ACT I—SCENE I.
Enter Conon, Aurelius, Albanact.
Con. Then this is the deciding day, to fix
Great Britain's sceptre in great Arthur's hand.
Aur. Or put it in the bold invader's gripe.
Arthur and Oswald, and their different fates,
Are weighing now within the scales of Heaven.
Con. In ten set battles have we driven back
These heathen Saxons, and regained our earth.
As earth recovers from an ebbing tide
Her half-drowned face, and lifts it o'er the waves,
From Severn's bank, even to this barren down,
Our foremost men have pressed their fainty rear,
And not one Saxon face has been beheld;
But all their backs and shoulders have been stuck
With foul dishonest wounds; now here, indeed,
Because they have no farther ground, they stand.
Aur. Well have we chose a happy day for fight;
For every man, in course of time, has found
Some days are lucky, some unfortunate.
Alb. But why this day more lucky than the rest?
Con. Because this day
Is sacred to the patron of our isle;
A christian and a soldier's annual feast.
Alb. Oh, now I understand you. This is St George of Cappadocia's day. Well, it may be so, but faith I was ignorant. We soldiers seldom examine the rubrick, and now and then a saint may happen to slip by us; but, if he be a gentleman saint, he will forgive us.
Con. Oswald undoubtedly will fight it bravely.
Aur. And it behoves him well, 'tis his last stake. But what manner of man is this Oswald? Have you ever seen him? [To Albanact.
Alb. Never but once; and that was to my cost too. I followed him too close, and, to say the truth, somewhat uncivilly, upon a rout; but he turned upon me, as quick and as round as a chafed boar, and gave me two licks a-cross the face, to put me in mind of my Christianity.
Con. I know him well; he's free and open-hearted.
Aur. His country's character: that speaks a German.
Con. Revengeful, rugged, violently brave;
And, once resolved, is never to be moved.
Alb. Yes, he's a valiant dog, pox on him!
Con. This was the character he then maintained,
When in my court he sought my daughter's love,
My fair, blind Emmeline.
Alb. I cannot blame him for courting the heiress of Cornwall. All heiresses are beautiful; and, as blind as she is, he would have had no blind bargain of her.
Aur. For that defeat in love, he raised this war;
For royal Arthur reigned within her heart,
Ere Oswald moved his suit.
Con. Ay, now, Aurelius, you have named a man;
One, whom, besides the homage that I owe,
As Cornwall's duke, to his imperial crown,
I would have chosen out, from all mankind,
To be my sovereign lord.
Aur. His worth divides him from the crowd of kings;
So born, without desert to be so born;
Men, set aloft to be the scourge of heaven,
And, with long arms, to lash the under-world.
Con. Arthur is all that's excellent in Oswald,
And void of all his faults. In battle brave,
But still serene in all the stormy war,
Like heaven above the clouds; and after fight,
As merciful and kind to vanquished foes,
As a forgiving God. But see, he's here,
And praise is dumb before him.
Enter King Arthur, reading a letter, with Attendants.
Arth. [Reading.] "Go on, auspicious prince, the stars are kind:
Unfold thy banners to the willing wind;
While I, with airy legions, help thy arms;
Confronting art with art, and charms with charms."
So Merlin writes; nor can we doubt the event, [To Conon.
With Heaven and you to friends. Oh noble Conon,
You taught my tender hands the trade of war;
And now again you helm your hoary head,
And, under double weight of age and arms,
Assert your country's freedom and my crown.
Con. No more, my son.
Arth. Most happy in that name!
Your Emmeline, to Oswald's vows refused,
You made my plighted bride:
Your charming daughter, who, like Love, born blind,
Unaiming hits, with surest archery,
And innocently kills.
Con. Remember, son,
You are a general; other wars require you,
For, see, the Saxon gross begins to move.
Arth. Their infantry embattled, square and close,
March firmly on, to fill the middle space,
Covered by their advancing cavalry.
By Heaven, 'tis beauteous horror:
The noble Oswald has provoked my envy.—
Enter Emmeline, led by Matilda.
Ha! now my beauteous Emmeline appears,
A new, but oh, a softer flame inspires me:
Even rage and vengeance slumber at her sight.
Con. Haste your farewell; I'll cheer my troops, and wait ye. [Exit Conon.
Em. O father, father, I am sure you're here;
Because I see your voice.
Arth. No, thou mistak'st thy hearing for thy sight:
He's gone, my Emmeline;
And I but stay to gaze on those fair eyes,
Which cannot view the conquest they have made.
Oh star-like night, dark only to thyself,
But full of glory, as those lamps of heaven,
That see not, when they shine!
Em. What is this heaven, and stars, and night, and day,
To which you thus compare my eyes and me?
I understand you, when you say you love:
For, when my father clasps my hand in his,
That's cold, and I can feel it hard and wrinkled;
But when you grasp it, then I sigh and pant,
And something smarts and tickles at my heart.
Arth. Oh artless love, where the soul moves the tongue,
And only nature speaks what nature thinks!—
Had she but eyes!
Em. Just now you said, I had:
I see them, I have two.
Arth. But neither see.
Em. I'm sure they hear you then:
What can your eyes do more?
Arth. They view your beauties.
Em. Do not I see? You have a face like mine,
Two hands, and two round, pretty, rising breasts,
That heave like mine.
Arth. But you describe a woman;
Nor is it sight, but touching with your hands.
Em. Then 'tis my hand that sees, and that's all one;
For is not seeing, touching with your eyes?
Arth. No; for I see at distance, where I touch not.
Em. If you can see so far, and yet not touch,
I fear you see my naked legs and feet
Quite through my clothes. Pray do not see so well.
Arth. Fear not, sweet innocence;
I view the lovely features of your face,
Your lips carnation, your dark-shaded eye-brows,
Black eyes, and snow-white forehead; all the colours
That make your beauty, and produce my love.
Em. Nay, then, you do not love on equal terms;
I love you dearly, without all these helps:
I cannot see your lips carnation,
Your shaded eye-brows, nor your milk-white eyes.
Arth. You still mistake.
Em. Indeed I thought you had a nose and eyes,
And such a face as mine: have not men faces?
Arth. Oh, none like yours, so excellently fair.
Em. Then would I had no face; for I would be
Just such a one as you.
Arth. Alas, 'tis vain to instruct your innocence;
You have no notion of light or colours. [Trumpet sounds within.
Em. Why, is not that a trumpet?
Arth. Yes.
Em. I knew it,
And I can tell you how the sound on't looks;
It looks as if it had an angry fighting face.[19]
Arth. 'Tis now indeed a sharp unpleasant sound,
Because it calls me hence from her I love,
To meet ten thousand foes.
Em. How do so many men e'er come to meet?
This devil trumpet vexes them, and then
They feel about for one another's faces;
And so they meet, and kill.
Arth. I'll tell you all, when we have gained the field.
One kiss of your fair hand, the pledge of conquest,
And so a short farewell.
[Kisses her Hand, and Exit with Aurelius, Albanact, and Attendants.
Em. My heart and vows go with him to the fight.
May every foe be that which they call blind,
And none of all their swords have eyes to find him!—
But lead me nearer to the trumpet's face;
For that brave sound upholds my fainting heart;
And, while I hear, methinks I fight my part.
[Exit, led by Matilda.
SCENE II.—
A Place of Heathen Worship. The Three Saxon Gods, Woden, Thor, and Freya, placed on Pedestals. An Altar.
Enter Oswald and Osmond.
Osm. 'Tis time to hasten our mysterious rites,
Because your army waits you.
Osw. Thor, Freya, Woden, all ye Saxon powers,
[Making three Bows before the three Images.
Hear and revenge my father Hengist's death!
Osm. Father of gods and men, great Woden, hear!
Mount thy hot courser, drive amidst thy foes,
Lift high thy thundering arm, let every blow
Dash out a misbelieving Briton's brains!
Osw. Father of gods and men, great Woden, hear!
Give conquest to thy Saxon race, and me!
Osm. Thor, Freya, Woden, hear, and spell your Saxons,
With sacred Runick rhymes, from death in battle;
Edge their bright swords, and blunt the Britons' darts!—[20]
No more, great prince; for see my trusty fiend,
Who all the night has winged the dusky air.—
Grinbald, a fierce earthy Spirit, arises.
What news, my Grimbald?
Grim. I have played my part;
For I have steeled the fools that are to die,—
Six fools, so prodigal of life and soul,
That, for their country, they devote their lives
A sacrifice to mother Earth, and Woden.
Osm. 'Tis well; but are we sure of victory?
Grim. Why askest thou me?
Inspect their entrails, draw from thence thy guess:
Blood we must have, without it we are dumb.
Osm. Say, where's thy fellow-servant, Philidel?
Why comes not he?
Grim. For he's a puling spirit.
Why didst thou chuse a tender airy form,
Unequal to the mighty work of mischief?
His make is flitting, soft, and yielding atoms;
He trembles at the yawning gulph of hell,
Nor dares approach the flame, lest he should singe
His gaudy silken wings:
He sighs when he should plunge a soul in sulphur,
As with compassion touched of foolish men.
Osm. What a half-devil is he!
His errand was to draw the lowland damps,
And noisome vapours, from the foggy fens;
Then breathe the baleful stench, with all his force,
Full on the faces of our christened foes.
Grim. Accordingly he drained those marshy grounds,
And bagged them in a blue pestiferous cloud;
Which when he should have blown, the frighted elf
Espied the red-cross banners of their host,
And said, he durst not add to his damnation.
Osm. I'll punish him at leisure.
Call in the victims, to propitiate hell.
Grim. That's my kind master: I shall breakfast on them.
Grimbald goes to the Door, and re-enters with six Saxons in White, with Swords in their Hands. They range themselves, three and three, in opposition to each other. The rest of the Stage is filled with Priests and Singers.
ODE.
Woden, first to thee,
A milk-white steed, in battle won,
We have sacrificed.
Chor. We have sacrificed.
Vers. Let our next oblation be
To Thor, thy thundering son,
Of such another.
Chor. We have sacrificed.
Vers. A third, of Friesland's breed was he,
To Woden's wife, and to Thor's mother;
And now we have atoned all three,
We have sacrificed.
Chor. We have sacrificed.
2 Voc. The white horse neighed aloud.
To Woden thanks we render;
To Woden we have vowed;
Chor. To Woden, our defender.
[The four last lines in chorus.
Vers. The lot is cast, and Tanfan pleased;
Chor. Of mortal cares you shall be eased,
Brave souls, to be renowned in story.
Honour prizing,
Death despising,
Fame acquiring,
By expiring;
Die, and reap the fruit of glory,
Brave souls, to be renowned in story.
Vers. 2. I call ye all
To Woden's hall;
Your temples round,
With ivy bound,
In goblets crowned,
And plenteous bowls of burnished gold;
Where you shall laugh,
And dance, and quaff
The juice, that makes the Britons bold.[21]
[The six Saxons are led off by the Priests, in order to be sacrificed.
Osw. Ambitious fools we are,
And yet ambition is a godlike fault;
Or rather 'tis no fault in souls born great,
Who dare extend their glory by their deeds.—
Now, Britany, prepare to change thy state,
And from this day begin thy Saxon date. [Exeunt.
A Battle supposed to be given behind the Scenes, with Drums, Trumpets, and Military Shouts and Excursions; after which, the Britons, expressing their joy for the Victory, sing this Song of triumph.
Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound;
Come, if you dare, the foes rebound:
We come, we come, we come, we come,
Says the double, double, double beat of the thundering drum.
Now they charge on amain,
Now they rally again:
The gods from above the mad labour behold,
And pity mankind, that will perish for gold.
The fainting Saxons quit their ground,
Their trumpets languish in the sound:
They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly;
Victoria, Victoria, the bold Britons cry.
Now the victory's won,
To the plunder we run:
We return to our lasses like fortunate traders,
Triumphant with spoils of the vanquished invaders. [Exeunt.