.
PATRIARCH.
His friends are not as he is. Him removed,
They straight are nothing.
NICEPHORUS.
How canst thou divide them?
PATRIARCH,
My liege, 'twere easy, as I said, if sudden.
But let a rumour of our aim go forth,
And him made desperate at the head of friends
Whom he knows well the art, when at their head,
To keep as firm as rocks, whom else each wind
Would shake adrift like waves-this suffer'd, sire,
I answer not for what might then betide.
SCENE I.]
237
ISAAC COMNENUS.
NICEPHORUS.
What wouldst thou counsel-exile ? interdict?
PATRIARCH,
Commit him to the power of Mother Church.
Call we a synod, cite we the Count forthwith
To answer for his sacrilege.
NICEPHORUS.
What! now?
PATRIARCH.
Now, now, I say; the time is fitting; thus
Surprise shall bar resistance or escape.
The measure of his wickedness fill'd full,
We take him in the surfeit of his sins.
NICEPHORUS.
'Tis sudden, but I think it may be safest.
I will adopt thy counsel.
PATRIARCH.
May God speed it!
Despatch a guard to seize him: I meanwhile
Will summon here the synod.
NICEPHORUS.
What dost thou purpose?
PATRIARCH.
And the award?
That is for the Church
Assembled to adjudge: the sinner thou
Deliverest to her hands; the rest is hers;
And she will purge her sanctuary, be sure.
238
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
NICEPHORUS.
Yet bear in mind that nothing has been proved
Of treasonable sort, and lacking proof,
I burthen not my conscience with his blood
Nor that of any of his faction.
PATRIARCH.
Sire,
Know you not there are maladies in men
Which in their rise were easy to be cured
Were they but known; whereof when clear become
The diagnostics, difficult is the cure.
For treason timely treatment: Be content:
This is an issue that concerns the Church,
Which sleeps not and will take her torch in hand.
NICEPHORUS.
Order it so. My crown these last few years
Hath press'd some furrows in my brow which else
Time had been tardier with. It lightens me
To have a friend like thee, in whom I trust.
PATRIARCH.
God have your majesty in his safe keeping!
An hour will bring us hither.
NICEPHORUS.
In an hour
The culprit shall attend you. God be with thee!
SCENE II.]
239
ISAAC COMNENUS.
SCENE II.-The Palace of the Comneni. The board spread as
for a feast. MACRINUS, NUMERIAN and others. Leaders
and Soldiers of the faction dressed as revellers, musicians,
attendants, &c. Arms appear occasionally underneath the
dresses.
Enter COMNENUS.
COMNENUS.
What! friends, the board is spread, and ye abide
The coming of the host? Much grieved is he
His noble guests should wait. But how is this?
Methinks I see a circle of grave looks.
MACRINUS.
My lord, we have not all the art, like you,
To cast aside perplexities and cares:
But though our looks be grave, our hearts are stanch.
COMNENUS.
Well then we'll all be grave. Be seated, friends :
But pledge me first in this; 'tis Samian wine,
And of the innermost; it quickens counsel,
And makes it bolder, which with us is better.
Your toast, sir. You are practised much in toasts.
6
NUMERIAN.
I am, sir, and in things of more concern.
The double dyeing of the royal purple.'
COMNENUS.
I pledge not that: we're drinking wine, not blood.
Success to us: say nothing of the rest.
[They drink.
My lord Macrinus-to the head of the board;
I shall be but a listener.
240
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
MACRINUS.
Sir, I thank you;
But there are worthier of that place than I.
COMNENUS.
None, none, Macrinus, that I know of, none;
And if there be they'll pardon me the choice.
Sit close about the board and speak not loud.
When we brake off last night, sirs, I remember
We had some difference as to modes and times.
You said, sir, as I think
FIRST LEADER.
[They sit.
SECOND LEADER.
My lord, my thought
Was humbly this; that could we seize some post
Within the walls, 'twould profit more our cause;
Since flight doth alway with the vulgar sort
Give token of defeat or loss, and thence
Their spirits swell with triumph.
But, my lord,
In my mind it were good they do thus swell.
For as despair doth oft avert men's ruin,
So causeless exultation brings it on;
The one emboldening reason, the other folly.
THIRD LEADER.
Besides, supposing we could win this post,
"Twould make the times of action cross; for look,
Wait we your brother's coming, we're too late,
The news is theirs as soon as ours,-not wait,
Mga
SCENE II.
241
ISAAC COMNENUS.
And should he be delay'd, we're premature;
For you'll observe, my lord, . . . .
COMNENUS.
I see your objection, sir, and hold it good.
FIRST LEADER.
Enough, enough ;
Yet, sir, there are some reasons we o'erlook . . .
COMNENUS.
There are, sir, many; which I overpass,
Not wholly overlook; for should I stop
To weigh you each particular grain of reason
We are to gather and glance o'er, good sir,
"Twould hold you here till morning. Not to add,
That so we multiply the chance of error.
We'll hold this matter, with your leave, adjusted.
SECOND LEADER.
My lord, you would not pass Numerian's toast,
Yet would I deem it over-lenity
To spare another's blood and stake our own.
One death or ere the strife began, my lord,
Might save some thousands.
COMNENUS.
But not salve the sin.
My friends, God knows too lenient am I not,
And it is less repugnant to my nature
To be the cause whereby a thousand bleed,
Than kill designedly but one to save them:
Which there is reason for howe'er we gloze.
This once for all, him hold I a false friend,
R
242
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
(Which signifies I hold him worse than foe,)
Who strikes at any life save in fair fight.
Enter Attendant.
ATTENDANT.
Sir, there's one waiting at the gate to see you.
One-what one, who?
You're arm'd?
COMNENUS.
ATTENDANT.
I know not, sir; he has a cloak all round him
Like a Varangian from over seas.
COMNENUS.
My friends, await me there within awhile.
MACRINUS.
COMNENUS.
From head to foot.
Enter THEODORA.
COMNENUS.
When I shall know my guest to be a friend,
I'll give him welcome.
[They withdraw.
COMNENUS.
THEODORA.
Thou mayst give it then.
[Discovering herself.
Thou mightst have known her for a friend long since,
She only gives thee one proof more.
Giving her hand.
A fair one.
SCENE II.]
243
ISAAC COMNENUS.
THEODORA.
Thou well mayst wonder, and I think thou dost,
Albeit thou show'st it not.
COMNENUS.
Not much; not much.
Ten years are gone since I have felt surprise
Save at my own existence and the stars.
THEODORA.
If not surprise, what else then canst thou feel?
Oh Count, I ask it not in bitterness,
But canst thou see me here, almost, I own,
A supplicant-me, me a supplicant-
A woman and a princess at thy feet
Beseeching thee
A
COMNENUS.
Oh say no more-stop there.
THEODORA.
Beseeching thee to save thyself and me,
And feel nor pity, gratitude nor love?
Thy life thou canst not deem so little worth
As I do mine; but it is worse than death
To bear a dead heart in a living body;
And when I tell thee death is at thy door,
The doom pronounced, the warrant out, the axe
Already in the headsman's hand, I
say
Not only fly from death, but waken life
In thy dead heart. Be but a living man
And we will fly together.
COMNENUS.
Princess, no-
R 2
211
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
It cannot be; but yet misjudge me not;
I am not reckless, as you think, of life;
I am not thankless, as you think, for love:
Your countrymen, the Thracians, held of old
Their counsels o'er their cups in night carouse,
Perpending them next morn: even such hath been
My session of to-night. My head, I think,
Will keep the headsman waiting. For my heart,
It is a sad and solitary heart,-
So sad that it must needs be solitary,-
M
And though not dead, disorder'd unto death,
And though not thankless, pitiless or proud,
Yet inaccessible to love.
THEODORA.
Then, Count,
Know that I hold thy head from this time forth
As worthless as thy heart-and weak and fond
And tender as I would have been and was,
Or e'er these drops are dried upon my cheek,
I'll see it rolling bloodily in the dust.
With triumph and with joy. Till then, farewell.
COMNENUS.
It is but in thy passion and thy heat
Thou speak'st so wilderedly.
Enter Attendants.
FIRST ATTENDANT.
My lord-
SECOND ATTENDANT.
My lord-
J
SCENE II.]
245
ISAAC COMNENUS.
COMNENUS.
Soft! see you not this lady? One at once.
FIRST ATTENDANT.
Sir, the Varangian guard is at the gate,
With two officials of the Church.
Admit them.
COMNENUS.
FIRST ATTENDANT.
They claim admittance on a royal warrant,
Citing you to attend a synod.
COMNENUS.
What say they?
Good.
FIRST ATTENDANT.
What! the Churchmen, sir?
COMNENUS.
Open the gates; let all who will come in.
Thou staring idiot, do my bidding straight.
Ay, all.
[Exit First Attendant.
Here, Porgius, hark!—thy wit runs somewhat deeper,—
When all are in, look that the gates be shut.
Macrinus, our debate is at an end.
[Exit Second Attendant.
Go tell the Lord Macrinus I would see him.
[Exit Third Attendant.
Your warning, lady, would have come but late.
Enter MACRINUS.
COMNENUS (meeting and speaking aside to him).
ta
246
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
MACRINUS.
Indeed, my lord, this end was little look'd for.
COMNENUS.
It is as well they take it in their hands
To model our devices. As they will.
Make speed, Macrinus, to the southern gate
With but such numbers as may make it sure,
Yet not alarm the town. Close by it stands
The cloister of St. Conon; send some friend
To warn my sister and my cousin there
To fly to sanctuary. Within an hour,
If all be well, I mean to pass the gate.
That will not press you?
MACRINUS.
Ample time, my lord.
COMNENUS.
Send Hertius round to draw our scatter'd friends
To the same spot, be sure within the hour.
I will amuse the Emperor and his court
Till then.
MACRINUS.
But for these guards?
COMNENUS.
Hark! now they enter.
When they're within the gates, disarm and bind them;
By their good leave they shall along with me.
[Exit MACRINUS.
Your father's action overtakes our talk.
THEODORA.
Oh, Heaven! so sudden! Count, there still is time—
SCENE II.]
247
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Say you repent the past-say you recall it,
And I may yet find means
COMNENUS,
Will I make bargains for a lady's love.
Enter Two Officials of the Church.
What is your errand, sirs ?-say on; no form.
Nor now nor ever
FIRST OFFICIAL.
Lord Count, our errand is to take thee hence
By virtue of this power.
The conclave waits.
COMNENUS.
Nay, keep the scroll;
Your tone's so lofty you must needs have powers.
But should I ask indulgence for an hour
To be prepared?
SECOND OFFICIAL
My lord, it cannot be.
To bear with none!
COMNENUS.
Ay, doth it? then I come.
I pray you first to take a cup of wine :
This juice might soften Churchmen.
FIRST OFFICIAL.
Our orders are to bear with no delay.
COMNENUS.
No, my lord:
[A disturbance without.
248
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Oh! be at ease, sirs: hark!
'Tis but disputes between my guards and yours
Which shall become my escort to the court.
Enter Attendant.
ATTENDANT.
My lord, your orders are obey'd.
COMNENUS.
"Tis well.
Confine these Churchmen in the lower dungeon.
FIRST OFFICIAL.
My lord, beware how you maltreat the Church.
COMNENUS.
We leave them there, and on our march be sure
No voice be heard, nor any leave their ranks.
FIRST OFFICIAL.
I say, each martyr, confessor, and saint
Shall deal sore vengeance-
SECOND OFFICIAL.
'Tis plain he's master.
Silence, 'twill but goad him;
COMNENUS.
Order thus the march :
The royal guard within, unarm'd and bound,
My own surrounding them, myself will lead,-
This lady with me. Now, sirs, we must part.
Keep your own secret: it is safe with me.
[To the Priests.
[TO THEODORA.
SCENE III.]
249
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Lord Count-
FIRST OFFICIAL.
COMNENUS.
Nay, on, sirs; I will not molest you,
Save with restraint till morning.
SECOND OFFICIAL.
Sir, we thank you.
COMNENUS (to THEODORA).
Give me your hand-Not so? then walk by me,
And doubt not my protection. You came here
In no such friendly guidance. There-[As they go out]
—just so.
All as I wish'd, Macrinus: fling the gates open
And sound the trumpets of the royal guard.
Out, out, friends, out.
SCENE III.—A Hall in the Palace, where many Ecclesiastics are
assembled in Synod. The Emperor is seated on a throne at
the further end of a table, at which are also seated the
Patriarch, the Bishop of Trebizond, the Bishop of Nicomedia,
the Synodial Secretary, and other Dignitaries. In front
the Bishops of Heraclea and Philippopolis are conversing
in an under tone, and are joined by the Bishop of Cæsarea.
BISHOP OF HERACLEA.
Methinks the time is long.
BISHOP OF PHILIPPOPOLIS.
It passeth heavily away.
BISHOP OF CESAREA.
I heard the Bishop of Trebizond whispering the
250
ISAAC COMNENUS.
[ACT II.
Patriarch of an idle rumour, that the heretics were
found watching and had overpowered the royal guard.
BISHOP OF HERACLEA.
At such times there are ever such rumours.
BISHOP OF CESAREA.
'Tis nothing. Is not the Emperor
Hark !-No.
paler than his wont?
BISHOP OF HERACLEA.
He is as white as an almond tree in June.
BISHOP OF CESAREA.
And my lord the Bishop of Trebizond?
BISHOP OF HERACLEA.
There's no more blood in his face than in this crucifix.
PATRIARCH.
What is your talk, my lords? Speak out, speak out:
there be no laics here. Speak freely out.
BISHOP OF CESAREA.
Do thou make answer.
BISHOP OF HERACLEA.
Most holy father, we spake how that this heretic
hath tarried long.
PATRIARCH.
He cometh late to judgment; yea, too late.
Long-suffering are the delegates of heaven;
Abounding they in mercy and in goodness:
So judgment followeth sin with tardy steps.
Too late-too late.
SCENE III.]
251
ISAAC COMNENUS.
EMPEROR (to one of the Ecclesiastics).
Send some one forth to look if they be coming.
PATRIARCH.
I say we're all
we're all too late. Hast written out the
award?
THE SECRETARY.
Holiest father, it is here.
PATRIARCH.
We'll have it sign'd at once.
and then the rest.
Must I sign first?
EMPEROR.
[Exit Ecclesiastic.
Not me, not me; the thing concerns not me.
PATRIARCH.
First to his Majesty,
Well, well, here's warranty enough without.
So-pass it to my Lord of Trebizond.
BISHOP OF TREBIZond.
PATRIARCH.
At once, my lord, and pass it.
[Signs.
BISHOP OF HERACLEA (aside to the Bishop of Cæsarea).
you how the style trembles in his hand.
Mark
THE SECRETARY.
My lord, you're writing on the written part:
The space
is here.
BISHOP OF TREBIZOND.
My eyesight fails me: here,-I see, I see.
252
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Enter an Attendant.
EMPEROR.
Thine errand?
We waive the adorations, speak thine errand.
ATTENDANT.
The Royal Guard is entering the gates.
EMPEROR.
'Tis well, right well.
Let them bring up the prisoner.
PATRIARCH.
Bring him up.
Most reverend lords, we pray you take your seats.
Enter another Attendant in haste.
ATTENDANT.
"Tis not the Royal Guard; 'tis the Comnenians: they
have passed the gates, Count Isaac at their head.
EMPEROR.
Great God! then all is lost! Where is the Cæzar-
issa?
BISHOP OF TREBIZOND.
We shall be murder'd all!
¿
BISHOP OF CÆSAREA.
We're martyrs doom'd.
BISHOP OF HERACLEA.
Yea verily the hour is come, and we are called and
chosen.
[During these exclamations the Hall has filled with Officers of State
and Attendants crowding in confusedly.
SCENE III.]
253
ISAAC COMNENUS.
PATRIARCH.
Silence, my lords, what craven cries be these?
Your Majesty will please send some one forth.
To draw your forces from the suburbs round.
I tell you take your seats. Ho! God is great!
His Church is mighty, and that might have we.
I say, bring up the Count.
SEVERAL VOICES.
He's coming up.
PATRIARCH.
I say, then, let him come.
Enter COMNENUS, who walks to the foot of the table, the
crowd falling back on either side.
COMNENUS.
I'm here to answer to your summons.
PATRIARCH.
Lo!
Almighty God is present in his Church!
His Church is present here!
How hast thou dared then to profane this presence
By coming here in arms? Give up thy sword.
[COMNENUS ungirds his sword and flings it on the table.
COMNENUS (after some pause).
What would ye have with it that cannot use it?
My lords, ye do but mock me: here am I
Brought by your midnight summons from my house,
And ye have nought to say. Ye do but mock me.
PATRIARCH.
We mock thee not: 'tis thou that mock'st high heaven.
254
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Thou'rt summon'd here on many an ugly count
Of sacrilege and heresy and schism,—
Which so thou answer not and clear thy fame,
We shall, in due acquittance of our trust,
Pronounce the interdict from fire and water,
And cut thee off from Christian fellowship.
COMNENUS.
My lords, or ere ye do inhibit me
From fire and water, have it you in charge
I cut not off yourselves from earth and air.
My lords, this world is not so all your own
That ye can grant away the elements
Amongst your friends, and lock one moiety up
From them that like you not. Ye kneel and pray
That God will make you humble as the dust,
Then, rising, arrogate omnipotence,
And shake the ashes from your shaven crowns.
But I will teach you veriest lowliness.
PATRIARCH (holds up the cross and pronounces the adjuration,
“Ecce crucem Domini! fugite partes adversæ !”)
A man possess’d-'tis Sathan speaks, not he !
The father of lies hath spoken by his mouth.
An exorcist for this demoniac straight
To disenchant his body of the fiend!
COMNENUS.
Ye charge your own malignancy on me.
A demonocracy of unclean spirits
Hath govern'd long these synods of your Church,
The Antichrist foretold and I am he
•
SCENE IV.]
255
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Who, in the fulness of the approaching time,
Expect my coming.
Will exorcise you all.
[Exit.
[A short silence ensues during which several persons who had followed
COMNENUS, re-enter, exclaiming "The Count is gone !"
PATRIARCH.
Thy wrath go with him, God!
EMPEROR.
I hear the sound of horses' feet afar;
The city force is out-he cannot stay,
But will abscond and seek support abroad.
Let every tribune hie him to his charge.
The prefects and the eparchs will resort
To the Bucoleon with what speed they may,
And there I'll meet them. Each man to his charge.
PATRIARCH (to the Bishops).
Soldiers of God, spiritual militants!
Fight the good fight! on us devolves the charge
To fulminate the censures of the Church;
And on the morn, before Sophia's shrine,
Shall this high charge be solemnly fulfill'd.
Let every Churchman now assembled here
Attend and share the office.—I dismiss you.
SCENE IV.-Precincts of the Palace.-An Eunuch of the
Imperial Household and an Exorcist.
EXORCIST.
He is gone, then?
EUNUCH.
Gone! he galloped out of the town as if he had ten
thousand devils in him.
256
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
EXORCIST.
Well, I am glad he is gone before I came, for to say
the truth he is ill to deal with.
EUNUCH.
But thou couldst exorcise him?
EXORCIST.
Oh! if you come to the matter of science, an evil
spirit is no more in one man than in another.
EUNUCH.
But tell me, I beseech thee, which saint is the most
powerful for freeing the demoniacs?
EXORCIST.
That is, look you, according as they are obsessed or
possessed; and also according to the order of the spirit:
now for the abruption of evil spirits of Belphegor's or
the ninth order, St. George of Cappadocia is your only
saint. I have known him bring the Devil clean out of
a man's body before ever he knew him to have been
there.
Ay, indeed!
EXORCIST.
Yes; and you may remember Anthemius the Eparch,
who was possessed of Leviathan and caused a dropsy in
the Emperor's daughter. I never had a more obstinate.
spirit to deal with in all my experience.
But you succeeded?
EXORCIST.
I bless God, by the help of St. George, to say nothing
EUNUCH.
EUNUCH.
SCENE IV.]
257
ISAAC COMNENUS.
of my own secret receipt for suffumigation, I brought
him fairly out at last, and her Highness was cured.
EUNUCH.
But did she not relapse in the space of a year or so?
EXORCIST.
Relapse? Yes, she did relapse; for look you, there's
nothing sneaks back into a man's body so soon as your
villanous evil spirit.
EUNUCH.
But Anthemius has not troubled you lately?
EXORCIST.
No; the Emperor sent him to the prisons of Lethe
on the other side of the water, and the word went he
was strangled.
So he was, that's certain.
EUNUCH.
EXORCIST.
What was it for, then?
EUNUCH.
Some idle tongues spake how that all was not as it
should be between him and the Princess; but what
plainly appeared against him was, that he stole the hood
of a Benedictine Friar from his cell after eleven o'clock
at night, and being afterwards at the Sabbath of evil
spirits and magicians, did there put it upon Satan's
head, saying, "hoc honore dignus es," in contempt of
St. Benedict and his holy order.
EXORCIST.
God's mercy! it was time he was put out of the way.
What will not a man do when once he is maleficated.
S
258
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
EUNUCH.
Ay; and who could bring him about without your
help?-Come, we are friends, tell us some of the secrets
of your craft.
EXORCIST.
There be things whereon we discourse to our friends,
and there be things whereon we hold our peace.
Nay but
EXORCIST.
Mark me.
There is an inside and an outside to
everything. There is a virtue in silence, and that
virtue is discretion, which is the virtue that holds a man
back from babbling. Again-he that saith nothing doth
wisely, for what he knows is more than you know.
EUNUCH.
EUNUCH.
By St. Peter that is true, and I will seek no further.
EXORCIST.
Nevertheless, as it is thou that hast inquired of me
touching this matter, I will say somewhat; for the man
that hath nothing to say to his friend is too wise for this
world.
EUNUCH.
Thou art a true friend to say so.
EXORCIST.
Attend then when the demoniac is brought before
you, the first thing is to make sure that he is bona fide
possessed for which end you shall look for the Devil's
mark in the form of a hare's foot, and when you find it,
:
SCENE IV.]
259
ISAAC COMNENUS.
run a lancet half an inch into the flesh; if no blood
comes, it is a dead certainty he is possessed. The
next thing is to bless the instruments, which are four;
that is, water, incense, salt, and oil. Water is twofold;
that is, first, water of ablution, and second, water of
aspersion. Water of ablution is sevenfold; that is,
first-
EUNUCH.
But tell us the manner of it.
EXORCIST.
The manners of it are three; there is the præexor-
cization, the exorcization and the postexorcization.
The præexorcizations are fifteen; that is——
EUNUCH.
Nay, I see it is past my understanding. But only
tell me this,—how do you get the Devil out of a woman?
EXORCIST.
You've gravelled me there; if once the Devil gets
into woman
But you told me
Highness-
EUNUCH.
but now, speaking of her
EXORCIST.
Why look you, the Devils that have to do with women
are two, the Incubi and Succubi; now for the Incubi-
[Trumpets without.
EUNUCH.
Hark! the troops are gathering; that is the Imperial
march; they are coming this way: we must be gone.
$ 2
260
[ACT III.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
t
EXORCIST.
I fear some bloodshed will come of this.
EUNUCH.
I care not what comes of it; nothing new to this
city, we may be sure.
EXORCIST.
No, unless it were peace and quietness, which I much
mistrust. Farewell; shame the Devil and renounce his
works, and thou wilt never have need of my craft.
EUNUCH.
Easier to keep him out than to cast him out, if I
know anything of it. Farewell.
ACT III.
SCENE I.-The European Shore of the Propontic.
ISAAC and ALEXIUS COMNENUS.
ALEXIUS.
But for that hair that's twisted in the grain
I had not known thee.
COMNENUS.
Youth, Alexius,
Knows nought of changes; age hath traced them oft,
Expects, and can interpret them. Thou too
Art somewhat alter'd, but the few years more
Of time which I have travell'd through have taught
SCENE 1.]
ISAAC COMNENUS.
201
The art to know what has been from what is,
What's like to be from both: change is youth's wonder:
Such transmutations have I seen in men
That fortune seem'd a slow and steadfast power
Compared with nature.
ALEXIUS.
There is nought thou'st seen
More alter'd than art thou.
I speak not of thy change of outward favour,
But thou art changed in heart.
COMNENUS.
Ay, hearts change too:
Mine has grown sprightly, has it not, and hard?
I ride it now with spurs; else, else, Alexius . . .
Well is it said the best of life is childhood:
Life is a banquet where the best's first served,
And when the guest is cloy'd comes oil and garlick.
ALEXIUS.
Hast thou forgotten how it was thy wont
To muse the hours away along this shore-
These very rippled sands?
COMNENUS.
The sands are here,
But not the foot-prints. Wouldst thou trace them now?
A thousand tides and storms have dash'd them out;
Winds brush'd them and waves worn them; and o'er all
The heavy foot of Time, who plods the shore
Replenishing his sand-glass, trodden down
Their vestiges and mine. Look, here's a rock--
His seat or ere he push'd it from the cliff,
262
[ACT III.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
And which shall now be ours; a goodly seat;
He's worn it smooth-smooth as a woman's cheek
Whilst yet untaught to dimple into lies.
ALEXIUS.
What is this carved upon the rock?
I take it for a lover's.
But Time has ta'en it for a poet's scrawl;
He's razed it, razed it.
COMNENUS.
،،
Alas, Irene !
""
I know not;
ALEXIUS.
No, not quite; look here.
Of balmy breath, and hearts pierced through and through
With eyes' miraculous brightness-vows ne'er broken
Until the Church hath sealed them-charms loved
madly,
Until it be a sin to love them not-
And kisses ever sweet till they be innocent-
But that your lover's not put down?
COMNENUS.
What! there's some talk
There are but two words.
ALEXIUS.
No, none of it.
COMNENUS.
That's succinct; what are they?
ALEXIUS.
Why thy looks are now
SCENE I.]
ISAAC COMNENUS.
263
Such as I have beheld them heretofore,
Only more ghastly-Isaac, what disturbs thee?
COMNENUS.
! Now this I hate, to stand and be decipher'd,
Pored on industriously and puzzled through,
Like riddles that are read o' winter's nights
When maids and boys have nought to prate on else.
Alexius, forgive me. Leave me now.
There's occupation for us both abroad.
ALEXIUS.
Oh no, I will not-bid me not to leave thee.
A seven years' history is untold between us.
COMNENUS.
Time is there none to tell it now.
'Tis too heroic to be told in prose !
Go put it down in four-and-twenty books,
'Cleped "the Comneniad," to be read at leisure.
We'll have no more of this; my childhood's past,
And I would not recall it.
ALEXIUS.
Besides
Not recall it!
| Canst thou stand here and say so? Canst thou look
On this soft-rolling, deep-embayed sea,
With yon blue beautiful ridge half-compass'd round,
Hear the low plash of wave o'erwhelming wave,
The loving lullaby of thy mother Ocean,
(We, like the Cretan, are not sons of Earth)
See the rocks stand like nature's ruins round,
For man's were never so majestical,
264
[ACT III.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
The boundary forts of Earth and Ocean's empire,
The deep-scarr'd veterans of their countless wars,
Thy native, and thy father's native shores-
Can'st thou be so surrounded and speak thus !
Are they not lovely?
COMNENUS.
It is not the eye
To which these things seem lovely, but the mind,
Which makes, unmakes, remodels, or rejects them.
And which doth thy mind?
ALEXIUS.
There is an after-dawn.
COMNENUS.
It hath done them all..
Alexius, I remember when in Persia,
I oft would watch the sun go down; and there
He sets with such refulgency of red,
That the whole east, with the reflected glow,
Is crimson'd as it may be here at dawn.
I would the youth of man did so decline;
But that still darkeneth to the cloudy close.
·
ALEXIUS.
COMNENUS.
C
To that I look,—
Wont to look onward still and never backward.
Thy coming hath deranged this.
ALEXIUS.
How is our cousin Anna ?
Let it rest.
SCENE I.]
265
ISAAC COMNENUS.
COMNENUS.
Well, quite well.
The natural infirmities of youth,
Sadness and softness, hopefulness, wishfulness,
All pangs for which we do not see good cause,
Let's take no count of. If at ninety years
A man shall die, accusing no disease,
Only by reason of the ninety years,
So shall a maiden languish at nineteen
Only by reason of the time and state.
Enough for nature if she keep us sound
In the slow tide and tenor of our lives,
Betwixt youth's flushings and the lapse of age.
ALEXIUS.
A rumour went our gentle cousin's charms
Were to have fill'd for thee this gap of life.
If she grew up with what I call to mind
Of gifts that graced her childhood, none could match her.
COMNENUS.
I own it; but I have no care for beauty.
Seest thou yon rainbow based and glass'd on ocean?
I look on that as on a lovely thing,
But not a thing of promise.
ALEXIUS.
Doth she not love thee?
COMNENUS.
That is a point to which most men would speak
In words of dubious import, to imply
That they are loved, but very loth to tell it.
I answer, Yes, she loves me.
266
[ACT III.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
ALEXIUS.
And thou her?
COMNENUS.
Ay;-with a difference though her love's untold,
Though I am not so young in the world to doubt it ;
I tell her that I love her every day.
I have design'd her for a happier fate,
And she shall learn to love herself, not me;
Which is soon taught.
ALEXIUS.
And wherefore not love both?
COMNENUS.
Because she never can be true to both.
Hast no talk meeter for a battle's eve?
ALEXIUS.
All is arranged; there's nought upon my mind.
ALEXIUS.
COMNENUS.
Nor need there be; but there is much on mine,-
A weight of foregone years crowding along,
That seem press'd back by some approaching close.
We'll talk of times to come to morrow-night.
What time the watch is set I shall depart :
I mean to sleep beside Blachernæ.
Is't not too near the walls?
COMNENUS.
Why?
I go alone.
And one at dusk will scarcely be observed.
SCENE 11.]
267
ISAAC COMNENUS.
ALEXIUS.
Take you no guard then?
COMNENUS.
Not so far as there.
I have a watchful eye to yon monk's kennel;
For, as I said, if aught be stirring there,
I'll seize upon the post by break of day.
ALEXIUS.
You fear not for our sister?
COMNENUS.
But thus far:
I think when Pagans such as we make war,
My own is better than the Church's safeguard.
ALEXIUS.
My way is with you half the distance.
COMNENUS.
Good.
Macrinus then shall lead; we'll play the spy.
Let's to his tent; there must be orders given.
My armour too is there. Ere all is done
Dusk will be well nigh here, and we'll set forth.
SCENE II.-Evening.—An outpost of the camp. Tents in the
distance. Fires at intervals, reaching to the shore and
throwing light across the Propontic. Soldiers lying on their
arms. In front a Sentinel walking his rounds is met by
ALEXIUS.
ALEXIUS.
Thou art one of Count Isaac's men, art not?
268
[ACT III.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
SENTINEL.
How dost thou know that? Methinks by thy sun-
burnt face thou should'st belong to my Lord Alexius.
all that.
True, I am from the east
True.
ALEXIUS.
No more.
SENTINEL.
Yes; for we are all Count Isaac's men now, mind'st
thou.
But we are comrades for
ALEXIUS.
SENTINEL.
Count Alexius is now no
command.
ALEXIUS.
SENTINEL.
more than second in
And in so small an army that is next to nothing.
ALEXIUS.
'Tis little, but as much as he deserves.
SENTINEL.
Nay, I did not mean that; only I would have thee
understand that thy master serves my master.
ALEXIUS.
He does. There are few men worthy to serve thy
master. I would that Count Alexius were.
SENTINEL.
Not that I mean any ill of Count Alexius. He's
young.
SCENE II.]
269
ISAAC COMNENUS.
ALEXIUS.
Ay, but one might be wiser even at his years.
SENTINEL.
Nay, I know not that. When I was two and twenty
I know not if I had much more sense than he has now.
'Tis a miracle how sense will grow upon a man after he
has mounted guard a few years. Thou would'st not
believe how many thoughts come and go in a wise man's
head as he walks his four hours backwards and forwards
upon an outpost.
ALEXIUS.
How long hast thou been walking here?
SENTINEL.
The matter of an hour.
The matter of four.
ALEXIUS.
And what thoughts have come and gone in thy head?
SENTINEL.
ALEXIUS.
What was thy first thought?
SENTINEL.
I bethought me that the wind was easterly, and one
ought to hear the waves break upon the Symplegades.
ALEXIUS.
What was thy second thought?
SENTINEL.
I thought when the moon rose I should see the tops
of the fig-trees at Galatá; that's my birth-place.
270
[ACT III.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
ALEXIUS.
And thy third?
SENTINEL.
I thought if I was to fall to-morrow, I could like it
were thereabouts.
Thy fourth?
ALEXIUS.
SENTINEL.
I thought when Count Isaac was emperor, he would be
for recasting the army, and I should tell him I was
getting old in the service and could like to be one of
the Immortals.
ALEXIUS.
That I'll be bound for him thou shalt.
How canst thou tell?
SENTINEL.
ALEXIUS.
I know he takes care of those that stick to their old
generals and look cold on the new.
SENTINEL.
How know'st thou that? Thou art of the eastern
forces.
ALEXIUS.
None knows thy master better.
Enter an Officer.
OFFICER.
My lord, your brother waits you hard by where the
roads meet.
ALEXIUS.
I come. Farewell to thee. See thou keep a keen
SCENE III.]
271
ISAAC COMNENUS,
look-out to the north and west. The moon will soon be
up, and on the scout side of the field. All thou need'st
take heed of comes between thee and the light. Fare-
well. I'll tell Count Isaac thy deserts.
[Exeunt ALEXIUS and Officer.
SENTINEL.
Holy Mother of God! that will be the young Count
himself. 'Tis well he takes it no worse; for to say the
truth, I did him but scanty justice. What was it I
said to him? No doubt but I told him plain out every
thought that has come into my head for this year and
more.
SCENE III-A Churchyard.
COMNENUS, ALEXIUS and Guide.
COMNENUS.
This road is but uneven.
How is this?
GUIDE.
It is the burial-ground, my lord. These hills are graves.
COMNENUS.
Then do we trespass; but the dead ne'er heed us.
Ha! Pray you, trip not up my heels, good friends,
That lie in wait so stilly.
GUIDE.
Hush, my lord.
COMNENUS.
I tell thee that they heed us not.
GUIDE.
Our feet
272
[ACT III.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
They heed not and they hear not; but some tell
How a light word's recorded till the day
When they shall burst their graves.
COMNENUS.
And so it is.
Words though from earth with wings they fly away
Yet perish not nor lose themselves in space,
But bend their course towards eternity,
And roost beneath the judgment-seat of God.
What be yon shape hewn out upon the tomb-stone?
A cherub 'tis my lord.
GUIDE.
COMNENUS,
What, with that damnable visage?
GUIDE.
It is thus, my lord, they carve them.
COMNENUS.
'Tis wondrous hideous. When I die, Alexius,
I'll have an image of another mould
Shall smile a cherub's blessing o'er my dust.
What, ha! again-that rogue,
The blundering sexton, misconceived his task,
And buried us the epitaph; this stone
Hath but one knob above ground, which obtrudes
"Siste Viator" to who journey darkling.
Well, there's a lesson when the tablet's buried,
More than its scroll could read us. Sit we here.
This stone is new: there's but one name inscribed,
And a long blank for chronicling the friends.
Whose hour comes after. Why not write their names?
I
SCENE III.]
273
ISAAC COMNENUS.
I
Then were the date but wanting. Look again-
Here lieth" (say rather here once lay)
The body of Peter Andros, a true spouse
"And tender father-may the dust lie light.
Why look you there; the relict of this Peter
(Whom I once knew) and his all-duteous sons
Drave Peter hitherward e'er they bore him here;
And here they stood around the low-laid sire,
Echoing the hollow rattle of the mould
Upon his coffin-lid with hollow groans;
And then they wrote his epitaph,—a true one,
Which yet they lied in writing. Could we call up
The rings of mourners that have girt these mounds
And bid them show their faces,-'twere a sight
That to behold the Devil should wax mirthful.
But they have follow'd.-What may be the name
Of yonder church?
GUIDE.
It bears its founder's name,
St. Nicolaus Pontifex, my lord.
COMNENUS.
Ay, is it so? Alexius, this place
I should have known, but that the dusk deceived me.
Once in this ground I saw a friend interred,
And I would fain revisit now the spot.
From hence I know my road.
77
I'll follow you.
[Exeunt ALEXIUS and Guide.
11
This is the very earth that covers her,
And, lo! we trample it like common clay!
Chance shall I call it merely-but blind chance,
That at this fateful, questionable hour,
T
274
[ACT 111.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
a fare begins as the way to
Brings me to blunder thus upon a spot
Which I have shunned for years as haunted ground!
The past rejoins me. When I last stood here
Disguised to see a lowly girl laid down
Into her early grave, there was such light
As now doth show it, but a bleaker air,
Being it was December. 'Tis most strange;
I can remember now each circumstance
Which then I scarce was conscious of; like words
That leave upon the still susceptive sense
A message undeliver'd till the mind
Awakes to apprehensiveness and takes it.
'Twas o'er-the mutter'd unattended rite,
And the few friends she had beside myself
Had risen and gone; I had not knelt, but stood
With a dull gaze of stupor as the mould
Was shovelled over and the broken sods
Fitted together. Then some idle boys
Who had assisted at the covering in,
Ran off in sport, trailing the shovels with them,
Rattling upon the gravel; and the sexton
Flatten'd the last sods down, and knock'd his spade
Against a neighbouring tomb-stone to shake off
The clinging soil,—with a contented air,
Even as a ditcher who has done his work.
I, at that sound, had started from my trance,
Conscious of its completion, but the keen frost
Had ta'en the power of motion from my limbs.
How I came thence I know not, nor dared ask.
But now I dare recall these things. Oh Christ!
How that which was the life's life of our being
Can pass away and we recall it thus !
"
1
SCENE III.]
275
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Irene! if there's aught of thee that lives,
Thou hast beholden me a suffering man;
Thou'st seen the mind-its native strength how rack'd,
Thou see'st the bodily frame how sorely shaken,
And thou wilt judge me, not as they do who live,
But gently as thou didst judge all the world
When it was thy world.
On many a battle's eve, in many climes,
By the ice-cavern'd course of black Araxes,
By Ister's stream and Halys and Euphrates,
By Antioch's walls and Palestine's sea-shore,
I have address'd wild prayers unto thy spirit,
And with a mind against its natural bent
Tortured to strong devotion, have besought
That thou would'st meet me then, or that denied,
That I might seek thy world upon the morrow.
And then it would have seem'd a thing most sweet,
Though awful, to behold thy bodiless spirit.
But now—and whether from the body's toil,
I know not if it be, or fever'd blood,
Or wakefulness, or from the mind's worn weakness-
It were a very terror to the flesh
To look on such a phantom :-it is strange
That what we so grieved to lose we fear to find
In any shape, strange that the form so sweet,
So gentle and beloved, I saw laid here,
Now new-arisen would make my blood run cold!
Up, moon! for I am fearful of the darkness,
And I have heard a voice that cries aloud-
Home, home, Comnenus!
K
[A voice at a distance, calling COMNENUS.
Where hath he a home?
b
T 2
276
[ACT III.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
His home is with the dead-his home is here-
Father of mercies, take him to his home!
Enter ALEXIUS.
Isaac, you stay too long.
ALEXIUS.
COMNENUS.
Ha!
ALEXIUS.
COMNENUS.
What ails thee! what has happened to thee, Isaac?
I left thee but just now.
True, 'twas just now.
ALEXIUS.
What?—too long!
And thou wert undisturb'd-what has befallen?
COMNENUS.
Ay, it was something that I saw just now.
ALEXIUS.
Thou speak'st without the concert of thy mind;
Collect thy thoughts; whence is this sudden change?
COMNENUS.
Be not alarm'd; 'twas but some idle thought;
We will dismiss it-merely a brain creation.
Think it no more: Alexius, as thou said'st,
I am a much changed man, and phantoms come
Before my sight most palpably like truths,
But going thus show clearly what they are.
We should survey yon villa on the left;
Some fifty men might hold it for an hour,
SCENE IV.]
ISAAC COMNENUS.
277
And cover our advance till Cos be won.
Come, let us onward. Why, thou stand'st amazed.
ALEXIUS.
Go on; I will not quit thee.
COMNENUS.
Time runs out;
'Tis dawn by three o'clock; and ere that hour,
Macrinus will be up with half his force
As far as Ithe. I'll send word-but come-
The moon looms large and shows our footing well.
SCENE IV.-The Gardens of the Convent of St. Conon's.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
COMNENUS.
Midnight is past; yon western rim of light
Is sunken and absorb'd: yet darkness comes not.
The brow of night is pale-pale, but how lovely!
Quieter far than life, than death less dark;
A voiceless revelation of the things
11
Which lost their names when Eden was no more.
A VOICE (behind).
Cherub and Seraph be your blessing here!
COMNENUS.
But lo! the names are left; oblivion gulf'd
The nature, essence, notion-not the name;
So honour'd be the all that earth lost not.
I, willing that all words should have their use,
Accepted these for watchwords.-Peace, come forth.
278
[ACT III.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Cherub and Seraph-
THE VOICE.
COMNENUS.
Bring thy body forth,
So I may deem that heavenly voice incarnate.
Come forward, for I cannot bring my tongue
To rhyme thy pestilent jargon. Come, thou know'st me.
Enter the MONK MONOMACHUS.
MONK.
Deiparous Virgin! Holy Mary Mother!
My lord, you're louder than the bell for matins !
You'll rouse the brotherhood.
COMNENUS.
MONK.
To come amongst your enemies alone!
It is mere madness, so I bade him tell you;
Periling alike yourself and me that screen you.
COMNENUS.
Thy counsel whether I should come or not,
Was never ask'd; I sent to bid thee meet me,
And finding thee am satisfied. Alone
I have not come, save for the last half mile;
See'st thou yon upland; in the dell beyond
A hundred horse are browsing.
MONK.
Which it did never.
You do not purpose an attack ?
God defend us!
SCENE IV.]
279
ISAAC COMNENUS.
COMNENUS.
Not yet;
Unless perchance my person were betray'd.
MONK.
Surely, my lord, you question not my faith.
COMNENUS.
I cannot doubt that it behoves thee keep it.
MONK.
Pardon me there; though plighted faith still binds,
The rashness of the chief might cast in doubt
Which side be safest.
<
COMNENUS.
Not a whit, sir, no.
By whichsoever is espoused, by that
'Tis safest to abide. Be thou aware
It were a fatal error should'st thou dream
That thou couldst secretly espouse my cause
And change thy mind at will as things fall out.
Thou stand'st committed to the issue; yea,
My good or evil fortunes thou shalt share.
MONK.
My lord, have I desired or more or less?
COMNENUS.
And if, the while, cross tides shall run me hard,
And then some subtle spirit in thine ear
Whisper change sides,' with this shalt thou make head
Against that subtle spirit,-thou shalt say,—
"Count Isaac, in his cunning malice, bent
That none be left unscathed if he be smitten,
280
[ACT III.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
May have bethought him to leave proof behind
Of all our dealings-proof whereof the tithe
Were all-sufficient in the Patriarch's hands
To doom me to that peace his Church accords
To her false brethren."-In the hour of trial
Thus shalt thou fortify thy better mind.
MONK.
My lord, a cruel stratagem is yours,
If I must needs believe this done, to fix
Your follower's faith.
COMNENUS.
Invidious it were
To justify to thee the cutting off
Of that safe second turn which should ensure,
Lose they that might, a winning game to thee.
To justify is not my present need;
To have explain'd suffices.-By the night,
The complines have been done this hour, and now
My cousin might come forth.
MONK.
Not here, my lord;
The trees are ranker to the left, where now
She doubtless waits you: in the cloister near
Your sister will keep watch; on this side I.
The path is at your hand.
SCENE V.]
281
ISAAC COMNENUS.
•
SCENE V. Another part of the same Garden.
ANNA COMNENA.
Whate'er the cause, I'm glad we meet again;
For our last parting was not to my mind-
A turning off as who should meet i' the road
And bid good-morrow-nay not even that;
He did not say farewell, a word though sad
One would not leave unspoken-still a sweet sound,
Though, it may be, a sound that parts for ever,
The dying cadence of a broken chord.
He did not say farewell, nor did he look it,
Nor kiss it, as he once, though not of late,
Was wont to do. I have outgrown the time
When all was unsuspected, unsuspicious:
And yet I would not be a child again.
How quiet is the night—no breath afloat-
I hear the kine upon the far hill side
Tear up the long dank grass. And such a morn
Will break the rest of this so peaceful night!
Hark! what is that?
COMNENUS (entering).
P
Curse on these birchen boughs;
They waked a grey he-owl, who stared amain
To see one here that was not of his order.
Well met, fair cousin! Short our time is here.
Wert thou afraid to come ?
ANNA.
Afraid? oh no;
I nowhere feel so safe as where you are.
282
[ACT III.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
COMNENUS.
Yet few men of a peaceful mind like mine
Have brought such dangers both on friends and foes;
Not wilfully-in no case wilfully;
And now I strive to make an end of all.
ANNA.
Oh! and a happy end, I trust, that then
We may have rest and live in peace together.
COMNENUS.
Under his fig-tree each: so may it be!
Yet 'tis befitting us at this and all times
To look each issue fairly in the face.
The courage of the commonalty sinks
Unless their hearts be sanguine; victory thus
Is in each general's mouth; none cries
Courage, my friends, for wretched is your plight!
The chances are against us, Death and Defeat!
But by the common cry the common mind
Is buoy'd aloft: be it not so with us:
Whatsoe'er possible evils lie before
Let us sincerely own them to ourselves,
With all unstinting, unevasive hearts,
Reposing in the consciousness of strength
Or fervent hope to be endow'd with strength
Of all-enduring temper,-daring all truth.
ANNA.
I am courageous when you bid me be so;
But were I left without a friendly voice
To strengthen and exhort me,-left alone
In some disastrous sequel of this strife,
I dare not say I should not falter then.
:
SCENE V.]
283
ISAAC COMNENUS.
COMNENUS.
The worst assemblage of the worst events
When actual is not so intolerable
As when remote it seems: fancy o'ersteps
The bounds of nature, and miscounts the force
Of cumulative griefs; a first mishap
Has a fair field; the rest are but late comers;
The human mind's capacity of pain
Is no illimitable attribute.
What is it you most fear?
ANNA.
Oh! when I think
How many a brave adventurer rose in arms
This last indiction,—and what fates they met,
They who had won and reign'd falling in turn,
And then behold thee standing where they stood,
Upon the verge of empire or of-
COMNENUS.
Death,
Not excæcation, if the thought of that
Calls up these looks of horror. Fear it not.
To no such maim'd and ignominious close
Will I degrade my being. Life is now,
I think, with all its evils, eligible;
But one sense less would turn the odds against it.
ANNA.
But if this dread conjuncture should arrive,
You would not with your own hand cast off life?
COMNENUS.
Not so, if others can be found: my wish
284
[ACT III.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Has never been unneedfully to arm
My reason or my will against my instincts;
What facile guidance nature gives I take;
In the sharp interchange of blow for blow
Our volatile life transpires at unawares
Without the thought of death, whose sting is thought;
The easiest permeation of mortality
Is this, and this, if need be, shall be mine.
ANNA.
Whilst I behold you standing by my side
So full of life, my mind will scarce be brought
Fairly to apprehend the fatal change
We speak of.
COMNENUS.
Death is but a name to you,
Who have but fancied hitherto, not felt
A deprivation. May it so remain !
To me, acquainted with mortality,
A foresight and forefeeling clear and strong
Present the image of the hour to come;
And come when come it may, death comes to me
As a familiar spirit—not desired,
Neither eschew'd. Some three good hours ago
I passed a burial-ground, and pondering there
How much by accident it is we live
'Mid all the storms that wreck humanity,
I deem'd that there was something yet to do
To clear the coming hours of anxious thoughts;
One possible issue unprovided for.
ANNA.
I have but contemplated two events:
SCENE V.]
285
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Your victory, which quits us of all cares;
Or else your fall; and having proved the worst
I shall thenceforth have nothing more to fear.
COMNENUS.
Though I should fall, defeat might not ensue;
Alexius might win the crown and wear it.
My thoughts were on that upcast; and therewith
I call'd to mind how greatness shuffles off
The ties of blood, and oft divided hearts
Break up the fortunes of a new-made house.
ANNA.
"Twill not be so with ours.
COMNENUS.
That so it might not,
Is mainly what hath brought me here to-night.
Nought could secure Alexius on his throne
More than Eudocia's counsel; which were lost
Should he receive a stranger's hand in marriage.
I know my sister's heart, and bear in mind
What comes of Aulic councils wherein strives
With an Augusta's will a Cæzarissa's.
ANNA.
The woman must be brave who thwarts Eudocia.
COMNENUS.
The empress were high-minded who should not.
Audacious oftener than unenvious
Are women of them all I know but one
:
By nature free from female jealousies,
286
[ACT II.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
In whom Alexius, should he wear the crown,
Would find a fitting consort. You are she.
ANNA.
I! never, never; oh! no, never in me
A consort could he find; me most unfit
For aught but meekly to await the end,
And mindful of my kindred with your house,
Weep or rejoice as ill or good betides.
In me a consort can he never find.
COMNENUS.
And wherefore? 'Twas in childhood you last saw him;
When you survey him with a woman's eyes,
You shall confess no woman can resist him.
Oh childhood's independency of heart,
How art thou lost before the loser wotteth?
Why should we doubt the prompt and sure success
Of a good soldier like Alexius.
ANNA.
I love Alexius as his cousin ought,
But will not wed him and I say not this,
As many a maiden's protest has been said,
For a defiance; nor does pride prompt me,
Who ne'er was independent of affections,
To say, what said shall bind me evermore,
That come what may, to him imperial honours,
To me distress, bereavement, all that's worst,
I will not wed Alexius.
COMNENUS.
How is this?
SCENE V.]
287
ISAAC COMNENUS.
You say you love him as his cousin ought,
And then forswear him and renounce his works
With like devotion as he were the Devil.
How know you till you see him grown to man
You may not worship him? Armenian girls
Call him the Mithra of the middle world
That sheds Eoan radiance on the West.
ANNA.
I mean'd not to disparage him; oh no,
He was a gentle boy, of a kind nature,
And a quick fancy, and I loved him well.
But do not name him as but now you did ;
Despite myself, that turns my heart against him.
COMNENUS.
I say no more.
When time is most to spare,
There is a sex in reasoning with whom
I never misemploy it. True it is
That divers motives, many a cogent cause,
Affecting first the empire, next yourself,
And lastly the Comnenian race, demand
Another strain of thought. I press them not.
When these want weight, change may be better hoped
From passion's mutability.
ANNA.
Oh God!
The last words these may be we speak together,
And can you thus embitter them, and all
Only because I'm true to my own heart?
COMNENUS.
Far be reproachful thoughts! my fairest cousin
288
[ACT III.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Shall be as faultless in my sight as fair,
Nor would it derogate from her fair perfection,
If she should hold her best affections free
To change as times change; with no wanton lightness,
Nor on vain pretexts, nor from those that are
To those that are not worthy; but with judgment,
Having regard to who are dead, who live.
This only I would ask, but will not urge.
When the hour comes I spoke of (if it come)
Alexius will better press the pleas
Which I shall pass away from. Bear in mind
In after times what I have here let fall :
The seasonable time will come, though now
My counsel seem unsavoury.
ΑΝΝΑ,
Alas!
You speak as if you had no hope to live.
COMNENUS.
My way was through a churchyard, whence, as I said,
My thoughts have brought away a taint of death.
It is my wont upon a battle's eve
To invocate a spirit for my guide
Which till to-night ne'er answer'd to my call.
What! is the moon so high? 'tis more than time
That I were in my camp. Farewell, my cousin.
Sinless and blameless as thy life has been
It is not much of ill that can befall thee.
Mine has been less so.
ANNA.
Oh my noble cousin!
SCENE V.]
ISAAC COMNENUS.
289
If virtuous, just, and honourable living
And gallant deeds could answer for man's weal,
Thine were not to be fear'd.
COMNENUS.
Not much the doubt
Comnenus would stand well with times to come
Were thine the hand to write his threnody.
Yet is he in sad truth a faulty man.
In slavish, tyrannous, and turbulent times
He drew his lot of life, and of the times
Some deep and bloody stains have fallen upon him.
But be it said he had this honesty,
That undesirous of a false renown
He ever wish'd to pass for what he was:
One that swerved much and oft, but being still
Deliberately bent upon the right,
Had kept it in the main; one that much loved
Whate'er in man is worthy high respect,
And in his soul devoutly did aspire
To be it all; yet felt from time to time
The littleness that clings to what is human,
And suffer'd from the shame of having felt it.
But this is posthumous stuff; talk for the tongues
That tell their tales when mine are all told out.
My gentle cousin, hie thee to thy covert.
An hour or two and yonder Euxine Sea,
That slowly indues its matutinal grey,
Shall suddenly change colour like a snake,
Enamell'd with the glow of other fires
Than those of sunrise. Briefly, fare thee well!
And whatsoe'er be told of me henceforth,
U
"
290
[ACT IV.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
A most untruthful annalist were he
Who said I did not love my cousin Anna.
ANNA.
Go, dearest kinsman: should we meet no more,
In many an hour of all my after life
Shall this be borne in mind most thankfully,
As kindness for a last memorial left me.
Go, and good angels guard thee is my prayer.
COMNENUS.
Good soldiers, Anna. In the arm of flesh
Are we to trust. The Mother of the Gods,
Prolific Mother, holiest Mother Church
Hath banded Heaven upon the side opposed.
No matter when such supplicants as thou
Pray for us, other angels need we none.
Now must my horse know nothing of the reinst
Until the warder's challenge sound a halt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-A Chamber in the Bucoleon.-NICEPHORUS, the
Patriarch, and the Abbot of St. Conon's.
ABBOT.
I cannot but commend your Grace's prudence;
She is a woman of ungovern'd spirit,
And were she in her helplessness so urged,
Might do some violence to herself, which still
SCENE I.
291
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Men's minds, more prone to scandal than to faith,
Would fix upon the Church. Count Lyra's death
Is yet a question and a calumny
Rife in men's mouths, despite the miracle.
PATRIARCH.
It pleaseth God to hasten no man's hour
But straight our Order is impeach'd, as we
Could make men linger.
NICEPHORUS.
For our present need
Reserve we force until devices fail.
ABBOT.
I will take order for the strict observance
Of what your Highness saith.
NICEPHORUS.
Yet have regard
To what runs counter, what occasions serve.
In this time's mutability, the reasons
That rule one hour the next doth abrogate.
Wherefore, by due observance of the times
Mould thou the means as best to work my end.
A woman and a child are easy dealt with.
ABBOT.
To work your Grace's will, and save the shrine
From the reproach of violence, I will try
All gentle and benign devices first .
NICEPHORUS.
And should these fail to draw the culprits forth,
-
U 2
292
[ACT IV.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Expect my further will. Enough is said.
They wait you in Sophia's.
SCENE II.-Interior of the Church of St. Sophia.—Thuriferi
swinging censers on each side the altar. A number of
Priests holding tapers, and performing from time to time
the ritual deosculations of the images. A congregation of
old men and women. The Patriarch is descending the steps
of the altar.
PATRIARCH.
As many goats as sheep.-No more of this—
Ye do but bring each runaway and skulk
Hither to seek a shelter. Quench those lights.
Enter THEODORA.
THEODORA.
What doth this people here? What, know they not
The battle rages to the very walls
And none to man them?
AN OLD MAN.
Princess, we are old.
THEODORA.
Old! and how is it then ye know no better
Than thus to cupboard up your vapid dregs
Like something precious?
Whence comest thou?
PATRIARCH.
Said I not? Lo, there!
The very women cry you shame. Away!
Enter a Soldier.
PATRIARCH.
SCENE 111.]
293
ISAAC COMNENUS.
SOLDIER.
From Phenar in great haste
The Emperor is sore beset, and saith
Unless some aid be brought that all is lost.
PATRIARCH.
Who feareth loss that fighteth for the Lord?
Why arms he not the citizens and the slaves?
SOLDIER.
They will not arm. I saw them in the streets :
Prostrate before the images they lay,
Stricken with fear the ways were fill'd with monks
Passing in long processions to the shrines.
PATRIARCH.
Oh God raise up thy people. Lo! I take
A blessed relic from Sophia's shrine!
This sword contains a scraping of the steel
Of that spear's head which pierced the side of Christ.
What host shall stand against the Lord of Hosts ?
Arm ye, my children, arm ye for the fight!
St. Theodore, St. Maurice, and St. George
Shall strike with them that strike with this dread sword.
Cast down your lights; find weapons where ye may—
What host shall stand against this sacred sword?
SCENE III.-The City near the Walls.-A Soldier keeping
ward. To him enter another running.
FIRST SOLDIER.
From what side comest thou ?
!
294
[ACT IV.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
SECOND SOLDIER.
From Petræum, covered with laurels. There is
nothing in war so glorious as a successful retreat. I
have left the dead, but brought off the baggage.
[Exhibits articles of plunder.
I'll give thee this ring an' thou'lt show me the nearest
way into the sewers.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Dost take me for a scavenger? Thou art for
slinking off.
SECOND SOLDIER.
I perish the thought! 'Tis a point of generalship.
Didst never hear of a city being surprised through the
sewers. If I were there, I could keep the pass against
a thousand.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Indeed thou would'st keep it all to thyself, for the
thousands are coming the other way-over the walls.
But I'll take thy ring, for methinks I know what way
thou cam'st by it; thou hast been killing and rifling
thy wounded comrades. I'll take thy ring, and show
thee the way to a safer place than the sewers-there-
[Turns round suddenly and stabs him.
Get thee underground and give me up thy ill-gotten gear.
Enter several other Soldiers.
FIRST SOLDIER (as he rifles the body).
Good soul! wounded to death I fear me ! The best
of friends—a military testament-left me all he had
-alas!
SCENE III.]
295
ISAAC COMNENUS.
THIRD SOLDIER.
Truly and no little either-ha! Come, let's have
fair play, we will all go shares.
Enter an Officer: the soldiers quit the dead man and gather
round him.
How fares it here?
OFFICER.
FOURTH SOLDIER.
The same as everywhere—ill fare; it fares foully :
the sally is beaten back to the walls.
OFFICER.
There was a rumour with us that a miracle had been
wrought.
What did he with it?
FOURTH SOLDIER.
The miracle of making live men dead; I saw no
other. But there was the old Patriarch among the
foremost soldiers, with a rusty sword that came from
Jerusalem.
OFFICER.
FOURTH SOLDIER.
Why, he held it up before the ranks and prayed
lustily. The enemy were shy of it till Comnenus rode
up and brake it in twain with his lance, and then they
all fell on and the sally was driven in.
OFFICER.
They say the Emperor was there himself.
FOURTH SOLDIER.
No man in the field fought better. This day has
made a soldier of him again.
296
[ACT IV.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
FIFTH SOLDIER.
Here is some one coming this way.
OFFICER.
It is the Emperor and the Eparchs. Jump onto yon
wall; you were best not be found doing nothing.
[Exeunt.
Enter NICEPHORUS followed by Eparchs and other Officers.
Also the Patriarch.
FIRST OFFICER.
The sum of all is, he will have no truce.
NICEPHORUS.
Ay but I'll bring him to another mind:
Return and say a synod hath been call'd,
Which doth adjudge that by the Nicene canon
The Church affords no sanctuary to those
She theretofore detruded from her pale.
Add that in such sort as he grants conditions.
Which may spare innocent blood, so shall I deal
With his heretical kindred. Get thee gone.
[Exit First Officer.
The last attack told hardly, my brave friends;
Yet better than I look'd for. We'll not droop.
FIRST EPARCH.
Please you, my liege, I think we had sped better
In this retreat, had there been none but soldiers.
SECOND EPARCH.
When first the monks came out, they gave some spur
To the fight; but after, when our line was broken,
They were a questionable aid some stood
Like landmarks, others knelt, most ran
SCENE III.]
ISAAC COMNENUS.
297
With more of haste than speed, and shook to air
The order of retreat.
NICEPHORUS.
The Patriarch's troops
Find little favour with my soldiers..
PATRIARCH.
Yea;
Harlots find favour with thy soldiers; feasts,
Riotous feasts, find favour with thy soldiers;
And therefore favour find they not with God.
NICEPHORUS.
Nay, nay, Lord Patriarch, let's not charge each other
With aught that hath befallen. Both did well.
May we so aid each other to the end..
Re-enter First Officer.
FIRST OFFICER.
May it please your Majesty, upon the road
I learn'd the Count Comnenus had been missing;
The last who saw him said it was apart
From the main body, with the troop of horse
That drove some friars through the breach o' the east,
And thereabouts they found his shield and spear.
NICEPHORUS.
Then go proclaim thine errand on the walls,
And say, unless an hour shall bring reply,
St. Conon's is no sanctuary thenceforth
For any of his kin. Now to the trenches,
[Exeunt Officers, Eparchs, &c.
(As the rest go out, the Patriarch detains NICEPHORUS.)
298
[ACT IV.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
PATRIARCH.
An evil hour were this, should we invade
The Church's privilege, to prop her creed.
NICEPHORUS.
Extremity will force hard cures; 'tis vain
To blink them.
PATRIARCH.
Vain, if other there were none.
NICEPHORUS.
See you not every outwork is abandoned?
Nought but an instant truce can save us now,
And he will grant it only to redeem
These women's lives, so they shall to the walls,
And if the Abbot fails to draw them forth,
They must be brought by force.
PATRIARCH.
I grant they must.
But was't not said, that near the eastern gate
The arms of Count Comnenus had been seen,
And that himself was missing?
Let us not lag behind.
NICEPHORUS.
So they said.
PATRIARCH.
Then let these arms be found, for they will aid
Our holy end, to spare the sanctuary
From rude irreverent force, too needful else.
This must be look'd to.
NICEPHORUS.
Hark! the signal sounds.
SCENE IV.]
299
ISAAC COMNENUS.
SCENE IV. The Convent of St. Conon's.-EUDOCIA and
ANNA CONNENA.
Hark! cousin.
ANNA.
EUDOCIA,
I know that sound. It is the Uri's horn.
ANNA.
And look there: yon is not sunrise?
EUDOCIA.
No. 'Tis the Greek fire on the other side of the hill
ANNA.
Heaven! is the attack begun then?
EUDOCIA.
I trust in Heaven it is.
Enter the Abbot of St. Conon's.
ABBOT.
I come, deputed by his Majesty,
Upon a gracious mission. I am to say,
He bears no grudge unto the fair Comnenæ
Whom he holds faultless of this vile revolt.
Wherefore to see them driven to this sad strait
Afflicts him sorely; and with all respect
He tenders an asylum in the palace
Where they shall find all honourable accoil
And fitting safeguard.
EUDOCIA.
Let thy King be told
300
[ACT IV.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
I wait it from a greater King than he,
Isaac Comnenus, whom may God preserve!
ABBOT.
With your good leave, fair damsels, I would bear
Some seemlier greeting to my royal master ;
'Tis fitting I point out a safer course.
Mine age, my holy calling bid me stand
Betwixt you and that precipice's brink
Whither your rashness
. . .
EUDOCIA.
Hath the King been pleased
To signify his further will through thee?
ABBOT.
He gave no further message.
EUDOCIA.
Nor do I.
ANNA.
Why dost thou speak so fiercely?
EUDOCIA.
ANNA.
'Tis all one.
The time is passing and the term approaching:
When swords are out soft words ne'er turn their edges.
Would it were day!
?
[Exit Abbot.
EUDOCIA.
I would it were: this light
Shows the old monks as they were dead men walking.
ΑΝΝΑ,
I do not dread a host as I dread them.
SCENE IV.]
301
ISAAC COMNENUS.
EUDOCIA.
Here comes another. What
What is thine errand, monk?
The Monk enters.
MONK.
St. Conon's name be praised! thy brother's taken.
EUDOCIA.
Who sent thee with that tale? It is not true.
MONK.
St. Conon's name be praised! Lo! hither come
His shield and spear. It is the Emperor's will
That as a meet oblation they be laid,
With fitting rites, upon St. Conon's altar.
Enter Monks in procession, bearing the shield and spear, and
chanting “Gratias agimus." They lay them on the altar,
and, with the customary genuflexions and thurifications,
pass off.
EUDOCIA.
Gallant Comnenus! and is such thy fate!
The boldest heart in Christendom was thine,
And thine, as was thy due, the firmest friends
And faithfullest soldiers. What a ruin's here!
Now be our race extinct, for never more
A name so noble shall adorn its annals.
He said be bold and we should meet again;
And Heaven shall witness that I have been bold!
But never, never as a captive,—no,
Not in captivity shall we e'er meet.
The term of princely durance is but short.
ANNA.
They cannot slay him-Oh! no, no, they cannot.
302
[ACT IV.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
The fiercest soldier would not lift his hand
Against Comnenus.
EUDOCIA.
Tempt not thou thy heart.
Yield not to hopes, but arm thee with despair.
The stake was noble-'twas the eldest crown.
In Christendom, and which, if worn by him,
Had grown in splendour through a glorious reign.
The loss is great; —so might have been the meed.
It was a cause worthy my brother's sword.
ANNA.
Oh! holy father, say they will not slay him.
MONK.
The Emperor is merciful in judgment ;
Imprisonment may serve, with loss of eyes.
'Twere safe to blind him.
EUDOCIA.
Blind him! slave of slaves,
Unworthiest to give utterance to his name!
Low in the dust must be Count Isaac's state
When such as thou dare breathe thy blights upon him.
MONK.
Lady, 'twere good thou wert less splenetic;
If thou couldst frame some more becoming speech
And audience of the Emperor were obtain'd,
Or of the Lady Theodora, then .
•
EUDOCIA.
I ask not audience of either-Hark!
'Tis a mere incoherency of mind
SCENE IV.]
303
ISAAC COMNENUS.
That angers me with such as thou-attend-
Thou bring me to the presence of the Count,
By any means thou wilt, and I bestow
This diamond thy reward.
MONK.
Set forward to the palace.
Then with all haste
EUDOCIA.
Who comes here?
Enter an Officer.
OFFICER.
I bear the Lady Theodora's signet,
And have it from her Highness in command
To say her bidding here.
EUDOCIA.
Say on, sir, speak.
OFFICER.
Her Highness gave command that to no ear
It should be utter'd, save to yours.
EUDOCIA (to the Monk).
Thou hear'st.
Exit Monk.
OFFICER.
Your pardon, lady, are there none else near?
OFFICER.
I come from Count Comnenus.
EUDOCIA.
What fear'st thou? there is no one-none-speak out.
304
[ACT IV.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
EUDOCIA.
Thou comest then from his prison.
For I am hastening thither.
OFFICER.
From his prison?
Now God forbid that he should be in prison!
His cause is hopeful.
Thou from him!
Where is that?
ANNA.
Hopeful, say'st thou? God
Be merciful and make that tiding true!
His cause is hopeful!
EUDOCIA.
And if it prevail,
The first and only boon I ask of him
Shall be to truss me up these lying monks
And sprinkle yonder altar with the blood
Of one most just and righteous sacrifice.
Where is Comnenus, sir?
OFFICER.
He bade me tell
How all things stood: Some spy brought word at dawn
That synods had been holden, and some ill
There was devised which had respect to you.
The sallies from the gates to the south and east
Just at that hour grew hotter, but the Count,
Seeing the issue was on that side safe,
Call'd from the pursuit a few trusted friends
Of whom I rank myself the humblest one;
Their shields and spears they threw aside and crept
SCENE IV.]
ISAAC COMNENUS.
305
To some surburban hovels; there they drew
Above their armour the monastic garb,
Then sped as flying from the enemy
And through a breach found entrance to the streets.
To waive suspicion, then from shrine to shrine,
With crosses and mock-relics held aloft,
Through awe-struck multitudes they took their way
With offerings for each altar. In due time
They will approach St. Conon's-whence the Count
Sware that no power should drive him till his flag
Were flying on Sophia's.
EUDOCIA.
It is perilous.
Will he cast off disguise and stand on force
So soon as he gains entrance?
OFFICER.
When the horns
Sound from the steep of Ergon, not till then;
But when they capture Ergon, thence the troops
Can aid us in good time.
ANNA.
Is he far off?
Where didst thou leave him?
OFFICER.
In the Kamian way:
There rumours reach'd him that himself was captured;
And soon perceiving from what source they came,
And to what end they tended, he, alarm'd,
Bade me divest my weeds, and with this sign
K
306
[ACT IV.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
!
(A ring the Princess gave in former times)
Gain access here.
Enter an Attendant.
ATTENDANT.
All is prepared to take you to the palace.
The father waits your coming.
EUDOCIA.
Let him wait.
Tell him my mind is changed. I will not go.
ABBOT.
Thou must attend me to the palace.
Enter certain of the Brotherhood of St. Conon's, crying “Kyrie
Eleison-an offering for the Shrine." The Comnenians
follow, cowled and stoled, with relics and crosses, and their
offering in a vase. They proceed down the stage and
kneel before the curtain of the altar. Enter the Abbot of
St. Conon's.
EUDOCIA.
ABBOT.
Ay-instantly. A rescript has arrived.
Thou and thy younger relative must go.
EUDOCIA,
How!
ABBOT.
[Exit Attendant.
Invade the right of sanctuary! what words
Are these to hear from Churchmen!
It is vain.
A synod hath been holden, and decrees
Your heresy hath forfeited the right.
SCENE IV.]
307
ISAAC COMNENUS.
EUDOCIA.
What if we dare dissent from such decree.
ABBOT.
The secular arm is ready to compel
Instant obedience. Soldiers wait without.
'Tis true the Church hath alway reverenced
The rights of sanctuary when such protect
Offenders against human laws alone;
But when almighty Heaven hath suffer'd wrong
The Church dare show no mercy to the guilty.
[Here one of the Comnenians, having advanced gradually to the
front, steps between the Abbot and EUDOCIA.
COMNENIAN.
Brother, of this the doctrine thou deliver'st
I cannot tell thee less than that 'tis false.
It is a lying doctrine, brother-yea
A doctrine which the Devil hath inspired.
Into thy synod, and which God abhors.
ABBOT.
And what art thou that thou shouldst interpose?
Am I not highest of mine order here?
COMNENIAN.
I tell thee that thy words are not of God,
Nor shall the touch of secular force pollute
This holiest, as the best inhabited,
Of all God's dwelling-places here on earth.
ABBOT.
Thou contumacious monk! what right is thine,
To say to me this shall or this shall not be?
Ho the Varangian Guards! thou shalt see proof
x 2
30S
[ACT IV.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
How what I do in this is countenanced.
Dost see this writing? See'st the purple ink?
A warrant in the Emperor's very hand
Doth authorise proceedings to this length.
COMNENIAN.
A stronger warrant in Count Isaac's hand
Doth stay them.
[Throws off his disguise and draws his sword. The rest do the like.
ABBOT.
Treason! Ho! Varangians! Help!
[Exit.
COMNENUS.
Let six defend each door. My valiant sister,
Well met in any hour; and gentle Anna,
We shall find fitter time for gratulation.
Form into line.
[The Comnenians form a line on each side, leaving a passage between
them down to the altar.
My sister, not a man
Thou see'st before thee but in this day's fight
Did champion's service. At the altar thou
Shalt take the safest station with our cousin,
And as you pass extend a hand to each
Of these your soldiers, which, as he receives,
He in his martial heart will pledge his faith,
Long as it beats with life to fight your battles.
EUDOCIA.
My gallant friends, may fairer hands than this
Be your reward when this day's work is wrought.
[COMNENUS leads EUDOCIA and ANNA between the lines down to the
altar. The clash of arms is heard without, and the
Varangian trumpets. COMNENUS draws aside the curtain
of the altar.
SCENE IV.]
309
ISAAC COMNENUS.
COMNENUS.
My sister, sit ye here. Ha! what be these?
Behold a miracle, my spear and shield!
Now, by the God of battles, this is strange,
Nor less auspicious. To the charge they go.
GUARDS AT THE DOORS.
The gates are not of strength; we cannot keep them.
COMNENUS.
Back each man to his station. Keep them not.
[Varangians defile through the gates. Horns are heard at
a distance.
CAPTAIN OF THE VARANGIANS.
Behold the impious heretic himself!
Yield, or thy wretched band is hewn in pieces.
COMNENUS.
If thou wilt do that office on but one
Of them thou see'st, I pledge my royal word,
When I hang up thy rebel-kind to-morrow,
To grant remission of thy forfeit head.
Enough of talking. Hark! Comnenians, hark!
List ye the horns from Ergon. Now, fall on.
Down to the dust, idolaters.
[As the fight begins, a cry of “COMNENUS" is heard, and ALEXIUS
enters at the opposite gates with his soldiers. The Varangians
are driven out.
ALEXIUS.
Well fought, my friends! the last of this day's fight.
Behold! our flag is flying on Sophia's,
And ye may sheathe your swords; the day is ours.
THE COMNENIANS SHOUT.
Isaac Comnenus! may he rule us long!
Long may the brave Comnenus wear the crown!
310
[ACT IV.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
THE COMMON SOLDIERS ARE HEARD CRYING CONFUSEDLY.
Proclaim him Emperor. Go, bring the crown.
Where are the purple buskins? Long may he live!
Long live Count Isaac !
SEVERAL SOLDIERS.
Where is Comnenus?
ALEXIUS.
And where is Count Isaac ?
A SOLDIER.
When I saw him last,
He pass'd beside yon image of St. Conon.
ANOTHER.
Ay, and he struck the image as in sport,
And split the marble with his glove of mail.
ALEXIUS.
He has left us for the palace. Ah, Eudocia !
A happy meeting this, a happy fortune,
After long years of absence, thus to meet
My sister in the hour of victory.
EUDOCIA.
May like success be ever with your arms!
ALEXIUS (to Anna).
My gentle cousin, be this homage thine
From all the eastern empire. Friends, repair
To the imperial palace; as ye go
Proclaim Count Isaac Emperor through the streets.
Sound the Comnenian march. Now, all set forth.
SCENE I.]
311
ISAAC COMNENUS.
ACT V.
SCENE I.-An Apartment in the Prisons.
NICEPHORUS (alone).
Morn, let me meet thee face to face once more;
Thou look'st upon me with an unmoved front,
The pale cold aspect of a wearied friend.
Such are the world's mutations. I had deem'd
The remnant of a life that I have left
Might pass in peace, such as beseems old age;
But oh! the infirmities of age in Kings
Cripple the body politic: first fails
Life's vigour at the heart, a numbness next
Seizes the weak extremities of empire;
Then some old sore breaks out, and all at once
The nice adjustments of the strong-knit frame
Dissolve like rotted ligaments asunder.
There's some one comes;-but here's such scanty
light-
Who stands within the Emperor's prison doors?
COMNENUS (who has entered).
Isaac Comnenus.
NICEPHORUS.
Thou art welcome, Count;
More welcome to my prison than my palace.
COMNENUS.
I know it. Never was I welcome there.
312
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Had I been less obnoxious in thy sight
I had not sought thy fall. Nor seek I now
Thy further fall than what defence demands.
I would give room unto thy shortening days.
To gather in the after-math of life.
I wait thy answer.
NICEPHORUS.
Count, it may seem strange
To thee, as sometimes to myself it seems,
That being from my high imperial state
So low deposed, the nearest of my friends
Laid lower still, if lower that state be
Which the grave darkeneth to our repute:
My name that hath had reverence heretofore
Become a common theme when common men
Would feed their malice or make known their charity :
I
say it may seem strange, that being thus
A desolate and disconsolate old man,
Life should to me be acceptable still.
COMNENUS.
My pledge is given, that life be not denied.
NICEPHORUS.
At threescore years and twelve, the boon of life
Man can impledge to man may well be deem'd
A thing of small account. I take thy gift.
COMNENUS.
Gladly I find there's aught I have to give
Worth thy acceptance. One condition yet
Demands fulfilment that the crown be safe;
SCENE I.]
ISAAC COMNENUS.
313
For to that end provision must be made
That derogates in some sort from my grant.
NICEPHORUS.
Imprisonment I am content to brook:
It is an ill which age itself brings on,
Barring the wrongs of fortune.
More meekly may endure it.
COMNENUS.
An old man
Somewhat else
Remains for stipulation. While thou hold'st
Thy station in men's minds, as being still
One of an order capable of empire,
Thy friends will breed expectancy of change.
NICEPHORUS.
Friends was thy word? in truth an empty fear!
My friends! In thousands yesterday at dawn
Like leaves in summer did they hang on me;
But ere night fell, as with a winter's blight,
They were abroad upon the several winds.
Now by God's name, it grieves me to the heart
They were not sepultured in yonder trench.
COMNENUS.
Be it thy friends are friends of him who reigns,
Thy malcontents will soon be such to us;
And every disaffection that may grow
Take the good name of loyalty to thee.
NICEPHORUS.
What surety would'st thou have?
314
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
COMNENUS.
Assume the tonsure.
The service of the Church, whilst it forbids
The thoughts men might attach to thee of empire,
Becomes thy latter days.
NICEPHORUS.
Ay doth it, Count?
Hast thou forgotten, in thy feast of power,
The tenor of the life thou'dst have me close
In mockery of myself—The tonsure, Count!
Dim though they be, these latter days of life,
I quickly call to mind the glorious time.
When first amidst Mount Rhodope's defiles
A Thracian soldier I took spear in hand;
And though that spear be splinter'd and that hand
Be nerveless now, I yet have that within
That stoops not to conditions such as thine.
A prisoner thou mayst make me,—not a puppet.
COMNENUS.
I mean'd no contumely. A fitter time-
NICEPHORUS.
No more I see thee not again—henceforth
All that the Emperor seeks of Count Comnenus
Is that his latter hours be undisturb'd.
COMNENus.
Farewell: but should thy meditations bring
Another mood of mind, spare not to speak it.
Thy summons I will instantly attend.
[Exit.
SCENE 1.]
315
ISAAC COMNENUS.
NICEPHORUS.
My life hath been such life as kings must bear
Who would be more than pageants: it hath been
A life of anxious, strenuous thought, and deeds
That sprang from such: yea and all men must say,
Howe'er I govern'd it was I that govern'd:
No minister hath play'd the monarch here.
I have sway'd nations-not by mere kingly power,
But intellectual; such as would have sway'd
The minds around me had I not been King.
My single destiny is all that now
Remains for me to govern; nor shall I
Be found unequal to this final charge.
How many times in youth a violent death
Seem'd imminent, yet brought me no alarm;
And now the loss of so much less of life,
And that less portion of less rateable worth,
Would surely not seem fearful, but that age
Counts with its ills tenacity of life,
The old inveterate habit of existence.
Enter THEODORA.
My daughter, com'st thou to console thy sire?
Thy filial duty hath not been o'erpaid,
But such a time as this were ill employ'd
In aught but kindly speech.
THEODORA.
Father, I come
In this most bitter hour to aid thy counsels.
I have not used (and therefore hath our love
Held heretofore a not unbroken course)
All words of tender import which are rife
316
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
In women's mouths; and if I had such now
What could they profit thee?
Daggers.
NICEPHORUS.
What hast thou better?
THEODORA.
NICEPHORUS.
Hush! hush! that is no woman's word.
THEODORA.
Yea 'tis a woman's word and woman's weapon.
But there are hands to hold them more than mine,
Though there be none more steady. Time runs out.
The menials of the palace as I came
Were busied with the coronation feast.
Grant that a woman's doom had laid i' the dust
The head which they would crown.
NICEPHORUS.
Why be it granted;
Deem'st thou the difference of a single head
Shall quell a reigning faction? Had the blow
Been struck while yet the victory was in doubt
Their leader lost had been the loss of all;
But now 'twere a miracle if they kept not
What he hath won.
THEODORA.
Father, thine years benumb thee.
Wherefore is this? the Patriarch wears a coil
Of twenty winters more, yet his blood's hot;
And I, a woman, do not yet despond.
SCENE I.]
317
ISAAC COMNENUS.
NICEPHORUS.
The Patriarch's fury blinds thee to his dotage.
I tell thee there's no hope.
THEODORA.
Thou wilt not hear;
The cohort which deserted yesternight
Met with a cold reception from the Count;
Wherewith but ill-content, this day they've sworn
To rise in arms upon the Patriarch's call.
All now is loose, the townsmen and the troops;
None careful but the conquer'd. One blow struck
Confounds them in their mirth.
NICEPHORUS.
This old man's dream
Which he hath told thee doth portend nought else
But that a night of blood will interlope
Ere the Comnenian dynasty begin.
My father, hear.
THEODORA.
NICEPHORUS.
Nay, nay; I know too well
That chief who now doth keep an eye o'er all,
Be feasting they that will.
THEODORA.
Then at thy choice
Cleave still to thy despair. I go,—and soon
Here in thy cell, or on thy throne resumed,
A tale will reach thee of a bolder deed
Than e'er was done by our most martial sires
318
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Upon the Thracian hills. Till then, farewell!
Father-thy blessing.
NICEPHORUS.
Oh! my child, much grief,
Sore trouble hast thou brought me in my time;
But I forgive thee now, nor may I blame
This enterprise, all hopeless though it be.
Take thou thy father's blessing and depart.
I in the inner chamber will go seek
That rest the time doth bid me to.
SCENE II-A Street near the Palace of the Caesars.-ISAAC
COMNENUS and MACRINUS meeting.
MACRINUS.
Count Isaac, by my life! Well met, my lord-
Your Majesty the word is-pardon me
If my first meeting with my sovereign lord
Be something overjoyful.
Farewell.
COMNENUS.
Good Macrinus,
There's none entitled to a larger share
Of whatsoe'er of joy this hour affords.
Where is my brother?
MACRINUS.
In the palace, Sire,
And with the rest awaiting you.
COMNENUS.
Have you disposed the soldiery?
And where
SCENE II.]
319
ISAAC COMNENUS.
$
MACRINUS.
They crowd,
And with them half the city, to the square
Before the palace; all expectant wait
To see you crown'd ere they lay by their mail
And close the glorious day with revellings.
COMNENUS.
Something too soon, Macrinus. And my guards?
MACRINUS.
They are within, my lord.
COMNENUS.
So far is well.
Are those deserters look'd to?
MACRINUS.
Which, my lord?
I knew not that a single friend proved false.
COMNENUS.
Ay but the false proved friends. Observe them well.
I mean that Mæsian cohort which betray'd
Their post to Count Alexius.
MACRINUS.
By my faith
I think they were but now before the gates;
A Lombard shirt of mail they wear, and sword
Much like a Frank's-I mark'd them there but now.
COMNENUS.
March out my guard, and let them be disarm'd.
MACRINUS.
'Twill cause much discontent, my lord.
320
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Why so?
They'll share the donative; so say, Macrinus.
I will reward them, but I will not trust them.
COMNENUS.
He is, my lord.
It shall be done, my lord. And will you then
Permit the impatient multitude to see
Your coronation solemnised?
MACRINUS.
On that
I had a word to say. . . . Well, 'tis no matter.
The Count Alexius, said you, was within?
Indeed, my lord, he is.
COMNENUS.
MACRINUS.
COMNENUS.
He is a noble youth.
MACRINUS.
COMNENUS.
And a good soldier.
MACRINUS.
There's not a man on either side fought better.
He has a martial heart.
COMNENUS.
And therewithal
The rapid eye, ubiquity of presence,
And quickness and collectedness of thought
Which give a natural command in war.
SCENE II.]
321
ISAAC COMNENUS.
He has, my lord.
MACRINUS.
COMNENUS.
For he was from a boy
By care taught conduct. No state-weakling he,
Born in the purple and so bred a fool.
He is, though young, well practised in affairs.
Surely, my lord.
MACRINUS.
COMNENUS.
In him there is besides
The strong vivacity of youth and health,
With something of a gallantry of spirit
That wins upon the multitude.
MACRINUS.
Most true.
The troops he has commanded love him well.
*
COMNENUS.
A word with thee, Macrinus
Are shouting out my name.
MACRINUS.
Hark! the throng
My lord, they're eager
To hail your presence and acclaim you King.
There never was a people so o'erjoy'd,
Nor ever yet a city that so rang
With acclamations: not a troop files by
With the Comnenian standard, but the shout
'Long live the Emperor Isaac " peals on high
Y
322
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
As from a thousand voices in one breath.
Long may he live and reign!
COMNENUS.
My good Macrinus,
There's more mortality about this frame
Than known to those who tell its term of years.
The worm within may make the building weak
Ere Time has leant his weight upon the walls.
Well; let us to the palace. I had meant
But it avails not. From the terrace walk
Above the palace gates I'll speak some words
To thee, to Count Alexius, and the people.
So let us to the palace. But disarm
The Mæsian cohort first, forget not that.
MACRINUS.
I'll lose no time, my lord. Hark! there, again!
SCENE III-A Suburb.-THEODORA and an officer of the
Mæsian Cohort.
THEODORA.
Who wrote it, knowest thou,—this quavering scrawl?
OFFICER.
It is the Patriarch's, lady.
THEODORA.
It is like.
Old age hath stricken him. I cannot read it.
OFFICER.
If I may be so bold to guess, my lady,
His Holiness would see you.
SCENE IV.]
323
ISAAC COMNENUS.
THEODORA.
I know not; he is muttering evermore,
But none can tell his drift. He lies at length
Upon a pallet in St. Cyril's cell..
OFFICER.
THEODORA.
This day hath overwrought his aged spirit.
I will attend him. Keep thy men together,
And send me word of whatsoe'er befalls.
What dost thou see?
i
Wherefore so?
SCENE IV.—A Chamber in the Palace. EUDOCIA standing
at a casement. ANNA sitting near.
EUDOCIA,
Look, cousin, look! for a more princely pageant
Ne'er bless'd a maiden's sight.
ANNA.
EUDOCIA.
I'm sick of shows.
The troops, a host in arms,
Fill up the palace square, and them beyond
As far as eye can reach, the multitude
Throng through the ways. Hail to that silken flag,
The proud Comnenian banner! Long may it float
Triumphantly above yon palace gate!
ANNA.
Thy heart is in the pageant; thou wert wont
To taunt thy sex that they were all for shows.
Y 2
324
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
EUDOCIA.
My heart! ay every pulse of it that beats!
And call'st thou this a show? I tell thee, girl,
That were these squares and palaces black dust,
These ways more desert than the Palmyrene,
And were all silent save the mouse-bat's wing,
So that our banner waved above the waste
My triumph would be full.
ANNA.
Well; be it so.
Heaven knows I mean'd not to reprove thy triumph.
EUDOCIA.
I see him, there he comes, and close beside
The princely boy Alexius. Heard'st thou that!
A shout as of an empire drunk with joy!
Again and louder!
Hear'st thou ?
How suddenly it ceased!
ANNA.
EUDOCIA.
I saw him wave his hand.
He speaks to them.
ANNA.
Now they're still.
Would we could hear him!
EUDOCIA,
I heard him once address some mutinous troops :
'Twas with a grace so winning yet so fearless
That their ferocious clamour died away,
And when he ceased they cried "Long live Comnenus ! "
SCENE IV.]
325
ISAAC COMNENUS.
ANNA.
See, from their hands he takes the diadem.
What means he now?
Upon the head of young Alexius.
(C
EUDOCIA,
Look! Look! he puts the crown
ANNA.
Hark!
They shout again, and canst thou not discern
'Long live Alexius " is the burthen now?
EUDOCIA.
He has transferr'd the empire! as I live
Discrown'd his proper head!
(A pause).
It is not well.
My life long have I look'd to see him King,
And much I sacrificed to make him so,
And thousands sacrificed no less, from whom
Much less was owing, and have they no claim
Who ventured-much or little—all they had,
Or might have or might hope to have, for him—
Have they no claim to service in return?
ANNA.
But if Alexius live they will not want it.
He will be good and generous to them all.
EUDOCIA.
Alexius! who's to govern in his nonage?
ANNA.
They ope the gates: the multitude throng in:
Some one approaches.
328
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
And many loose adherents will be paid
The value of their service more or less.
This was desired and this was done or will be ;
And being done, I know not that I owe
To dead or living of mankind aught more.
EUDOCIA,
And how wilt thou dispose thy future life
To profit more thyself?
COMNENUS.
Of that hereafter.
Alexius must feast his lords below,
And you assist him. I must give meanwhile
Some needful orders and survey the posts
Or e'er the night waste further. Fare you well.
EUDOCIA.
My noble brother, you depart abruptly.
I said not aught ungentle; if I did,
You know that I have loved you from your birth.
COMNENUS.
Not an ungentle word-not one that seem'd so.
I'll seek your chamber ere we sleep and court
Some further conference.
EUDOCIA.
I know not why,
Well:
But I am loth to see you leave us.
It must be midnight ere you can return;
But do not fail me then.
COMNENUS.
About that hour.
[Exit.
SCENE V.]
329
ISAAC COMNENUS.
EUDOCIA.
Oh! I forgot-but he is gone.
ANNA.
What is it?
EUDOCIA,
I wish'd to tell him he should take his guards.
The city is disorderly-no matter;
We'll send Macrinus-Are you ready?—come.
SCENE V.-A Cell in the ruins of a Convent.-The
Patriarch reclining on a pallet.
Enter THEODORA.
THEODORA.
All goes as we would have it, holy father;
The Mæsian men stand firm and nought transpires.
PATRIARCH.
Who is it-Ha? Who's there?
The Lady Theodora.
THEODORA.
Arouse you and look up. Our purpose thrives.
PATRIARCH.
I say again who is it? Speak, who is it?
Most reverend lord,
THEODORA.
PATRIARCH.
Theodora !
What, hast thou stricken him? reach me thy palm.
330
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Lo! there's no blood; 'tis ashy white all over.
The Lady Theodora-why then speak-
Say-hast thou dealt the blow?
THEODORA.
The hour has not yet come.
PATRIARCH.
Not yet, not yet?
That ever was the cry—when I said, ‘strike ’
Some coward came between and said 'not yet.'
Father, not yet;
THEODORA.
Compose thy mind; the season is at hand,
And duly as the day and night go round
The work shall be fulfill'd; for deeper vows
Than ever pilgrim pledged his soul withal
Devote me to this deed.—He hears me not.
PATRIARCH.
Bring holy water that my hands be cleansed.
The Father of the Church this day hath slain
Seven men in battle-be his sins absolved.
THEODORA.
Christ that his senses should forsake him now,
At once, and in this need! Arouse thy mind:
Father, Comnenus reigns: this very hour
He will be crown'd. Bethink thee of the hour.
PATRIARCH.
Think'st thou I hear thee not-beshrew thy shouting-
I bade thee smite him and thou brought'st me back
A pair of lily palms and saidst 'not yet.'
SCENE V.]
331
ISAAC COMNENUS.
But hark! his soul is cared for: 'twas my charge
And I have tended it: die when he may
There is a weight on that-help! I am slain-
What traitor drave that spear-Soft, let me lie.
Let me lie down.
THEODORA.
Great God! is this his death-stroke?
PATRIARCH.
THEODORA.
What hinders you, my lord;
Pray you lie down. His back's as stark as steel.
He is convulsed-Friends, help! help, without;
Enter a Masian Officer.
Let me lie-
OFFICER.
I greet your Highness with but evil news-
THEODORA.
Peace with thy news-see'st not the Patriarch ta'en
With the death-struggle? help to lay him down.
Soft, he's more placid now. Go, call the priests.
[Exit the Officer.
Lo! his eyes open wide :-how now?
PATRIARCH.
Methought
That there was some one dying in this house.
Who
may it be?
THEODORA.
Nay, turn thy thoughts elsewhere.
Call on Lord Jesus and his holy mother;
332
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Think thou wert ever steadfast in the faith
And may'st have hope of grace. Here come the priests.
Ill may I do their office.
Enter Priests.
Take forth the body.
FIRST PRIEST.
Much I fear
The life has left him. Open thou his vest.
The pulse is gone-gone utterly-alas!
The soul's departed.
THEODORA.
'Twas with an awful strife.
SECOND PRIEST.
Lo, beneath his vest
Here is a wound still bloody, and received
Doubtless in this day's fight.
FIRST PRIEST.
And here are scars
Of wounds received long since. Men wont to say
His youth was spent in a more carnal calling.
Some blood was spilt in stifling of that tale,
And we may mark he spared the surgeon's aid
Rather than show these scars. So-bear him out.
[Exeunt Priests with the body.
THEODORA.
This is a dreadful hour. An awful end
Was that old man's, and if all tales be true
Many a dark deed his soul is charged withal.
-A dreadful hour to usher in an act
That may lie heavy on the soul hereafter.
SCENE V.]
333
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Re-enter the Officer.
Thou didst not speak thine errand.
Now I can hear thee.
OFFICER.
By Count Isaac's order
The Mæsians have been suddenly disarm'd.
THEODORA.
Disarm'd and they resisted not?
OFFICER.
Their chief
Had been entrapp'd before, and when they heard
That all should have an equal share of spoil
They gave their arms.
THEODORA.
My father's words come true.
OFFICER.
A few were headstrong, and amongst them I
In cover of a tumult which ensued,
Took sword in hand and brake away to you.
THEODORA.
Enough, sir; I discharge you from all dues.
Of future service.
OFFICER.
I shall ever hold
My service at your Highness's command.
THEODORA.
I thank you; for I did not look to find
In such extremity a friend so true.
334
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
My last memorial for service done
Is this; nor could it be bestow'd more fitly.
Now, sir, farewell; our common cause expires;
What may remain is Theodora's only,
Who executes henceforth her own behests.
Enter a Messenger.
THEODORA.
MESSENGER.
Alas! your Highness, there is grievous news;
My lord, your royal father-
MESSENGER.
By his own hand has died.
THEODORA.
>
[Giving a ring.
MESSENGER.
[Exit the Masian Officer.
My father dead?
THEODORA.
What of him?
The warden found him almost cold and stiff;
He had been dead an hour.
No marvel this.
To him the bitterness of death was past.
He has done well and wisely. In the world
There yet remains
Now, to work.
He had no more to do.
A task of mine unfinish'd.
SCENE VI.]
335
ISAAC COMNENUS.
SCENE VI.—A large Hall, leading to the Banqueting Chamber in
the Palace, from which guests are passing out at intervals.
The Hall is filled with Attendants, &c., and in front are the
Steward of the Household and THEODORA, as a suitor, in a
mourning dress, with her face veiled.
STEWARD.
Stand all aside; the guests are coming out.
What wait'st thou for? make way there, ho! make way.
He's coming here?
THEODORA,
I wait for Count Comnenus.
STEWARD.
He's not here.
THEODORA.
STEWARD.
I cannot tell. Stand close;
Count Cataculo coming out-make room—
That brave commander-noble Cataculo.
Is he not coming here?
THEODORA.
STEWARD.
I cannot tell.
He ne'er was well affected to a feast,
And speaks irreverently-friends, stand back-
Of wine that's older than himself-room ho!-
The only sin that I can charge him with,
God save his soul in heaven!
336
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
THEODORA.
Amen, amen.
STEWARD.
Paleologus coming out-St. George!
That bark's deep laden; Scian wine's aboard;
Yon was a heavy lurch.
PALEOLOGUS.
Good friends, good night.
Your servant. Let me hold you by the arm;
For, pardon me, you seem to walk but so-so.
But never mind, I'll steady you; I'm sound;
No milksop neither; but I hold it good
That alway one keep sound to help the rest.
So, steadily-on this side of that lady—
This side the lady in the grave-clothes-Ha!
This side the apparition-cleared, by Jove!
And so a fair good-night to ghosts in black.
[Going, returns.
And tell Count Isaac, I forgive Count Isaac
For being thrifty of his bounteous presence;
For I've a guess, a shrewd one, mark you me,
A shrewd conjecture of the why and wherefore,-
And to be wise and say no more about it,
I think it may be he's too drunk to come.
THEODORA.
Hark ye.
The matter that I bring Count Isaac
Concerns his life.
STEWARD.
How mean you?
K
THEODORA.
[Exit.
Yea, it doth.
SCENE VI.]
ISAAC COMNENUS.
337
The scurvy citizens are not content,
And ever and anon some knave cries out
His house is plunder'd and Count Isaac's men
Have eat his supper and debauch'd his wife.
Then lays the rogue his hand upon his hilt
And turns the matter in his beggarly mind,
Feeling dissatisfied: so walks he forth,
And no one's eye is on him.
STEWARD.
In good truth,
Thou hast described a dangerous man. I' faith,
Your hungry men are very dangerous;
They have no charity for us that eat.
I ever said, put hungry men in prison,
Else you shall surely have them discontent.
THEODORA.
Yet for the time thou see'st they go at large
Since no offence is yet committed.
STEWARD.
None?
What call you then the lack of charity?
The lack of Christian charity? What, none?
By my salvation, 'tis a foul offence,
A most nefandous error, which begets.
Much danger to us powers that be.
I say
There is a danger nearer to the Count
Than any of you wot of. Where abides he?
THEODORA.
Z
339
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
STEWARD.
He will be here anon and thou shalt see him.
Away. The guests are rising all. Away.
SCENE VII.-The Banqueting Chamber.
Enter ISAAC COMNENUS and MACRINUS, with an Attendant.
COMNENUS.
The guests have all departed?
ATTENDANT.
All, my lord.
COMNENUS.
Here, take my sword. Bring me a cup of wine.
[Exit Attendant.
And he is dead?
MACRINUS.
He bled to death, my lord.
A barber there had left the instrument
Wherewith he did this violence to himself.
COMNENUS.
Farewell, Nicephorus the first and last!
Soldier of fortune, bold and free in Thrace,
Poor abject Emperor in Byzantium !
He's better dead, so let us hope, much better.
Thou would'st not think't, Macrinus, but 'tis true,
Had I been of this war the wilful cause,
I could have kill'd myself for conquering,
As soon as he for suffering defeat.
Though it be not a soldier's word to say,
The sight of all this blood hath sicken'd me.
SCENE VII.]
339
ISAAC COMNENUS.
7
MACRINUS.
No blood hath needlessly been shed by us.
COMNENUS.
By us, I trust, no drop. But think, Macrinus,
When civil war's afoot, whate'er the cause,
And whosoe'er the leaders, in the fray
How many a beast breaks loose and roams abroad
In shelter of an honourable name.
Go, good Macrinus, give my orders forth
That whosoe'er unsheathes his sword to-night
But at the word of his commander, dies;
And in the public view of all who pass
Plant in each quarter where the throng is thick
A headsman and his block. Look it be done.
If chopping off of heads can stop the course
Of these disorders, I will have them stopp'd.
I will about it straight.
MACRINUS.
COMNENUS.
Good night, Macrinus.
[Exit MACRINUS.
(After a pause.)
So here am I, to say my work is done.
Thus churchyard visions mock us as we merit,
When man, for lack of manliness, is made
A lazaret for the mind's maladies.
[Walks to a casement.
How changed those skies from what they were at eve!
They change as do the destinies of men,
And give no warning,—or at best a brief one.
Black, save a seam, a trench, a gaping chasm
z 2
340
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
Of ghastly moonshine betwixt cloud and cloud!
And therewithin a pale and shivering star,
Like hope in far futurity, a gleam
Of half-extinguish'd light still struggles on.-
I feel that chill and heaviness of cheer
Which follows oft a chase that's hotly won;
For then the hazards and vicissitudes,
The pride of conflict, spur of opposition,
The quickening sense of danger, and the need
And exercise of wit, are all effete,
And the reward of all (which seen remote
Shone like a Caucasean peak at dawn)
Meets with a cold reality the touch,
And bares the blank and nothingness of life.-
Were I a man to take delight in crowns,
And purple boots, and sending forth of bulls,
And dealing out of dignities, to wit,
Calling this man Sebastos and that Cæsar,
Bidding one worthy follower wear red hose,
Another hope the like advancement soon
And wear them mottled in the meantime-yea,
Could I rejoice in royal sports like these,
I should exult in this day's victory,
And not feel all this barrenness within.
I will go hence to-morrow.
Re-enter Attendant with wine.
COMNENUS (drinks).
Ho! the Gods!
Marvellous!
That re-creates the spirit.
How this amalgam of a body and soul
Can grain by grain so interpenetrate,
SCENE VII.]
ISAAC COMNENUS.
341
That washing of a ventricle with drink
Shall strengthen and uplift the prostrate mind.
Oh then what potent menstruum is that
Which shall dissolve the so compacted compound,
And segregate the subtler element
To live apart when all the other dies.
Enter ALEXIUS.
God save your Majesty! How speed you now?
To her Imperial cousin what saith Anna?
ALEXIUS.
When first I spoke she said at once 'twas vain;
But when I urged thy sanction to my suit,
She falter'd and grew pale, then turn'd away,
And would not honour me with one look more.
COMNENUS.
Then shall she have her way and follow me;
And though I be a wanderer on the earth,
I will requite her constancy with care,
And in that care may chance to find at times
A resting-place myself.
ALEXIUS.
God grant it thee!
COMNENUS.
He will so soon or late. Just as you came
I moralized the matter of that change
Which theologians call-how aptly, say—
The quitting of a tenement, or else
The casting off old clothes-the . . . . oh the Gods?
342
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
The figures are as multitudinous
And ugly as their archetype.
ALEXIUS.
These seem as apt as any.
To me
COMNENUS.
Even so.
The Prophet of the Zend expounded thus
The secret of original sin: he said
When Light, the Power of Good, created man,
Him evil follow'd darkly as his shadow.
And this is fair philosophy, whereby
We typify what is not understood,
And say a thing is thus, and thus, and thus,
Just as another thing is thus and thus,
Though how or wherefore either thing came thus
We nothing know. Enough. To-morrow's eve
Will find me a day's journey on the road
To the Illyrian frontier. Who is here?
Eudocia and Anna. Take apart
Our sister sage, thy Councillor of State,
And leave to me my Anna. I would hold
Some present conference with my gentle cousin.
Enter EUDOCIA and ANNA COMNENA. ALEXIUS advancing to
meet them, leads EUDOCIA to the farther part of the stage,
where he remains with her.
What ails thee, Anna? Why this changing cheek?
What rainbow is reflected in those eyes?
What dream hath moulded that pathetic mouth?
Thy lip hath pouted at an Emperor's suit,
And pouts it now repentant?
SCENE VII.]
343
ISAAC COMNENUS.
ANNA.
Oh, no, no!
Though I were truly what I ought to be,
A lifelong and perpetual penitent,
Yet never could my soul repent of that.
COMNENUS.
Then are we each of us at odds with empires;
And being therein of one mind and heart,
What should gainsay us that from this time forth
Our hearts and lives be one? Thou knowest not, Anna,
How wide the vacancy, how deep the void,
That opens here, which empires could not fill,
Nor worlds-nay weep not-
ANNA.
It is not for grief.
I hear thee say that thou art desolate,
Yet feel no pang! My heart is not my own,
To be so happy, knowing thou art not.
But onward I am looking, and rejoice
To think my eyes shall be upon thee ever;
And ever watching thee, if haply once
I chased but half a sorrow from thy soul,
'Twould fill me with such gratitude to God,
That suffering with thee still, tho' suffering for thee,
I scarce should seem to suffer.
COMNENUS.
Love like thine
Clothed with a form so excellently fair,
Hath doubtless power upon the spirits of pain
Beyond what mortals know. Be mine, then, Anna;
And sharing with thy heart its measureless wealth,
344
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
I, if I be not happy, yet shall grieve
With such a genial and enriching grief,
Expansive, self-exalting, soft and warm,
That sorrow shall not more oppress my soul
Than melancholy music.
»
[ALEXIUS advances, leaving EUDOCIA, who is joined by ANNA.
ALEXIUS.
To-morrow for Illyrium?
Then you start
COMNENUS.
To-morrow
If Anna shall forbid me not;—for there
Some present propping will thy state demand
Ere it be stablish'd. Yes, I think, to-morrow;
If Anna be alert. The little left
Of this night give to sleep. Good night, good night!
ALEXIUS.
In the left wing the Protovestiary
Has seen your couch made ready.
COMNENUS.
It was needless.
In the adjoining chamber I'll lay by
My heaviest armour, write a rescript there,
And take what rest I may. Again good night.
ANNA (in discourse with EUDOCIA).
I cannot tell you how it startled me;
And surely it was strange-still whensoe'er
A health was drunk and guests grew clamourous,
That ominous figure glided into sight,
Look'd slowly round and vanish'd.
[Exit.
SCENE VII.]
345
ISAAC COMNENUS.
ALEXIUS.
All should have entrance to the lower hall
This one
To witness the festivities.
Had been some straggler.
ANNA.
But her mourning dress?
ALEXIUS.
She was a suitor for some forfeit head,
And thought to move compassion by her garb.
Hush! 'tis the Princess.
I gave leave
ANNA.
Her face was veil'd, but truly hers was not
The bearing of a suitor. There was too
At times a something I had seen before—
-Oh God, I see it now-
Enter THEODORA.
EUDOCIA,
THEODORA.
Ye have feasted full,
And ye are merry. I must kneel to beg
A humble boon-the body of my sire.
ALEXIUS.
Your pardon, if my officers imposed
Such and so needless an indignity.
The fitting orders I will give myself.
THEODORA.
I know thee not, nor seek I aught of thee.
I am a suppliant to the Count Comnenus.
346
[ACT V.
ISAAC COMNENUS.
(To EUDOCIA.)
Thou knowest there hath that between us been
Which makes it fitting I receive my suit
In audience from himself.
EUDOCIA,
Doubtless, to-morrow. . .
THEODORA.
Much is the doubt what morrows bring to them
Who tire of their to-days. 'Tis now, now, now,
That I must see him, or else never more.
EUDOCIA.
Through yonder entrance, then, thou may'st approach him.
[Exit THEODORA.
ALEXIUS.
Her purpose is apparent; she will tread
Fast in the footsteps of her father.
EUDOCIA.
Yes;
And by her aspect I much doubt if now
There be not poison working. I repent
That access has been granted her. Go in-
I fear she may design .
•
ANNA.
Hark, hark!—a groan-
[All rush into the inner chamber, whilst THEODORA, passing out
from it, crosses the stage, holding in her hand a dagger
covered with blood. The curtain falls.
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST,
AND OTHER POEMS.
TO THE AUTHOR'S WIFE.
""
DEAR Alice, thro' much mockery of your's
(Impatient of my labours long and slow
And small results that I made haste to show
From time to time) you scornfullest of reviewers,
These verses work'd their way:
"Get on, get on,
Was mostly my encouragement: But I
Dead to all spurring kept my pace foregone
And long had learnt all laughter to defy.
I thought moreover that your laugh (for hard
Would be the portion of the hapless Bard
Who found not in each comment grave or gay
Some flattering unction). . . In your laugh, I say,
A subtle something glimmer'd; 'twas a laugh,
If half of mockery, yet of pleasure half.
And since, on looking round, I know not who
Will greet my offering with as good a grace
And in their favour give it half a place,
These flights, for fault of better, short and few,
Dear Alice, I must dedicate to you.
MORTLAKE, Nov. 1347.
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
A CLOUDY night descended on the slopes
Of Mountfield, and the scatter'd woods beyond,
Where lay the Saxon force; and now the wind
Till sunset that had seem'd to hold its breath,
Burst forth in gusts and flaws, the sea far off
Sounding a dirge a day before the time.
A flush of light was in the Southern sky,
Cast from the Norman camp, and more remote
At intervals around, from Lunsford-heath
To Broad-oak-cross, and Udimore to Hooe,
The frequent watchfire glimmer'd, where the boors,
Though scared yet greedy, grimly lurk'd aloof,
Expecting plunder when to-morrow's storm
Should leave the wreck of battle on the plain.
So fell the night.
Upon the Saxon flank
A forest stood, within whose wavering skirt
Was scoop'd a shelter for King Harold's tent.
And thither when the fitful wind was lull'd
Came sounds of jollity and boisterous songs,
Which did not please the King.-"Leofwyn, Brand,
Go bid the chiefs abate this barbarous mirth,
And counsel them that cannot sleep to pray."
350
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
They went, and shortly there was silence. Then
The King composed himself as seeking rest;
But though his limbs were motionless, the Page
Who watch'd him, noted that his eyes were closed
More fast than if in sleep, and that his lips
Were ever and anon compress'd to curb
A quivering movement. Suddenly he rose,
And shouted for the Page-but he was there.
Go, Ina, ere the night waste further, go,
And bring me from the Convent where she sleeps
Edith, my daughter; I would hold discourse.
With her of former days; and wanting this
My soul is not consenting to repose."
66
So Ina thro' the tangled thickets ran,
Much carping at the absence of the Moon,
And doubting in the darkness lest his speed
Thro' misdirection should induce delay.
But soon he reach'd the convent in the groves
Of Penshurst, now the shield of Harold's house,
Long after to be otherwise renown'd.
CC
Sleeps she, the Lady Edith?" "No," they said,
"Nor will she be persuaded; she is now
At nocturns in the chapel." Thither he;
But ere his entrance had the service ceased.
She knelt upon the altar steps alone
In mourning loosely clad, with naked arms.
That made an ivory cross upon her breast.
She mourn'd and pray'd for that revolted Earl
Her uncle Tostig, he that fell at York
A month before, in arms with aliens join'd,
In overthrow with that Norwegian King
:
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
351
Who got from Harold what when terms were named
The Saxon proffer'd with abrupt disdain-
"Six feet of ground,—or seven, for he was tall."
She mourn'd her uncle, spite of his revolt,
Because she loved the stock whereof she came,
And knew them noble even when most misled.
"The King would see you, Princess, ere he sleeps,
For he is troubled in his mind." She rose,
And rising seem'd the vision of a Saint,
Awaiting her assumption. In her mien
Celestial beauty reign'd with sovran grace,
And holy peace which holier raptures left
Not colourless, but like a sunset sky,
Partaking of their glories. So she rose,
And bending as once more she cross'd herself,
Went forth in haste though calm.
By shorter paths,
For they were known to her, she led the way,
By garth and croft, and thro' the ferny brake,
And o'er the stepping stones that spann'd the stream,
And where the deer-browsed elms in Penshurst Park
Spread o'er the sward their level circular roofs;
And nimbly now and with less doubtful speed
Than Ina's by the parting ways perplex'd,
They reach'd the forest in whose wavering skirt
Was scoop'd a shelter for King Harold's tent.
Meanwhile the King sate brooding, deep in thought;
Nor, save for mandates needful to be given
As notices were brought from spies and scouts,
Had raised his forehead from his folded hands:
The time was tedious to the troubled King.
352
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
At length the imbedded floor of tough beech leaves,
Slow to rejoin the dust from which they came,
Return'd the tremulous pressure of a foot
So light and soft the Woodland Genius
Mistook it for an echo of the steps
By Oreads planted there in days of old.
Then Harold, rising as the Princess knelt,
Threw off the cloud that veil'd him, and appear'd
His very self, a man of godlike mould,
Radiant, but grave.-The greeting o'er, he sat
Upon a rough-hewn couch with rushes strown ;
And she upon a mantle at his feet
Half sat, half lay, her face upturned to his,
Hands clasp'd across his knee.
Then spake the King:-
"Since sunset, when the marshalling of the force
Was ended, in this dark nocturnal void
The Past has come upon me. Should I fall
To-morrow, I shall leave behind me few,
It may be none, to tell with friendly truth
My tale to after times. Of those that now
Surround me and have battled by my side
In former fields, too many are estranged
For love of lucre, seeing I withheld
The spoil of that rich victory in the North,
To spare my people, ravaged by the wars:
These, if surviving me, shall bear me hard.
The Many, for whose dear behoof I lose
The suffrage of the Few, are slow to praise
A fallen friend, or vindicate defeat.
To-day the idol am I of their loves;
But should I be to-morrow a dead man,
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
353
My memory, were it spotless as the robes
That wrapp'd the Angels in the Sepulchre,
Should see corruption. Therefore in the ear
Of one whom Nature destines to outlive,
If God should so see good, my mortal term
Arriving soon or late, I fain would leave
Some notice of those things wherein I err'd,
And those wherein they err that taint my fame.
Thy brethren tend their charges or repair
Their strength in sleep; but thou art wise to know,
And lov'st to hearken. So long as thou liv'st,
Of what I tell do thou thy memory make
A living record; and before thou diest,
Unmix'd with lies and flatteries, in the book
Wherein the Saxon Kings are chronicled,
See it be written."
With a wistful gaze
The Princess waited whilst her sire revolved
The matters he would speak of. More than once
She press'd her lips upon the massive hand
That lay beside her, rough and weather-stain'd;
Then gazed again. He knew not what she did;
His thoughts were travelling into distant times.
At length they wrought to utterance:
66
In my youth
How gaily deck'd, how fortunately fair,
My life before me lay. My father then
Had graciously and of his bounty given
The crown to Edward, his obsequious King.
I ruled in Kent, and held thro' him such power,
That justice, which the people long had ceased
To dream of and forgotten to be due,
A A
354
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
Was feasible; and mercy, which had seem'd
A gift reserved to God, was mine to grant.
So love flow'd on me from a thousand springs
And pour'd itself around me like a flood.
I flourish'd as a bay tree. By my side
A noble brotherhood of six fair youths
Grew lustily, my father's younger sons;
Of whom, with loyal and fraternal faith,
Four have still follow'd me thro' chance and change,
Inalterable; two have pass'd from earth
And stand before their judge; I judge them not.
Last of the six in order, first in love,
Was Ulnoth, in the beauty of his prime,
Who seem'd a creature sent by God to fill
The world with love. A goodlier sight this Earth
Beheld not in its goodliest golden days.
A frank and friendly joy adorn'd his face,
Exuberant, but in its wildest mood
Forgetful of no courtesy nor grace
Of generous kindness dealt to high and low
Like rain and sunshine, profluent from the heart,
With no respect of persons, a good-will
That could not be contain'd. Ulnoth I loved
Next to thy mother, Edith, while she lived;
And when her spirit, purified by pain
Whilst here abiding, was translated hence,
I loved him of the living best. That love
I to this hour rejoice in and retain,
Not deeming what it cost me worth a sigh.
Thus in the earlier years of Edward's reign.
Well fared my father's house.
But joy is short;
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
355
And soon upon our glorious break of day,
So rich in sunshine and so fresh with dew,
We saw the clouds to gather from that side
Whence now the storm assails us. Normans soon
Began to flock to impotent Edward's court,
Who, in his wily weakness, whilst he shower'd
His favours on our house, yet hated most
(A customary baseness in the weak)
Him to whom most he owed, and sought to sap
My father's fortunes when he seem'd to build.
The Norman courtiers, who could dance and sing
Or fast and pray at pleasure, worm'd their way,
And quickening the dull hatreds that they found,
Pour'd very poison in King Edward's ears.
By falsehood they prevail'd; nor less by truth.
They told him, which was true, that we despised
His person and his power: they said besides
We practised to overturn the tottering throne
That now we overshadow'd; which was false.
But whatsoe'er shall furnish pleas for fear
Finds credit with a coward, and the King
Believing all they bid him, strove to bate
Our formidable fortunes, and to lift
His foreign minions into power. They thence
Took courage whom they injured to insult;
And Eustace Count of Boulogne, on his way
To France by Dover, with such desperate pride
Demean'd himself, the townsmen rose in arms,
And I who ruled the seabord was constrain'd
To drive him back. The King's accustom'd fear
Was startled into anger, and he bade
My father and myself appear forthwith
A A 2
356
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
Before the Witena. We raised a force;
But then my father falter'd, and the King
Propounding terms, a compact, to my heart
Most grievous, was concluded, from which seed
Sprang mostly my misfortunes and my faults.
For Ulnoth as a hostage was consign'd
For surer custody to William's hands,
This Norman Duke.
Ere long my father died;
And Edward's dread and hatred of our house
Relenting, for 'twas he had scared him most,
I grew in greatness; and the wars in Wales,-
Which country 'twas my fortune to reduce
To unaccustom'd tameness-and with these
Earl Alfgar's insurrection—which, tho' fierce,
I quell'd by force and heal'd by clemency-
Exalted my renown, and to my zeal
Experience added; and as Edward's health
Went yearly more to waste, the people's voice
Design'd me for the throne.
My path seem'd straight
At home, but I foresaw that foreign leagues,
And strife and envy, should confront my steps
When once afoot; and knowing this I knew
What dangers should arise to Ulnoth then,
If he were then still caged in William's court.
For though the Norman had not yet divulged
His own preposterous claims, yet him I knew
With all my foreign foes confederate.
Wherefore, or e'er the stirring time should come,
'Twas first my care to compass the release
Of Ulnoth. To my instances the King
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
357
Made answer still that William and not he
Detain'd him; but in truth he greatly grudg'd
This mainprize of my loyalty to let loose.
To William thus remitted, I resolved
To him to go; which doubtless pleased the King,
As privy to the Duke's audacious schemes,
Nor loth that I should stumble on his toils.
"Through divers dangers, shipwreck first, and next
Captivity, I reach'd the Norman court.
Right joyful was that day. The politic Duke
Received me with all honours short of those
To sovereign Princes paid. Procession, game,
Banquet and dance, with songs of every strain,
Lays, virelays, delays, and rondelays,
A fortnight of festivities fill'd out.
But festive beyond all that song or dance
Could publish of festivity, to me
Was Ulnoth's face, fulfill'd of all delight,
That seem'd to lavish like a miser's heir
It's hoard of joy. The meanest of the train
That follow'd at my father's heels or mine
In former days, appearing to him now,
Even as a brother would have welcomed been :
What welcome then was mine! Of all his race
The one who loved him best, whom best he loved,
Through dangers to his house of bondage come,
And haply his deliverance to achieve.
From treating with the Duke I held aloof
Till I should see and learn: with Ulnoth still
Delighting to consume the livelong day
Associate in the chase, or as he list,
·
358
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
In groves and gardens, regally adorn'd
With fountains and with daintiest flowers, nor less
With frequent gleam of damsels thither brought
By choice or chance, or choice attending chance,
In throngs or sole, that many a chaplet twined,
And chaunted many a lay.
Of these the first
In station and most eminently fair,
Was Adeliza, daughter of the Duke.
A woman-child she was: but womanhood
By gradual afflux on her childhood gain'd,
And like a tide that up a river steals
And reaches to a lilied bank, began
To lift up life beneath her.
life beneath her. As a child
She still was simple,-rather shall I say
More simple than a child, as being lost
In deeper admirations and desires.
The roseate richness of her childish bloom
Remain'd, but by inconstancies and change
Referr'd itself to sources passion-swept.
Such had I seen her as I pass'd the gates
Of Rouen, in procession, on the day
I landed, when a shower of roses fell
Upon my head, and looking up I saw
The fingers which had scatter'd them half spread
Forgetful, and the forward-leaning face
Intently fix'd and glowing, but methought
More serious than it ought to be, so young
And midmost in a show. From time to time
Thenceforth I felt, although I met them not,
The visitation of those serious eyes,
The ardours of that face toward me turn'd.
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
359
These long I understood not; for I knew
That she in fast companionship had lived
With Ulnoth; and albeit his joy and pride
Had been in eloquent speech to magnify
My deeds, in so much that the twain had lived
And revell'd in my story, yet I deem'd
That she must needs have prized beyond the theme
The voice that graced it; and contrasting now
My darkening days with Ulnoth's gracious prime,
I scarce could bring myself to think that eyes,
Howe'er by fancy misinform'd, could err
From him to me. But Ulnoth was a boy
When first she knew him, nor was yet renown'd;
And woman's fancy is more quick to read
In furrow'd faces histories of wars
And tales of wonders by the lamp of fame,
Than in the cursive characters of youth,
How fair soever written, to descry
A glorious promise. Thus betwixt these twain
A love that burst too early into bloom
Was sever'd ere it set. For Ulnoth's part,
He, in his nature buoyant, lightly held
By all his loves save that he bare to me;
And lightly, with a joyful pride, he saw
Her heart to me surrender'd, and himself
Of some unsettled moiety disseised.
Such shape to him the matter took. For me,
Her excellence of beauty, and regards
Rapt oftentimes, forgetful of the earth,
Of earthly attributions unaware
In him her fancy glorified,―regards
That seem'd of power to make the Heaven they sought,
360
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
Did doubtless touch what time and public cares
And household griefs had left me of a heart.
I loved the lady with a grateful love,
Tender and pure, not passionate.
Meantime,
I search'd the Duke, and saw myself by him
With subtlest inquisition search'd in turn.
His eye was cold and cruel, yet at times
It flash'd with merriment; his bearing bold,
And save when he had purposes in hand,
Reckless of those around him, insomuch
He scarce would seem to know that they were there.
Yet was he not devoid of courtly arts,
And when he wish'd to win, or if it chanced
Some humour of amenity came o'er him,
He could be bland, attractive, frankly gay,
Insidiously soft; but ay beneath
Was fire which whether by cold ashes screen'd
Or lambent flames that lick'd whom at a word
They might devour, was unextinguish'd still.
(6
It chanced he had a quarrel now afoot
With Conan, Count of Bretagne, against whom
He took the field. I gladly with him went
For exercise in arms, and gave what aid
I could in council: But the more he found
In me of succour and resource, the more
A jealous care possess'd him. Not the less
He courted and cajoled me, costliest gifts
Conferring with a light and lavish hand.
My suit for Ulnoth's liberty at once
He granted; and of all he had to give
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
361
The prime of gifts most precious in his eyes,
His daughter Adeliza, in his heart
He plainly purposed then, if all went well,
To proffer. Her from cradled infancy
He carried with him wheresoe'er he went
By land or sea, in peace or war, and now
In camp or town, in tent or citadel,
She ever was at hand to share the joy
When we return'd successful from assault
Or deed of arms.
One evening in the dusk,
The sunset red confronting the pale Moon,
Returning I alighted at her tent,
But not successful. Barely and with blows,
And desperate riding for full many a mile,
Had I that day escaped an ambuscade.
My horse, as I dismounted, fell down dead,
(Which grieved me to the heart, for we were friends)
And I was pale with sorrow and fatigue,
And somewhat by mishap discountenanced.
She met me at the door and in my face
Read more than what was true; and presently
Espying as I laid my casque aside
Some streaks of blood that she mistook for mine,
She fainted. In my then disconsolate mood,
A softness such as hers distilled itself
Like balm upon my senses; and when at length
Her spirit was rekindled from its trance,
And reassured, I told her my life's blood
Should thenceforth vaunt a value not its own
As flowing from a consecrated fount,
A heart thenceforward hers. She hid her face
362
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
An instant in her hands, then flung them forth
Revealing all the passion of her joy,
That neither smiled nor laugh'd, but mantled high
Effulgent and ineffably divine.
A moment more and she was gone; her soul
Demanding solitude and secret haunts
To put away its treasure.
I forthwith,
As honour now enjoin'd me, sought the Duke,
And craved her hand in marriage. William smiled;
And there was satisfaction in his smile;
But simple satisfaction was not all.
An exultation temper'd by a doubt
Was in it, and a joy with fear commix'd
And tainted by a secret self-rebuke
For odious aims and treacherous intents.
In simulated frankness he bestow'd
The priceless boon, with only this reserve,
That seeing she was yet of age unripe,
The nuptials should not now be solemnised,
But wait his time; which, softly he subjoin'd,
His heart should hasten. But e'er many days
The portent that perplex'd me in his smile
I well could construe. By uneasy hints
And intimations sounding me, the Duke
Unfolded soon his lust to be a King,
And seize on England. He essay'd to gild
This thunder-cloud of dark designs to me
With promise of a station next himself,
Earldoms and honours, all the crown could give.
Earldoms and honours! Had my fallen estate-
Been lowlier than the lowliest Saxon Serf's,
¦
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
263
And hopeless, not of crowns alone, but bread,
The Tempter, though the same that tempted Eve,
Could not in all his devilry have devised
The bribe that would have bribed me to betray
My country to a foreign yoke. I felt
As worse than wrong or rapine, blows or death,
The insult of the overture. Withal,
Knowing my danger should I once disclose.
My anger and my just resolves, or wake
Suspicion, I descended to defeat
Like arts with like, dissembling with fair shows
My inward indignation, although clear
In blank refusal of my fealty.
With anxious outlook sought I next to know
If yet the road to England open lay
For me and Ulnoth, nor had far to seek.
"6
Advices soon were brought me, as by friends
Betraying for my sake the Duke's behests,
But verily by instruction from himself,
That all the ways were guarded: we were watch'd ;
And, for a further menace, hints were dropp'd
Of dungeons, gyves and tortures,-things too vile
For William, in whose eyes the world's esteem
Went not for nothing, truly to perpend,
But such as it was infamous to name.
"As calmly as I might I now survey'd
The state in which I stood. I call'd to mind
With what a cordial confidence at first
I sought his hospitality; how since
We side by side had fought; how schemes of mine
364
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
Had borne him fairest fruit, and twice mine arm
Had saved him when in peril of his life.
I thought of these things, and my inmost soul.
Revolting from his perfidy, resolved
It should not prosper.
In presence of thy purity to speak
Of what I bent my nature to sustain !
Edith! shall I dare
I sware with purposed falsehood to uphold.
The Duke's pretension. Then the way was free,
And hastily as flying from my shame,
To England I return'd.
The rest thou know'st.
Ambition, and my country's love for me,
And mine for her, with hatred of that foe
Whose dangerous dealings had ensnared my soul,
Engross'd me; I address'd my every thought
To fortify the league of Saxon earls,
And other recollections dash'd to earth,
I married Morcar's sister; by that tie,
Though death dissolved it in a short three months,
Making the North my own.
A few months more
And Edward's death ensued. The Witena
Had counsell'd him to leave the crown to me
By testament; but he had dream'd a dream
How a pale comet in the Northern sky,
Which now was visible, did shake its head,
And the Seven Sleepers turn'd themselves in sleep.
He made no will. But not the less the cry
Rang out in one concent from North to South,
From East to West, Earl Harold shall be King!
My marriage had forewarn'd the Duke, whose ships
Full fledg'd were waiting till the wind was fair,
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
365
When Tostig and Hardrada's wild descent
And transient triumph summon'd me to York.
A bloody day determined in the dust
Their pride and prowess. Scarcely were they cold,
When posts from Pevensey at speed despatch'd
Announced the Duke's approach. At double speed
I march'd to meet him. Here we stand opposed;
And here to morrow's-sun, which even now,
If mine eyes err not, wakes the eastern sky,
Shall see the mortal issue. Should I fall,
Be thou my witness that I nothing doubt
The justness of my doom; but add thou this,
The justness lies betwixt my God and me.
Twixt me and William . . . .
"}
Then uprose the King;
His daughter's hands half startled from his knee
Dropt loosely, but her eye caught fire from his.
He snatch'd his truncheon and the hollow earth
Smote strongly that it throbb'd: he cried aloud-
Twixt me and William, say that never doom
Save that which sunders sheep from goats, and parts
Twixt Heaven and Hell can righteously pronounce."
-He sate again, and with an eye still stern
But temperate and untroubled, he pursued:
Twixt me and England, should some senseless swain
Ask of my title, say I wear the Crown,
Because it fits my head."
66
King Harold paused;
And resting for a moment's space his brow
Upon his hands, revolved a different theme.
"Oh Edith,” he resumed, "of one thing more
366
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
I fain would speak, if but the words will come.
My vow to Adeliza rankles here
As though my heart were broken in its breach;
For she was faithfuller than her sire was false.
To her, if I be slain, do thou repair,
(For in the Norman camp or in the fleet
She surely shall be found,) and bid her know
I swerved not from her in my heart, but Fate,
Ruled by her father's mandate, had decreed
We could not meet in marriage: Say beside
I make not this the scapegoat of my guilt,
Which amply and in anguish I avow;
Nor make I it a pretext to implore
Her prayers and her forgiveness, seeing these
Would be, though faithlessness were loveless too,
Assured me by her nature's sweet constraint.
But I bequeath this message of my love,
That knowing thus it died not with my death,
Her sorrow, by a soft remembrance soothed,
May sleep and dream, and dreaming things divine
Be gloriously transfigured by a hope.
For love that dies not till the body dies
Shall with the soul survive.”
King Harold ceased.
For now a phantom of a sound, that seem'd
Blown by a distant trumpet from the south,
Caught his quick ear. He sprang upon his feet.
Then cheerfully the Saxon trumpets blew
Their prompt reply. The leaders from their tents
Came trooping, jocund, with a nimble tread,
Their helmets glancing in the early sun;
And as they gain'd the forest's edge, the cry
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
367
Of Harold rose. Him Edith help'd to arm;
Which ended and a brief embrace exchanged,
Upborne upon the blessing he bestow'd
She with a lofty courage went her way.
Long was the day and terrible. The cries
""
Of" God to aid! "The Cross!" "The Holy Cross!"
With songs of Roland and of Roncesvalles,
Were heard, then lost in dumbness and dismay.
A mighty roar ensued, pierced thro' and thro'
By shrillest shrieks incessant, or of man
Or madden'd horse that scream'd with fear and pain
Death agonies. The battle, like a ship
Then when the whirlwind hath it, torn and tost,
Stagger'd from side to side. The day was long;
By dreadful change of onset or feign'd flight,
And rout and rally, direfully drawn out,
Disastrous, dismal. Night was near, and still
The victory undetermined, when a shaft
Pierced Harold in the throat. He fell and died.
Then panic seized the Saxon host, pursued
With hideous rage till utter darkness hid
From human sight the horrors of the field.
In Waltham Abbey on St. Agnes' Eve
A stately corpse lay stretch'd upon a bier.
The arms were cross'd upon the breast; the face,
Uncover'd, by the taper's trembling light
Show'd dimly the pale majesty severe
Of him whom Death, and not the Norman Duke,
Had conquer'd; him the noblest and the last
Of Saxon Kings; save one the noblest he;
368
THE EVE OF THE CONQUEST.
The last of all. Hard by the bier were seen
Two women, weeping side by side, whose arms
Clasp'd each the other. Edith was the one.
With Edith Adeliza wept and pray'd.
369
1
I.
SOFT be the voice and friendly that rebukes
The error of thy way,
For sickness hath the summer of thy looks
Touched with decay.
II.
Now may be pardoned, even for virtue's sake,
Words of less gall than grief-
The warning of autumnal winds that shake
The yellowing leaf.
-
III.
They bid thee if thou leav'st thy bloom behind,
Bethink thee to repair
That ravage, and the aspect of thy mind
To make more fair.
IV.
Let not thy loss of brightness be a loss,
Which might be countless gain,
If from thy beauty it should purge the dross,
Eat out the stain.
B B
370
SOFT BE THE VOICE.
T.
Then beauty with pure purposes allied
Wouldst thou account-to lift
The minds of men from worldliness and pride-
A trust—not gift.
VI.
Oh! may thy sickness, sanative to thee,
Bring thee to know that trust!
That so thy soul may to thy beauty be
Not less than just.
371
IN REMEMBRANCE OF
THE HON. EDWARD ERNEST VILLIERS,
WHO DIED AT NICE, ON THE 30TH OCTOBER, 1843.
I.
A GRACE though melancholy, manly too,
Moulded his being: pensive, grave, serene,
O'er his habitual bearing and his mien
Unceasing pain, by patience tempered, threw
A shade of sweet austerity. But seen
In happier hours and by the friendly few,
That curtain of the spirit was withdrawn,
And fancy light and playful as a fawn,
And reason imped with inquisition keen,
Knowledge long sought with ardour ever new,
And wit love-kindled, show'd in colours true
What genial joys with sufferings can consist.
Then did all sternness melt as melts a mist
Touched by the brightness of the golden dawn,
Aerial heights disclosing, valleys green,
And sunlights thrown the woodland tufts between.
And flowers and spangles of the dewy lawn.
II.
And even the stranger, though he saw not these,
Saw what would not be willingly passed by.
BB 2
372
IN REMEMBRANCE OF
In his deportment, even when cold and shy,
Was seen a clear collectedness and ease,
A simple grace and gentle dignity,
That failed not at the first accost to please;
And as reserve relented by degrees,
So winning was his aspect and address,
His smile so rich in sad felicities,
Accordant to a voice which charmed no less,
That who but saw him once remembered long,
And some in whom such images are strong
Have hoarded the impression in their heart
Fancy's fond dreams and Memory's joys among,
Like some loved relic of romantic song,
Or cherished master-piece of ancient art.
III.
His life was private; safely led, aloof
From the loud world,-which yet he understood
Largely and wisely, as no worldling could.
For he by privilege of his nature proof
Against false glitter, from beneath the roof
Of privacy, as from a cave, surveyed
With steadfast eye its flickering light and shade,
And gently judged for evil and for good.
But whilst he mixed not for his own behoof
In public strife, his spirit glowed with zeal,
Not shorn of action, for the public weal,-
For truth and justice as its warp and woof,
For freedom as its signature and seal.
His life thus sacred from the world, discharged
From vain ambition and inordinate care,
THE HON. EDWARD ERNEST VILLIERS.
In virtue exercised, by reverence rare
Lifted, and by humility enlarged,
Became a temple and a place of prayer.
In latter years he walked not singly there;
For one was with him, ready at all hours
His griefs, his joys, his inmost thoughts to share,
Who buoyantly his burthens helped to bear,
And decked his altars daily with fresh flowers.
IV.
But farther may we pass not; for the ground
Is holier than the Muse herself may tread;
Nor would I it should echo to a sound
Less solemn than the service for the dead.
Mine is inferior matter,—my own loss,—
The loss of dear delights for ever fled,
Of reason's converse by affection fed,
Of wisdom, counsel, solace, that across
Life's dreariest tracts a tender radiance shed.
Friend of my youth! though younger yet my guide,
How much by thy unerring insight clear
I shaped my way of life for many a year,
What thoughtful friendship on thy deathbed died!
Friend of my youth, whilst thou wast by my side
Autumnal days still breathed a vernal breath;
How like a charm thy life to me supplied
All waste and injury of time and tide,
How like a disenchantment was thy death!
373
374
LAGO VARESE.
I.
I STOOD beside Varese's Lake,
Mid that redundant growth
Of vines and maize and bower and brake
Which Nature, kind to sloth,
And scarce solicited by human toil,
Pours from the riches of the teeming soil.
II.
A mossy softness distance lent
To each divergent hill,
One crept away looking back as it went,
The rest lay round and still;
The westering sun not dazzling now, tho' bright,
Shed o'er the mellow land a molten light.
III.
And sauntering up a circling cove,
I found upon the strand
A shallop, and a girl who strove
To drag it to dry land:
I stood to see-the girl looked round-her face
Had all her country's clear and definite grace.
LAGO VARESE.
375
IV.
She rested with the air of rest
So seldom seen, of those
Whose toil remitted gives a zest
Not languor to repose.
Her form was poised yet buoyant, firm tho' free,
And liberal of her bright black eyes was she.
√.
Her hue reflected back the skies
Which reddened in the west;
And joy was laughing in her eyes
And bounding in her breast,
Its rights and grants exulting to proclaim
Where pride had no inheritance, nor shame.
VI.
This sunshine of the Southern face,
At home we have it not;
And if they be a reckless race,
These Southerns, yet a lot
More favoured on the chequered earth is their's,—
They have life's sorrows, but escape its cares.
VII.
For her if Sorrow lay in wait
She saw not he was nigh,
And if a smile could dazzle Fate,
He might have past her by;
Oh would that Titian's pencil had been mine!
Then had that smile been lastingly divine
*
376
LAGO VARESE.
VIII.
There is a smile which wit extorts
From grave and learned men,
In whose austere and senile sports
The plaything is a pen;
And there are smiles by shallow worldlings worn
To grace a lie or laugh a truth to scorn:
IX.
And there are smiles with less alloy
Of those who, for the sake
Of some they love, would kindle joy
Which they can not partake;
But her's was of the kind which simply say
They come from hearts ungovernably gay.
X.
And oh that gaiety of heart!
There lives not he to whom
Its laugh more pleasure will impart
Than to the man of gloom;
Who if he laugh, laughs less from mirth of mind
Than deference to the customs of mankind.
"
XI.
The day went down; the last red ray
Flashed on her face or ere
It sank—and creeping up the bay
The night-wind stirred her hair;
The crimson wave caressed her naked feet
With coy approach and resonant retreat.
LAGO VARESE.
377
XII.
True native of the clime was she,
Nor could there have been found
A creature who should more agree
With everything around,
The woods, the fields, and genial Nature, rife
With life and gifts that feed and gladden life.
XIII.
Congenial all that met the sight,
But in what met the mind
The spirit's intuition might
A discrepancy find;
For foresight is a melancholy gift
Which bares the bald and speeds the all-too-swift.
XIV.
Methought this scene before mine eyes,
Still glowing with yon sun
Which seemed to melt the myriad dyes
Of heaven and earth to one,
A divers unity-methought this scene,
These undulant hills, the woods that intervene,
XV.
The multiplicity of growth,
The corn-field and the brake,
The trellised vines that cover both,
The purple-bosomed lake,
Some fifty summers hence may all be found
Rich in the charms wherewith they now abound.
378
LAGO VARESE,
XVI.
And should I take my staff again,
And should I journey here,
My steps may be less steady then,
My eyesight not so clear,
And from the mind the sense of beauty may
Even as these bodily gifts have passed away:
XVII.
But grant my age but eyes to see,
A still susceptive mind,
All that leaves us, and all that we
Leave wilfully behind,
And nothing here would want the charms it wore
Save only she who stands upon the shore.
379
LAGO LUGANO.
I.
GONE are some sixteen summers since the day
When rambling by Varese's reddening lake,
I met that merry maid, and for her sake
Wove the brief chaplet of that perishing lay:
Now let me weave another if I may,
For once again my wandering way I take
Thro' lands where music chimes from every mouth,
And where the sun lights up with cloudless ray
The chambers of the south.
II.
Gone are those summers-youth and health are gone,
And feebler and less frequent are the gleams.
That startled erst my heart and filled my dreams
From transitory faces that but shone
An instant on my path; and few or none
Are now the soaring hours when fancy teems
With visions fair: so be it! I recall
The past without regret-for here is one
Whose love repays me all.
380
LAGO LUGANO.
III.
My youth without its hardness and alloy
I have in her, and much that ne'er was mine,
A simple heart, a human face divine
Where tears of tenderness with radiant joy
Will oftentimes alternate, nor destroy
Each other's traces,-these with wit combine
And graver gifts, to yield me treasures more
Than all youth's fancies fugitive and coy
Returning could restore.
IV.
And she was with me, and alone we strayed
By Lake Lugano one delightful morn,
Thro' woods not yet dismantled nor forlorn,
For old October slept beneath their shade
Forgetful of his function, to upbraid
The leaves light dancing and the fields forewarn
Of coming winter: Like the light leaves we
In sunshine were as sumptuously arrayed
As summer's self could be.
V.
We pass'd the wood, and where high walls between
And thro' rich vineyards thick with clusters red
A causeway to the owner's dwelling led,
We rested in the shade; for there a screen
Of branches of the vine had fashioned been
To arch the causeway's entrance overhead:
Nature had nearly done it; but the art
Of some kind hand that loved her might be seen
As architect in part.
LAGO LUGANO.
381
VI.
The lake lay glimmering through the wood below;
From its sweet shores upsprang the mountains stern,
And mid the loftiest we could well discern
One that was shining in a cusp of snow.
A butterfly went flickering to and fro
Hard by, and seeing he had yet to learn.
The arduous lesson how to spend an hour
Of holiday aright, we bade him go
And fasten on a flower.
VII.
Our book for us: of amaranthine hues
The flowers that to the free but searching sight
Did there disclose their inmost beauty bright!
Flowers were they that were planted by the Muse
In a deep soil which the continual dews
Of blessing had enriched: no lesser light
Than what was lit in Sydney's spirit clear
Or given to saintly Herbert's to diffuse
Now lives in thine, De Vere.
VIII.
So passed the noontide hour; the breathless air
Propitious to the intent mind's equipoise,
And silent all, save now and then the noise
Of a light rustling in the ivy, where
With short quick run, and sudden stop and stare,
The lizard fled surprised. But strenuous joys
And claiming respite from their stress and strain
Are those which verse imparts, if read with care
And written to remain.
382
LAGO LUGANO.
IX.
Now therefore we arose and went our way;
And as we passed the dwelling where abode
The owner of the vineyards, in the road
There stood two daughters of the house: the sway
Of English manners overturned that day
Permitted us to speak; a marvellous mode
Of foreign speech was mine, but it expressed
To willing listeners what I wished to say
As amply as the best.
X.
A frank amusement in the eyes of each
Detracted nothing from their courteous cheer;
Their sister voices were, tho' sweet, not clear,
But sounded softly hoarse, as sounds the beach
Of some cliff-sheltered cove or inland reach
Where the sea slumbers,-voices to our ear
That spake a life of liberty and ease,
Where simple hearts redound to simple speech
And simple pleasures please.
XI.
We asked for fruit; yet kindlier than before
They bade us in, and we were seated soon
In the bowered window of a large saloon;
A wench whose face a double welcome wore
For them and for herself, produced good store,
And fast the minutes fled: companions boon
By flowing cups exalted scarce could be
Than those two girls irradiated more,
More happy than were we.
LAGO LUGANO.
383
XII.
Too fast the minutes fled! We bade adieu
To each kind sister not without regret,
Nor lingered now; for now the sun was set,
And of the stars, though most were faint, a few
Began to glitter in the paler blue.
Ere long we reach'd our goal-a point where met
Lake, vineyard, chesnut wood, and whence was seen
Fairest of mountains, soft but awful too,
St. Salvador serene.
XIII.
Thence we returned, revolving as we went
The lessons this and previous days had taught
In rambling meditations; and we sought
To read the face of Italy, intent
With equal eye and just arbitrement
To measure its expressions as we ought:
And chiefly one conclusion did we draw,—
That liberty dwelt here with Heaven's consent,
Though not by human law.
XIV.
A liberty imperfect, undesigned,-
A liberty of circumstance; but still
A liberty that moulds the heart and will
And works an inward freedom of the mind.
Not such is statutable freedom: blind
M
Are they to whom the letter which doth kill
Stands for the spirit which giveth life: sore pains
They take to set Ambition free, and bind
The heart of man in chains.
384
LAGO LUGANO.
XV.
Ambition, Envy, Avarice, and Pride-
These are the tyrants of our hearts: the laws
Which cherish these in multitudes, and cause
The passions that aforetime lived and died
In palaces, to flourish far and wide
Throughout a land-(allot them what applause
We
e may, for wealth and science that they nurse
And greatness)-seen upon their darker side
Bear the primæval curse.
XVI.
Oh England! "Merry England," styled of yore!
Where is thy mirth? Thy jocund laughter where?
The sweat of labour on the brow of care
Makes a mute answer-driven from every door!
The may-pole cheers the village green no more,
Nor harvest-home, nor Christmas mummers rare;
The tired mechanic at his lecture sighs,
And of the learned, which, with all his lore,
Has leisure to be wise?
XVII.
Civil and moral liberty are twain :
That truth the careless countenances free
Of Italy avouched; that truth did we,
On converse grounds and with reluctant pain,
Confess that England proved. Wash first the stain
Of worldliness away; when that shall be,
Us shall the glorious liberty" befit
Whereof, in other far than earthly strain,
The Jew of Tarsus writ.
LAGO LUGANO.
385
XVIII.
So shall the noble natures of our land
(Oh nobler and more deeply founded far
/
Than any born beneath a southern star)
Move more at large; be open, courteous, bland,
Be simple, cordial, not more strong to stand
Than just to yield,—nor obvious to each jar
That shakes the proud; for Independence walks
With staid Humility aye hand in hand,
Whilst Pride in tremor stalks.
XIX.
From pride plebeian and from pride high-born,
From pride of knowledge no less vain and weak,
From overstrain'd activities that seek
Ends worthiest of indifference or scorn,
From pride of intellect that exalts its horn
In contumely above the wise and meek,
Exulting in coarse cruelties of the pen,
From pride of drudging souls to Mammon sworn,
Where shall we flee and when?
II.
One House of Refuge in this dreary waste
Was, through God's mercy, by our fathers built,-
That house the Church: oh England, if the guilt
Of pride and greed thy grandeur have abased,
Thy liberty endanger'd, here be placed.
Thy trust thy freedom's garment, if thou wilt,
To piece by charters and by statutes strive,
But to its personal rescue, haste, oh haste!
And save its soul alive.
CC
386
LAGO LUGANO.
XXI.
Thus pour'd we forth our hearts: but now 'twas late ;
The stars were fully out, and other light
Was none; in secret sessions of the night
The mountains closing kept a gloomier state.
A boat whose oars with punctual sound sedate
Seem'd like the pulse of silence, stole in sight
And sped us to the town.-End, end they must,
Such days! But lasting are the gains and great
They leave behind in trust.
387
F
THE AMPHITHEATRE AT POZZUOLI.
THE strife, the gushing blood, the mortal throe,
With scenic horrors fill'd that belt below,
And where the polish'd seats were round it raised,
Worse spectacle! the pleased spectators gazed.
Such were the pastimes of times past! Oh shame!
Oh infamy! that men who drew the breath
Of freedom, and who shared the Roman name,
Should so corrupt their sports with pain and death.
-The pastimes of times past? And what are thine,
Thou with thy gun or greyhound, rod and line?
Pain, terror, mortal agonies, that scare
Thy heart in man, to brutes thou wilt not spare.
Are their's less sad and real? Pain in man
Bears the high mission of the flail and fan.
In brutes 'tis purely piteous. God's command,
Submitting his mute creatures to our hand
For life and death, thou shalt not dare to plead ;
He bade thee kill them, not for sport, but need.
Then backward if thou cast reproachful looks
On sports bedarkening custom erst allow`d,
Expect from coming ages like rebukes
When day shall dawn on peacefuller woods and brooks,
And clear from vales thou troublest, custom's cloud.
cc2
388
ALWINE AND ADELAIS.
A FOREST SCENE.
ALWINE.
THE path is to your right; be not alarm'd;
For I have haunted this old forest long
And learnt its ways.
ADELAIS.
I have no fears—with you.
HILDEBRAND.
I heard a horn but lately, nor long since
I saw the King. It is not far we've wander'd,
And after facing that so insolent sun
In all his mid-day triumph mounting high,
How grateful is this gloom! these sylvan vaults,
How they protect the spirit!
ADELAIS.
I could dream
I were a maid that for the cloister quits
The monarch's court, finding in this retreat
That peace the world refused her.
ALWINE AND ADELAIS.
389
HILDEBRAND.
Rather say
That peace it had not to bestow. Your thought
Might fancy from her wardrobe well attire
With many an apt similitude; to chaunt
Morning and evening service there is here.
A numerous choir, nor is their song of praise
Less sacred because cheerful; and at noon
Comes meditative stillness, or by fits
Some soft confession of a wandering wind
Makes silence audible and sweet repose
Aware that it exists.
By fancy fed
'Tis thus we revel in resemblances ;
But truth. . .
ALWINE.
Renounces and abjures them!
No,
Love, if you will, the woods, and love their ways,
But I beseech you, love not for their sake
The life to which you liken them. Believe me,
The cloisters of the forest merit praise
For innocence and peace, which never yet
Those of the convent justified.
ADELAIS.
To me
Ere yet my credulous childhood had been taught
To question what I saw, the cherub choir,
The chaunt, the thuribule, the stoled procession,
Seem'd heaven itself more than the way to heaven,
And as the tournaments and shows of war
Fill high the hearts of boys, so me a girl
Did ceremonials of the Church enchant,
390
ALWINE AND ADELAIS.
Raise to religious rapture, and uplift
With fond desires to wage the war of faith
In a conventual life. And are they gone?
Those fond desires-that rapture of the heart?
ALWINE.
They are they are--I give them God's good speed.
HILDEBRAND.
Far other lessons shall we learn from Him
Who for the love of man was made a man,
Walking the earth in love, by links of love
With man associate humanly in life,
And human sorrow deifying in death,
That so this cursory world he might bequeath
A practicable passage, not impure
Since trodden of his feet.-I stretch too far
The privilege of the old to teach their betters.
Farewell-that cry recalls me to the chase.
ALWINE.
A tale there is pertaining to this wood
Which, but that I should tell it ill, might steal
Some moments you would not repent to spare
From the day's pastime.
ADELAIS.
[Exit.
Place me on the trunk
Of that uprooted oak, where shine and shade,
Moved by the wandering minstrel in the trees,
Dance to his music. Tell me now the tale.
ALWINE.
Once on this forest's edge a castle rose
ALWINE AND ADELAIS.
391
That dwarf'd to very shrubs its loftiest oaks,
A ruin now, half buried, half o'ergrown.
Sole did it stand, dividing warlike states,
As midway in a torrent some huge rock;
And in it dwelt a maid whose shapely form
Was like the hare-bell that so lightly springs
Out from the huge rock midway in the torrent ;
And from its turrets could the maid descry
A convent in a valley, which with looks
Wistful and sad she oft regarded long,
For she was weary of wild usages,
And sick because the eyes that look'd at her
Were cold and obdurate and haughty.
ADELAIS.
ALWINE.
ADELAIS.
What answer made the Sibyl ?
All?
Some more, some less.—And finding thus no rest,
She went one night to seek the Sibyl's cave
Deep in the forest, and to know from her
(That Sibyl ever young who witness bore
With David of the course and end of time)
Which life were worthier,—that which braved the world
And all its trials, or which fled the world
And knew no trials, but was blankly pure. |
ALWINE.
None by word.
She took her by the hand and led her far
Through brake and briar in darkness many a rood,
392
ALWINE AND ADELAIS.
!
And stopp'd where bubbled up a fountain clear
Beside an ancient cross: Lo! here she said
Life springeth: then with measured step sedate
Advanced again, but counting as she went,
And stopp'd again: and here, she said, behold
The parting of the ways-Life sunders here.
With that she sang a low sweet melody,
Mysterious but penetrating too,
Which with a slow and subtle magic crept
Into the bosom of the darkness. Soon
It ceased, and as it ceased, a glorious light
Forth from the bosom of the darkness burst,
And fill'd the ways of life.
ADELAIS.
What ways were they?
ALWINE.
The maiden where she stood could see but twain,
Each a long avenue; of yews was this
And palms commingled; that, of various growth;
Each with a roof of intertangled boughs
And crossways at the close an open grave.
Midway the path beyond the one grave grew
A single cypress; at each end the other
A willow. Down the path of palms and yews
A bloodless phantom of a woman walk'd,
Hooded and veil'd, with languid step and slow
And oft reverted head. Once and again
A holy rapture lifted her, and scarce
She seem'd to touch the ground; but presently
It left her, and with languid step and slow
And drooping posture pass'd she on her way,
ALWINE AND ADELAIS.
393
Still praying as she went, but stumbling still
Thro' weariness o'er sticks and straws, and still
With sticks and straws she quarrell'd as she pray'd.
When she approach'd the grave that crossways closed
The avenue, though weary of the way,
She seem'd not glad, but shudder'd and recoil'd,
Shaking thro' weakness of her weariness;
And tho' she upward look'd, look'd backward too,
And so with arms that clasp'd the solitude
She slowly disappear'd.-This way of life,
The Sibyl said, is the way celibate,
Where walks erroneous many a monk and nun;
The good therein is good that dies therein
And hath no offspring; neither hath the evil;
For He that out of evil bringeth good
Begets no issue on the evil here ;
Probation blotted from the book of life
With evil good obliterates, for these two,
In quality though opposite and at war,
Are each to each correlative and essential,
And evil conquer'd maketh moral good,
With virtue, which is more than innocence.
But now, she said, behold that other way.
The maiden turn'd obedient, and beheld
Where at the outset from a myrtle bower
A figure like Aurora flush'd with joy
Leapt lightly forth, and dancing down the path
Shook the bright dewdrops from the radiant wreath
That crown'd her locks profuse; ere long the flush
Subsided, and the bounding steps were stay'd;
But firmly still and with a durable strength.
She travell'd on: not seldom on her way
301
ALWINE AND ADELAIS.
A colour'd cloud diaphanous, like those
That gild the morn, conceal'd her; but ere long
She issued thence, and with her issued thence
A naked child that roll'd amongst the flowers
And laugh'd and cried a thicker cloud anon
Fell round her, and from that with sunken eyes
She issued, and with stains upon her cheek
From scalding tears; but onward still she look'd
And upward still, and on her brow upturn'd
And on the paleness of her penitent face
A glory broke, the dayspring from on high:
Thenceforth with loftier and less troubled strength
And even step she trod the tremulous earth,
Elastic, not elate: the grave was near
That crossways cut the path; but with her went
A company of spirits bright and young.
Which caught the blossoms from her wreath that fell
And gave them back. And as she reach'd the close,
Gazing betwixt the willows far beyond
Full many a group successive she descried
With wreaths like hers, and as she softly sank
A heavenly hope which like a rainbow spann'd
A thousand earthly hopes, its colours threw
Across the gloomy entrance of the grave.
This, said the Sibyl, is the conjugal way-
With joys more free and nobler sorrows fraught,
Which scatter by their force life's frivolous cares
And meaner molestations; stern the strokes,
The struggles arduous which this way presents,
And fearful the temptations; but the stake
Is worthier of the strife, and she that wins
Hears at the gates of heaven the words 'Well done '
ALWINE AND ADELAIS.
395
C
And Enter thou.'-The Sibyl ceased; the maid
Look'd round, and saw-not her, but in her place
A suppliant bending low: he press'd her hand
Imploringly, and ask'd her,—' of those ways
Which choosest thou?. and is it not the last ?'
What answer to that lowly suppliant gave
That maiden mild?
ADELAIS.
I think she answer'd Yes.'
C
396
SONNET IN THE MAIL COACH.
WHAT means at this unusual hour the light
In yonder casement? Doth it hint a tale
Of trouble, where some maiden mourner pale
Confides her sorrows to the secret night?
Or doth it speak of youth uprising bright
With glad alacrity ere morning break,
To chase a hope new-started; or—but lo !
The wan light creeps with stealthy motion slow
Across the chamber: shall we token take
From this, that o'er sick bed or mortal throe
Sad watch is kept?-Small answer can I make,
Nor more can of that dim-seen watcher know,
Than that some object, passion, throb, or ache,
Has kept some solitary heart awake.
397
I.
For me no roseate garlands twine,
But wear them, Dearest, in my stead;
Time has a whiter hand than thine,
And lays it on my head.
II.
Enough to know thy place on Earth
Is there where roses latest die;
To know the steps of youth and mirth
Are thine, that pass me by.
}
398
TO ROBERT SOUTHEY,
AFTER READING CERTAIN CRITICISMS ON HIS LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE.
FAREWELL, great heart! how great shall they
Who love true greatness truly know,
Though from thy grave the popinjay
Cry tear him' to the carrion crow.
Farewell, pure Spirit! o'er thy tomb,
Write canker'd critics what they please,
A temple rises, and the womb.
Of Time is big with devotees.
!
399
OLYMPIA MORATA.
WRITTEN AFTER VISITING HER GRAVE AT HEIDELBERG.
A TOMBSTONE in a foreign land cries out,
Oh Italy! against thee: She whose death
This stone commemorates with no common praise,
By birth was thine: but being vow'd to Truth,
The blood-stain'd hand that lurks beneath thine alb
Was raised to strike; and lest one crime the more
Should stand in thine account to heaven, she fled.
Then hither came she, young but erudite,
With ardour flush'd, but with old wisdom stored,
(Which spake no tongue she knew not) apt to learn
And eloquent to teach,-and welcomed here
Gave the brief beauty of her innocent life
An alien race to illustrate, and here
Dying in youth (the beauty of her death
Sealing her life's repute) her ashes gave
An honour to the land that honour'd her.
-Jerusalem! Jerusalem! which killest
The Prophets! if thy house be desolate,
Those temples too are desolate, and that land,
Where Truth's pure votaries may not leave their dust.
400
SONG.
THE bee to the heather,
The lark to the sky,
The roe to the greenwood,
And whither shall I ?
Oh, Alice! oh, Alice!
So sweet to the bee
Are the moorland and heather
By Cannock and Leigh!
Oh, Alice! oh, Alice!
O'er Teddesley Park
The sunny sky scatters
The notes of the lark!
Oh, Alice! oh, Alice!
In Beaudesert glade
The roes toss their antlers
For joy of the shade !—
But Alice, dear Alice!
Glade, moorland, nor sky,
Without you can content me,
And whither shall I?
401
HEROISM IN THE SHADE.
WRITTEN AFTER THE RETURN OF SIR H. POTTINGER FROM CHINA, IN 1845.
I.
THE Million smiles; the taverns ring with toasts;
A thousand journals teem with good report
And plauditory paragraph; with hosts
Of thankful deputations swarm the streets;
His native city of her hero boasts;
The minister who chose him, in the choice
Exults; and prompted to its part, the court
The echo of the country's praise repeats,
And by the popular pitchpipe tunes its voice.
II.
But where is he whose genius led the way
To all this triumph? Elliot, where is he?
-When first that Monster of the Eastern sea,
That hugest empire that for ages lay
Becalm'd beneath the sun, with strange see-saws
Convulsively unsheath'd its quivering claws,
'Twas he that watch'd its motions many a day,
D D
402
HEROISM IN THE SHADE.
Foreseeing and foretelling that the sleep
For those unnumber'd centuries so deep
Would pass; and when its rage and fear at length
Shook off the numbness from its labouring strength,
'Twas he whose skill and courage gagg'd its gaping jaws.
III.
Justice, Truth, Mercy,-these his weapons were;
And if the sword, 'twas wielded but to spare
Thro' timely terror worse event. With rare
And excellent contemperature he knew
How best on martial ardour to confer
The honours that are then alone its due
When patience, prudence, ruth are honour'd too.
When to relent he saw, and when to dare,
Sudden to strike, magnanimous to forbear!
Prone lay the second city of that land,
Third of the world, a suppliant at the feet
Of him whom erst she gloried to maltreat!
But then a great heart to itself was true-
On the rash soldier's bridle was the hand
Of Elliot laid, with calm but firm command.
IV.
M
Thou mighty city with thy million souls!
To England, thro' that rescue, art thou made
A treasure-house of tribute and of trade!
To England, whose street-statesmen, blind as moles,
Scribe-taught, and ravening like wolves for blood,
Spared not his wisdom's temperance to upbraid
Who thus thy ruin righteously withstood!
HEROISM IN THE SHADE,
403
Thou mighty city, for thy ruler's faults,
Not thine, how many an innocent had bled,
How many a wife and mother hung her head
In agony above thy funeral vaults,
What horrors had been thine, what shame were ours,
If he, by popular impulses betray'd,
Or of rash judgments selfishly afraid,
Had render'd up thy wealth and blood to feast
That hunger of the many-headed beast
Which its own seed-corn tramples and devours.
V.
But service such as his, to virtue vow'd,
Ne'er tax'd for noise the weasand of the crowd,
Most thankless in their ignorance and spleen,
His glory blossoms in the shade, unseen
Save by the few and wise; to them alone
His daring, prudence, fortitude are known.
-In the beginning had his portion been,
Even as a pilot's in a sea unplough'd
By cursive keel before, when winds pipe loud,.
And all is undiscover'd and untried,
13
To take the difficult soundings in the dark;
And then with tentative and wary course,
And changing oft with change of wind and tide,
The shoals to pass, evade the current's force,
And keep unhurt his unappointed bark ;-
A tentative and wary course to steer,
But ever with a gay and gallant cheer.
This task perform'd, when now the way was clear,
The armament provided, and the mark,
DD 2
404
HEROISM IN THE SHADE.
Though hard to be attained, was full in sight,
Upon his prosperous path there fell a blight,
Distrust arrested him in mid-career.
VI.
Another reap'd where he had sown: success,
Doubtless well-won, attended him to whom
The harvesting was given: his honours bloom
Brightly, and many a rapturous caress
The populace bestows-what could they less?
Far be from me malignly to assume
That popular praise, how oft soe'er it swerved
From a just mark, must needs be undeserved:
But knowing by whom the burthen and the heat
Was borne,—with what intrepid zeal, what skill,
Care, enterprise, and scope of politic thought,-
Thro' labours, dangers, obloquy, ill-will,
Battles, captivities, and shipwreck, still,
With means or wanting means, alert to meet
In all conjunctures all events,-if aught
Could make a wise man wonder at the ways
Of fortune, and the world's awards of praise,
'Twould be, whilst taverns ring and tankards foam
Healths to this hero of the harvest-home,
To think what welcome had been his whose toil
Had fell'd the forest and prepared the soil.
VII.
What makes a hero ?-Not success, not fame,
Inebriate merchants and the loud acclaim
HEROISM IN THE SHADE.
450
Of glutted avarice,-caps toss'd up in the air,
Or pen of journalist with flourish fair,
Bells peal'd, stars, ribands, and a titular name,
These, though his rightful tribute, he can spare ;
His rightful tribute, not his end or aim,
Or true reward; for never yet did these
Refresh the soul or set the heart at ease.
-What makes a hero? An heroic mind
Express'd in action, in endurance proved:
And if there be pre-eminence of right,
Derived thro' pain well suffer'd, to the height
Of rank heroic, 'tis to bear unmoved,
Not toil, not risk, not rage of sea or wind,
Not the brute fury of barbarians blind,
But worse, ingratitude and poisonous darts.
Launch'd by the country he had served and loved :
This with a free unclouded spirit pure,
This in the strength of silence to endure,
A dignity to noble deeds imparts
Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown :
This is the hero's complement and crown;
This miss'd, one struggle had been wanting still,
One glorious triumph of the heroic will,
One self-approval in his heart of hearts.
よ
​406
ST. HELEN'S-AUCKLAND.
I.
I WANDER O'er each well-known field
My boyhood's home in view,
And thoughts that were as fountains seal'd
Are welling forth anew.
II.
The ancient house, the aged trees,
They bring again to light
The years that like a summer's breeze
Were trackless in their flight.
III.
How much is changed of what I see,
How much more changed am I,
And yet how much is left-to me
How is the distant nigh!
IV.
The walks are overgrown and wild,
The terrace flags are green-
But I am once again a child,
I am what I have been.
K
ST. HELEN'S-AUCKLAND.
407
V.
The sounds that round about me rise
Are what none other hears;
I see what meets no other eyes,
Though mine are dim with tears.
VI.
The breaking of the summer's morn—
The tinge on house and tree-
The billowy clouds-the beauty born
Of that celestial sea,
VII.
The freshness of the faëry land
Lit by the golden gleam.
It is my youth that where I stand
Surrounds me like a dream.
VIII.
Alas the real never lent
Those tints, too bright to last;
They fade, and bid me rest content
And let the past be past.
IX.
The wave that dances to the breast
Of earth, can ne'er be stay'd;
The star that glitters in the crest
Of morning, needs must fade:
408
-
ST. HELEN'S-AUCKLAND,
X.
But there shall flow another tide,
So let me hope, and far
Over the outstretch'd waters wide
Shall shine another star.
XI.
In every change of Man's estate
Are lights and guides allow'd;
The fiery pillar will not wait,
But parting, sends the cloud.
XII.
Nor mourn I the less manly part
Of life to leave behind;
My loss is but the lighter heart,
My gain the graver mind.
409
ERNESTO.
THOUGHTFULLY by the side Ernesto sate
Of her whom, in his earlier youth, with heart
Then first exulting in a dangerous hope,
Dearer for danger, he had rashly loved.
That was a season when the untravell'd spirit,
Not way-worn nor way-wearied, nor with soil
Nor stain upon it, lions in its path
Saw none,
-or seeing, with triumphant trust
In its resources and its powers, defied,-
Perverse to find provocatives in warnings.
And in disturbance taking deep delight.
By sea or land he then saw rise the storm
With a gay courage, and through broken lights,
Tempestuously exalted, for awhile
His heart ran mountains high, or to the roar
Of shatter'd forests sang superior songs
With kindling, and what might have seem'd to some,
Auspicious energy;-by land and sea
He was way-founder'd-trampled in the dust
His many-colour'd hopes-his lading rich
Of precious pictures, bright imaginations,
410
ERNESTO.
In absolute shipwreck to the winds and waves
Suddenly render'd.
By her side he sate:
But time had been between and wov'n a veil
Of seven years' separation, and the past
Was seen with soften'd outlines, like the face
Of nature through a mist. What was so seen?
In a short hour, there sitting with his eyes
Fix'd on her face, observant though abstracted,
Lost partly in the past, but mixing still
With his remembrances the life before him,
He traced it all—the pleasant first accost,
Agreeable acquaintance, growing friendship,
Love, passion at the culminating point
When in a sleeping body through the night
The heart would lie awake, reverses next
Gnawing the mind with doubtfulness, and last
The affectionate bitterness of love refused.
Rash had he been by choice-by wanton choice
Deliberately rash; but in the soil
Where grows the bane, grows too the antidote ;
The same young-heartedness which knew not fear
Renounced despondency, and brought at need
With its results, resources. In his day
Of utter condemnation there remain'd
Appeal to that imaginative power
Which can commute a sentence of sore pain
For one of softer sadness, which can bathe
The broken spirit in the balm of tears.
And more and better to after days; for soon
Upsprang the mind within him and he knew
The affluence and the growth which nature yields
ERNESTO.
411
After an overflow of loving grief.
Hence did he deem that he could freely draw
A natural indemnity. The tree
Sucks kindlier nurture from a soil enrich'd
By its own fallen leaves; and man is made
In heart and spirit from deciduous hopes
And things that seem to perish. Thro' the stress
And fever of his suit, from first to last,
His pride (to call it by no nobler name)
Had been to love with reason and with truth,
To carry clear thro' many a turbulent trial
A perspicacious judgment and true tongue,
And neither with fair word nor partial thought
To flatter whom he loved. If pride it was
To love and not to flatter, by a breath
Of purer aspiration was he moved
To suffer and not blame, grieve, not resent,
And when all hopes that needs must knit with self
Their object, were irrevocably gone,
Cherish a mild commemorative love,
Such as a mourner might unblamed bestow
On a departed spirit.
Once again
He sate beside her-for the last time now.
And scarcely was she alter'd; for the hours
Had led her lightly down the vale of life,
Dancing and scattering roses, and her face
Seem'd a perpetual daybreak, and the woods
Where'er she rambled, echoed through their aisles
The music of a laugh so softly gay
That spring with all her songsters and her songs
Knew nothing like it. But how changed was he!
412
ERNESTO.
Care and disease and ardours unrepress'd,
And labours unremitted, and much grief,
Had written their death-warrant on his brow.
Of this she saw not all-she saw but little--
That which she could not choose but see she saw-
And o'er her sunlit dimples and her smiles
A shadow fell-a transitory shade-
And when the phantom of a hand she clasped.
At parting, scarce responded to her touch,
She sigh'd-but hoped the best.
When winter came
She sigh'd again; for with it came the word
That trouble and love had found their place of rest
And slept beneath Madeira's orange groves.
11
413
ODE.
I.
TIME was, Virginia, when the poem made
By passionate Nature in creating you
Like to a minister of flame had play'd
Around my path and wheresoe'er I stray'd
Had open'd to my view
The earth in robes of purple light array'd
And gemm'd with morning dew.
II.
Those times return not-let them not return-
But let me not forget that once they were.
Far be from me that Fancy's age should err
In quest of guerdons youth can only earn;
But must I therefore cease to yearn
After the mood when evening notes prolong
Some distant echoes of the matin song?
O Nature! sedulous to read
Thy lore, shall I thy sway dispute?
No, let my Being still proceed
Involving all, seed, flower and fruit,
414
ODE.
The current still recur-
No, let me still hold fast
Treasures of old amass'd,
And in Imagination's votive urn
Let me, with rites more sad than stern,
Deposit only, not inter,
The ashes of the good and beautiful Past.
III.
Strong are the hours and days;
Youth's mortal part decays;
But there are powers on earth more strong than Time.
Give me your hand, Virginia; we will go
To where the old streams carol as they flow
(Whilst the late-blown blossoms bend
To list the strain that ne'er shall end)
Telling of many a charm and many a rhyme
Born ere your birth, when I was in my prime.
IV.
The Morning Stars together sang,
With chaunted loves the woodlands rang,
When, in the glorious solitude of dawn,
I walk'd, and made the earth that I beheld:
Whether by native power impell'd
From inward germ the brain-creation sprang,
Or by constructive force was deftly drawn
From flower-crown'd ruins of poetic Eld;
Whether to secret wood-embosom'd lawn
I summon'd Satyr, Nymph, and Faun,
Or call'd up shapes divine
Seen of no eye but mine
}
ODE.
415
(Though to some shape of this Earth's brood
Bearing belike a sweet similitude,)
Or saw thro' rocky rift of mountain range
Far off a blue and sunny sea
And full in sail a carrack bound to me,
Charged with a freight of something rich and strange,
Words, spells, and witcheries, with power endued
To build me up a name
Of perdurable fame,
Which should not suffer wrong by death or change.
V.
Gone-gone, Virginia, are both dawn and noon.:
Yet fled they not too swiftly nor too soon.
Much they found of what they sought;
Much they left of what they brought;
God speed them! for in yonder evening sky
As bright a vision meets as charm'd an eye.
I see again in heaven's own texture wrought
The sea of sunniest blue,
The carrack full in view,
The mountain range, the rocky rift,
Ethereal lawns of softest green
Sequester'd and serene,
And woods where Fauns and Satyrs lift
Their shaggy long-ear'd heads the boughs between.
And not in colour'd clouds descried,
But here in substance verified,
Shines forth a living mind in such a mien
416
ODE.
As Fancy may have sometimes seen
When wandering in her youth thro' kingdoms wide
She dream'd a dream of Faery Land and sigh'd
After the Faery Queen.
VI.
Farewell! The mood is past: Fair friend, adieu !
The mood is past-but I have owed to you
A flash of light that in the abyss profound
Show'd me forgotten forms. They sleep-they sleep-
But not in death. Deep calleth unto Deep.
Farewell! a blessing treads upon the ground
You tread-your very breath a blessing breathes-
And in the regions where the lost is found
My youth and yours shall meet: That forecast sheathes
A sharp regret, and stills an idle sound.
1
NOTES.
Page 379, stanza i.
"Wove the brief chaplet of that perishing lay:"
SEE the foregoing poem.
Page 381, stanza vii.
"No lesser light
Than what was lit in Sydney's spirit clear,
Or given to saintly Herbert's to diffuse,
Now lives in thine, De Vere.”
As there are two poets of this name, it may be proper to
mention that these lines have reference to Aubrey De Vere,
Author of "The Waldenses and other Poems," and of "The
Search after Proserpine." Of the two stanzas at p. 397, the
former is by him.
Page 399.
"Olympia Morata."
The inscription on her tomb at Heidelberg is as follows:-
DEO IMM:S
Et virtuti ac memoriae Olümpiae Moratae Fuluij
Morati Ferrariensis philosophi filiae, Andreae Grütle
-ri Medicj cōjugis, lectiffiae feminae cui ingeniū ac fin
-gularis utriusq: liguae cognitio, in morib' aŭtē probitas
ſumumq: pietatis ftudiù: supra comunem modum ſēper
eriſtimata sunt. Quod de ejus vita hominū judicium
beata mors, fanctiſſime ac pacatissime ab ea obita, di
-uino quoq: confirmadit teſtimonio :
Obijt mutato solo A. falut. d. I. v. sup milles : b : aetat. xxix.
hic cũ; marito et Æmilio frè ſepulta: Gulielm. Raſealo
nus M. d.
B.B.MM.P.P.
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