Editha. A tragedy: By Hugh Downman, M.D.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- [dedication]

- PROLOGUE.

- DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

- ACT I.

- SCENE I. A CAMP. At some distance the CASTLE, and CITY of EXETER.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- ACT II.

- SCENE I. VOLNIR's Tent. VOLNIR and his CAPTAINS.

- SCENE II. RODOLPH's Tent.

- SCENE III. The CITY.

- ACT III.

- SCENE I. The CAMP. VOLNIR's Tent.

- SCENE II. The CITY.

- SCENE III. The CAMP. VOLNIR's Tent.

- ACT IV.

- SCENE I. The Tent of EDITHA.

- SCENE II. RODOLPH's Tent.

- ACT V.

- SCENE I. Before the Tent of EDITHA.

- EPILOGUE.

EDITHA. A TRAGEDY.

FINIS.

EDITHA. A TRAGEDY.

BY HUGH DOWN MAN, M.D.

EXETER: Printed by E. GRIGG, and Sold by G. KEARSLEY, FLEET-STREET; P. ELMSLEY, STRAND; G. WILKIE, ST. PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD, LONDON; and W. GRIGG, EXETER. M,DCC,LXXXIV. Price ONE SHILLING and SIXPENCE.

TO THE INHABITANTS OF EXETER NEIGHBOURHOOD, THIS TRAGEDY IS INSCRIBED, BY THEIR HUMBLE SERVANT, THE AUTHOR.

PROLOGUE.

WHEREE'ER Mankind to sacred freedom just,

Have soar'd above the groveling Sons of dust,

Wheree'er the Arts their fragrant wreathes have wove,

Wheree'er the virtues leagued with Patriot love,

And bright-eyed Science shed her heavenly dews,

There public taste hath nursed the Tragic Muse.

And Reason to her generous care consign'd,

The noblest, best emotions of the mind.

'Tis her's where human institutes are weak,

With firm, unbiast emphasis to speak.

With genuine nature link persuasive art,

And bind in magic ties the willing heart.

She gives to view the Tyrant's naked breast,

What guilt disturbs him, and what fears insest.

She with abhorrence marks the Traitor's name,

And cloaths Ambition in the robes of Shame.

Depresses Cruelty; and rears on high

The standard of Imperial liberty.

Is Innocence by rigour stern subdued?

She steels her soul with conscious fortitude.

Bids her above this fordid earth to rise,

And claim alliance with her native skies.

Who then, by partial error led astray,

With hasty censure brands the Tragic lay?

The glorious strains which polish'd Athens taught,

Refining and exalting human thought?

When Sages praised the Poet's moral pen?

And listening Heroes felt that they were Men?

What true desert is their's, at Virtue's call,

Who make th' obedient passions rise or fall!

Who in her Temple bid Mankind appear,

Breathe the warm sigh, and drop the hallow'd tear!

For when by idcot laughter unpossest,

She, gentle Goddess, seeks the soften'd breast.

From grief itself a nameless pleasure flows,

And pity loves to melt at fancied woes.

Not through Antiquity's obscurer ways,

To climes remote our British Author strays,

Not from th' Italian, or the French translates,

Alters old plots, or even imitates.

From your own Annals he his story draws,

Tradition long hath crown'd it with applause.

When the fierce Danes their barbarous inroads plann'd,

And pour'd destruction o'er each harrast land.

When they besieged these Walls, and hoped to win,

Nor knew superior valour dwelt within:

Till the bold Citizens assail'd their Host,

And drove th' insulting Miscreants from their Coast,

Thus, for their Country, dared your Sires to bleed;

Nor have their Sons disgraced the gallant deed.

Courageous now, as when they quell'd the Dane,

Still faithful, loyal, generous, and humane.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

- VOLNIR.

- EDRERED.

- RODOLPH.

- ALBERT.

- OSWY.

- BRITHRIC, or SIGEBERT.

- CITIZENS, DANISH CAPTAINS, &c.

- GUNHILDA.

- EDITHA.

SCENE. EXETER, and the adjacent Country.

ACT I.

SCENE I. A CAMP. At some distance the CASTLE, and CITY of EXETER.

VOLNIR. BRITHRIC.

VOLNIR.

SHALL not this City fall beneath my power?

What magic buckler guards it? To my arms,

The puny Offspring of this sea-girt land

Have yielded wheresoe'er I fought. My ships

Beneath their treasures bend. The ravaged coast,

Hence, to the farthest Orcades, laments

Her slaughter'd Chiefs, and desolated towns.

What say'st thou Englishman! Our first assault

Hath proved in vain, will they withstand another?

BRITHRIC.

No doubt they will. In native courage bold,

The warlike Sons of Isca ne'er will droop

By sudden fear o'ercome. To conquer them,

Patience, with ardent valour must be joined,

Nor will they yield, till closed within the net

Of extreme fate, and dire necessity.

VOLNIR.

How dost thou know their character so well?

I thought thou told'st me, thou wert born far off,

Upon the banks of Trent?

BRITHRIC.

I told thee true.

But who, within these confines, is a stranger

To the Damnonian fame? Their worth in arms

Even their foes confess. Before these walls

For two long tedious months did Sweno mourn,

Illustrious Monarch, and with shame and rage

Beheld his blasted laurels. Nor at length,

But by a Norman traitor gain'd the place,

Ignobly gain'd it. Why, O ill-advised,

Would'st thou sit down before it?

VOLNIR.

Brithric, hold!

No more with thy ill-omen'd notes presume

T' infest my ear. Hast thou forgot, old man,

When first I saw thee in thy boarded ship,

The sad survivor of thy vanquish'd crew,

Cover'd with wounds? When I preserv'd thy life,

And made my foe my friend? For Volnir ne'er

After the rage of fight, could plunge his sword

In the unguarded bosom of the brave.

BRITHRIC.

No Volnir, I can ne'er forget that day.

VOLNIR.

Thou hast forgot it; else why interpose

These frigid cautions? Hast thou e'er with arm

Or counsels, aided me, since first I urg'd

The tide of war against the Anglian shore?

Now, by my sword I swear, when I have gain'd

Some glorious victory, these eyes have seen

Thy cheek bedew'd with tears.

BRITHRIC.

And say, could'st thou

View Ruin with gigantic stride, pass o'er

Thy Denmark's breast unmov'd? No, surely no

In other realms thou hast not seen these feet

Behind thee linger; my victorious arm

Gothland hath witness'd, and the Frank, the Scot

Oft fled before the lightning of my spear.

These were my enemies as well as thine.

But can a private tye, e'en gratitude

Strongest of all, make me forget the love

I owe my country? Perish then this arm!

May these white locks unseemly strew the dust!

When my advice shall prompt, or hands dare execu•…

A guilty deed against my native soil!

VOLNIR.

Why hath thy native soil ne'er paid thy ransom?

For well I know, thou art not of the race

Of common men.

BRITHRIC.

Why ask of me a question

Thou best can'st answer? Would'st thou have permitted

A messenger from me to seek my friends,

Long, long e'er now my ransom had been paid.

Thou know'st, tho' pleased, the more enlighten'd manners,

And customs of well-regulated States

By my instructions taught, t' exalt me high

Amid thy Warriors, Conqueror as thou art,

Thou know'st I have not willingly forsaken

Those I held dear. I left my soul's best portion,

A valued Wife; a young and growing Daughter,

An infant Son I left. Could I forget

In splendid slavery these tender names?

For life I am thy Debtor, and have serv'd

In other wars most faithfully. But still

Affection wrings my heart, and liberty

Is unpossess'd, tho' I without a boast

Might claim it as my due.

VOLNIR.

Go, join the foe.

Hence murmurer to the city, and betray

Me, and my army.

BRITHRIC.

Volnir no, I scorn

The paths of baseness. Prisoner, to thee,

Unransom'd never will I quit thy camp.

SCENE II.

Enter RODOLPH, with EDITHA, and other PRISONERS.

VOLNIR.

Welcome brave Rodolph! Hast thou well explor'd

The country toward the North?

RODOLPH.

I have. No foe

Dares stand against us, terror-struck they fly,

And leave to us their numerous herds and flocks.

I traced yon winding stream for many a mile,

Through it's luxuriant vale, fit haunt for Gods.

Unlike our blasted heaths, here Plenty dwells,

Clad in her richest robes. Could we possess

The City, with this scene before our view,

Here might we fix our home, and each nerve strung

With double vigour, brave the utmost force

Of the whole adverse Isle. A region this,

Worthy of none but Denmark's valiant race.

Bear off these Prisoners. To my Tent conduct

This trembling fair One. Fear not, gentle Damsel,

Rodolph is thy Protector.

VOLNIR.

Stay awhile.

Whence is that beauteous Maid?

RODOLPH.

A votaress She.

Immur'd within a neighbouring abbeys walls.

We burst the gate, and took her thence by force.

VOLNIR.

Enough. Retire. (Exeunt Editha, &c. Rodolph, it ill becomes

A soldier in the clamorous field of war

To sigh at Beauty's feet. 'Tis our's to teach

The eager sword to bite the crested helm:

To call the hawks of Heaven, and bid them mark

The joys of fight; to drench the ground in blood.

Nor, 'till return'd from war, to take the Maid,

Or blooming Widow to our wish'd embrace.

RODOLPH.

Fear not my Chief; guarded with sacred care

She dwells secure, 'till placed within my ship,

A matchless prize.

VOLNIR.

So shall thy Chief applaud thee

Now hear what we have purposed. Be it thine

To head a daring Band by me selected,

And when the moon dips in the cave of night

Her silver brow, to scale with silent step

Yon castle walls; myself will on the city

Pour my whole force, and with incessant storm

Facilitate thy enterprize.

RODOLPH.

My thoughts

Accord with thine. Plan thou each arduous deed:

And let this heart the bold designs fulfill.

(Exit.

SCENE III.

VOLNIR. BRITHRIC.

VOLNIR.

Mark'd you the Virgin?

BRITHRIC.

I observed her well.

Her modesty, her air above the vulgar,

Her unaffected, silent look of woe,

With strange emotions fill'd my heart. I pity her.

VOLNIR.

Her fate is to be envied. Rodolph's valour

Deserves the fairest. Where can beauty feel

True pleasure, but when clasp'd in the embrace

Of the intrepid warrior?

BRITHRIC.

Tender mourner!

Who knows her grief! Her sad anxiety!

Torn from her Friends! Perhaps an aged Father

Now beats his breast, and curses in despair,

The cruel hand of Fate. A frantic Mother

Perhaps now breathes her last, in anguish wild,

Calling in vain upon her much-loved Daughter.

VOLNIR.

I blush to hear this weakness; glad am I

None of my noble Danes are witnesses

To this thy folly; but if thou regard'st

My anger, dare not with inglorious wailings

Disgrace my camp. War is no school of pity.

Nor would I, that the spirits of my followers,

Rough and invincible, be e'er degraded

To the soft failings of the silken Crew,

O'er whom they triumph. Why is strength imparted,

Why the heroic soul, but from the base

Unmanly grasp of cowards, those possessions

They merit not to wrest? Riches and beauty,

The harvest of their labours?

BRITHRIC.

Is it then

Denied to feel for the afflicted?

VOLNIR.

No;

But rule thy feelings; like a man, support

Thy nature's frailty; feed on grief in secret.

(Exit.)

BRITHRIC.

O curse! to bear a mind whence sweet humanity

By barbarous custom is exiled! To know

No virtue, but ferocious brutal courage!

Yet is this Chief superior to his race;

And education which hath steel'd his soul

To gentle pity, hath not quite erased

The native sense of rectitude. He spared

My life; and loved a valour like his own.—

The thoughts of this poor Virgin still distress me,

Such is my Daughter's age.—But she's far distant.

It cannot be.—And yet her Mother's features

Rose to my mind.—'Tis but the sport of fancy.—

Oh! could I but once more behold my Children,

I then could die in peace.—But who can tell

Whether some other band of these invaders

May not have slain, or hurried them away

To sad captivity? Perhaps I mourn

The absence of the dead; or dead to me,

Who never must behold them; doom'd to waste

My days in misery, and die a slave.

Enter RODOLPH.

BRITHRIC.

Hast thou so soon left thy fair Prisoner?

RODOLPH.

New to misfortune is the Maid; her sorrow

Resists all arguments; persuasion fails;

Nor will she hear a word of soothing comfort.

She will be calm anon. These warmer passions

Soonest abate. Yet, 'twas a scene of terror

From whence I snatch'd her; for the foolish crew

Their gates had barricadoed, which provoked

My gallant band to deeds of vengeance. All

But she, and one, whom at a postern door

A youth bore off upon his rapid steed,

Fell victims to the keen relentless sword.

BRITHRIC.

Whence were the other Captives?

RODOLPH.

They were taken

From neighbouring villages, the soldier's plunder,

To them by lot distributed.

BRITHRIC.

Would'st thou,

Should I request it, suffer me to visit

This Captive in thy Tent?

RODOLPH.

Hah! dost thou know

What 'tis thou ask'st?

BRITHRIC.

I do. Thou would'st be willing

To dry her tears?

RODOLPH.

I would.

BRITHRIC.

'Tis for that purpose

I ask an interview. I am her Countryman,

And should I to her ear unfold thy worth,

Thy excellence above the other Chiefs;

Make her of that good fortune sensible,

Which, 'mid her depth of woe, to thy possession

Devoted her; may not her mind be moved,

Sooth'd by the cheering speech of honest age,

And cast anxiety aside?

RODOLPH.

I'll trust thee.

Thy snowy head proclaims, that in thy breast

The flame of warm desire's long since extinct.

Go Brithric. I would bend her to my wishes,

But not reluctantly. The sickly appetite

Of impotence may provocation need

In cold resistance, but my glowing soul

Seeks equal passion, and the yielding fair

To bless, must covet blessing.—Hence, away!

I wait on Volnir; He hath now demanded

Once more a parley; and the haughty Albert,

Exonia's Praefect, to our Camp draws nigh.

(Exit.)

BRITHRIC.

Protect these towers, kind Heaven! Tho' for the sins

Of guilty nations, for a time these robbers

Bear thy vindictive scourge; yet, teach mankind

At length, that sacrilege and cruelty

Will draw the terrors of thy justice down!

That Mercy is thy darling attribute,

And thy arm bared to punish, not destroy!

ACT II.

SCENE I. VOLNIR's Tent. VOLNIR and his CAPTAINS.

VOLNIR.

Once more my noble friends, who chose me willingly

Your leader in this war, I mean to try,

Whether by mild persuasion, or by threats,

This Albert may be shaken. For tho' frankly

You rush amid the tempest of the fight,

To you not dreadful, and pour forth your blood,

As well becomes the brave; yet do ye know

To relish life, and all its genuine pleasures.

For this we leave our barren rocks, to tear

From the luxurious arms of battening sloth,

Its wealth superfluous, and its gorgeous robes,

Rich gems, and spur to every great design

The love-exciting Fair. Nor would I rashly,

When dire necessity impels not, urge

Your feet to dangers fatal paths.—Should Albert,

Depending on its strength, refuse to yield

This well-girt city, He, like other Foes,

May buy our absence dearly, and bring forth

The boarded gold and precious moveables,

Which the affrighted Citizens shall give

With pleasure; while we seek our native land,

With ships full-fraught, bearing a treasure thither,

Greater than Denmark ever saw before.

CAPTAIN.

Conscious of thy superiour worth, we trust

To thee our interest; in the sanguine field,

Or mazy treaty, stedfast to pursue

The path where Volnir, or where Wisdom leads.

Enter RODOLPH, with ALBERT.

RODOLPH.

The Praefect Albert.

VOLNIR.

He does well t' obey

Our summons.—Albert welcome.

ALBERT.

Think not Dane,

Tho' proud thy speech, that Albert's acts are govern'd

But by his own free will. 'Tis true I come,

And by thy message prompted; but expecting

No lordly looks to see, to hear no terms

Of insult from a foe we need not dread.

Our bulwarks laugh to scorn thy utmost force,

Guarded by men, prepared as thou hast found,

Buried beneath their ruins to expire,

E'er stain their souls with infamy. I come,

Urged by an impulse to thy breast unknown,

That of humanity. To bid thee fly,

For vengeance is at hand; to bid thee spare

The streams of blood, which fate prepares to pour

Over these verdant fields. For tho' revenge

Inspires, tho' to the ravages of war

You join fell cruelty, tho' smoaking villages,

Women and children murder'd, well might steel

To dire retaliation all our hearts;

Yet, dear is every Citizen to me;

These eyes have seen enough of death already.

This hour is thine, retire: the next is our's:

And thy retreat cut off, one general ruin

Involves you all.

VOLNIR.

Albert, I love thy boldness.

A foe thou art, worthy a son of Denmark

To cope withal. But hast thou mark'd our camp?

And warlike preparation? Think not vainly

Thou can'st escape destruction. Flush'd with conquest

In every country from the frozen sea

To this delightful region, nought avails

Thy bravery against us. Yonder walls

Already totter to their deep-set base.

Consult then this humanity of thine,

Open the gates; so shalt thou save the lives

Of thy devoted Citizens, and taste

Our amplest clemency.

ALBERT.

Whence hast thou gain'd

This confidence, audacious man? Because

So spiritless was our defence, when lately

We beat thee from our ramparts? When thy bravest

Fell at our feet in death? And the remainder

To their intrenchments fled? Can this have taught thee

To boast? To threaten?—By th' Inhabitants

Of this one town alone thus roughly treated,

When the collected force of Devon bursts

In thunder on thee, as e'er long it will,

Thy Ravens wing, whose plumes already moult,

Shall rise no more; but in the dust be trod,

Scorn'd by the meanest Peasant of our Isle.

VOLNIR.

So rashly warm!

ALBERT.

So reasonably bold.

VOLNIR.

To cease this idle play of language, vain

And foreign to our purpose. Should we quit

These girded walls, devoted to our will.—

Your Citizens are rich; say, with what sum

Will they their freedom and their lives redeem?

ALBERT.

Perish the thought! Were our streets paved with gold,

Expect not Dane from us the shining treasure.

For thee we hoard up nought but steel, to which

Thou art right welcome.

VOLNIR.

Be it so.—But Albert,

When ruin enters o'er yon towers, when horror

And fell destruction riot in your streets,

Accuse not us of cruelty, the obstinate

Urge their own fate, our consciences are free.

ALBERT.

We will acquit thee Dane, till then farewell!

(Exit.)

VOLNIR.

Prepare my Friends! From this determined man

Expect no common shock. Each to his post!

Yet hath our steady and unshaken valour,

Met greater dangers than his utmost power

Can bring in opposition, and with ease

Subdued them all. Only resolve to conquer,

And you're already Conquerors.

(Exeunt.)

SCENE II. RODOLPH's Tent.

EDITHA.

O state of horror! Worse than death itself!

Yes, I would die with pleasure, to the sword

Submit my neck, or run to meet the blow.

But save me spotless Heaven! Say, who art thou?

(Enter Brithric.)

BRITHRIC.

A Friend, a Countryman, by Rodolph sent—

EDITHA.

Rodolph! detested name!

BRITHRIC.

And why detested!

Thou art a stranger to his worth, his love—

EDITHA.

'Tis monstrous! Name it not. Said'st thou his love!

Thou can'st not mean it.

BRITHRIC.

Calm these transports Virgin,

And hear me plead his cause.

EDITHA.

I will not hear thee.

'Tis poison to mine ears. Dishonest Englishman!

Leave me; hence, to the robber who employed thee;

Fittest society!

BRITHRIC.

Impassion'd thus,

I will not leave thee. Bred up in prosperity,

Thou hast not tasted misery's sad cup,

And therefore view'st thy lot with double anguish.

But time, with lenient hand will soothe thy grief,

And teach thee to repay with gratitude,

The care, the love, the warm desires of Rodolph.

EDITHA.

Hast thou out-lived thy feelings? Or art thou

A willing slave? A traitor to thy country?

Or wert thou forced upon this odious task?

Thou know'st me not.—I pity, and forgive thee.

BRITHRIC.

Yet if resentment for thy Country's wrongs,

Or thy own injuries, if the esteem

Of honour, and the innate love of virtue

Permit thee not to yield; try what thou can'st

To gain forbearance; try dissimulation;

To feign for honest purposes is lawful.

He will submit; and lucky opportunity

Perhaps will crown thy wisdom.

EDITHA.

Base adviser!

Close thy unhallow'd lips. When thee I violate,

O pure Sincerity! O holy Truth,

When I shall cease thy mandates to adore!

May ignominy be my portion here,

And Heaven refuse me happiness hereafter!

Of all the vices which my soul abhors,

There's none whose dire communion I would shun

Like vile deceit; to every other crime

It forms a path, till the whole breast becomes

A store-house of pollution.—As for thee,

Whose abject mind is suited to thy station,

Hence from my sight, and torture me no more.

For know, I want no counsel but my own.

BRITHRIC.

How I admire this warmth! (aside.) O gentle Maid,

Whose anger in so just a cause, delights

The heart attuned in unison with thine!

Excuse an old man's policy, who looks

With tenderest sympathy on thy affliction.

Who wish'd to prove if thy interior graces

Equal'd thy outward charms. Who knows thy danger,

And would pour forth his blood to give thee safety;

For thou art like—O Heaven!

EDITHA.

Can I believe

This sudden change? Thy face indeed is honest.

And those white hairs of age claim reverence.

The tear too wets thy cheek.—But why suspect me?

Thy trial shews thou did'st. Can with Integrity

Suspicion dwell? So odious a companion?

BRITHRIC.

'Twas not suspicion, I disclaim its weakness.

'Twas chance, 'twas curiosity, desire

To have thee higher rise in my esteem.

'Twas any thing but a design to injure

Thy purity of soul. When first I saw thee,

Methought my heart was link'd to thine, I vow'd

To do thee service; but alas! what service

Can I, a wretched prisoner afford!

I may lament, but cannot rescue thee.

EDITHA.

O Edred where art thou! O Bertha! Bertha!

BRITHRIC.

What said'st thou! What!

EDITHA.

Whence is this wild emotion?

Why dost thou fix thy eyes, and gaze thus on me?

BRITHRIC.

Did'st thou not mention Edred?

EDITHA.

What of him!

BRITHRIC.

And Bertha too?

EDITHA.

I did.

BRITHRIC.

Are they thy Friends?

EDITHA.

My Mother and my Brother.

BRITHRIC.

And thy name?—

EDITHA.

Is Editha.

BRITHRIC.

Thy Father?—

EDITHA.

Was Earl Sigebert.

BRITHRIC.

I, I am he; O Editha! my Child!

I am thy long-lost Father, I am Sigebert.

EDITHA.

My Father! Is it possible! My Father!

BRITHRIC.

I am indeed. Oh! I am wild with joy.

EDITHA.

And shall I know the blessing of a Father!

BRITHRIC.

Thou shalt, thou shalt. Oh! not the light itself,

Not the warm blood which gives me motion, sense,

Shall be so dear to me. I thought I saw

The features of my Bertha. O my Child!

My lovely Editha!—But in this place!

And in this Rodolph's power! Ye Angels stoop,

Stoop on your wings of grace, and save my Child!

Where is that best of women? Where is Bertha?

And where thy Brother? Are they not in Mercia?

By what strange mystery art thou prisoner here?

EDITHA.

O my dear Father! (to pronounce that name

Thrills my whole soul with pleasure.) Edred's valour,

And youthful merit, won the royal favour

Of our great master Ethelred. Another

Possesses thy inheritance; to him

He gave domains which far exceeded thine,

Here, in the bounds of Devon, ample rights,

Forests, and large command. Thy sad misfortune

Was in this grateful bounty not forgotten.

For long we've thought thee dead, unnumber'd tears

Hath Bertha pour'd, and still the painful sigh

Oft swells her bosom. When she heard thy ship

Was by a tempest sever'd from the rest,

She fear'd the greedy waves had swallow'd it,

And mourn'd in bitterest woe her husbands death.

BRITHRIC.

Oh! had it not been sever'd, Denmark's Sons

Had not so long spread ruin o'er my country;

I had not yielded to this Danish Chief,

Oppress'd by numbers; nor with him dragg'd out

Eighteen long years of tedious servitude.

Nor had the Father and the Daughter thus

Met helpless captives. But where is She now?

And where my Son?

EDITHA.

This morn when last I saw them—

Oh! thou recall'st the dreadful scene of blood,

The horrid massacre. Within that sanctuary

Had Bertha and myself retired for safety.

When at one gate the Foe demanded entrance,

We heard the voice of Edred at the other.

Either by chance, or fearing their intent

He came, but unattended; strait he placed

My Mother on his courser, and out-stripp'd

The winds for her deliverance.

BRITHRIC.

Noble Youth!

EDITHA.

By this, no doubt, he hath regain'd the city.

Where, with his houshold train, in deeds of danger

He is the foremost, and encourages

The most remiss to action.

BRITHRIC.

O my Daughter!

Grief mingles with my joy.—Preserve him Heaven!

And lead him on to victory!—For thee

I weep my Editha. Ah! what avails it

That thou wert snatch'd from slaughter, if thou now

Must be exposed to savage violation!

EDITHA.

Let us not murmur. That almighty power

Who saved me there as by a miracle,

Can here support me.

BRITHRIC.

In that power I trust.

But I must guard thee with a Father's love;

And dangerous is the path I shall pursue.

I'll hence to Volnir, in whose breast I claim

Some share of confidence, to him disclose

Rodolph's instructions, his design on thee;

I will enlarge on his inglorious passion.

So strict his discipline, he will, I know,

Divide you till they re-embark. Mean-time

I may devise some other plan to save thee.

EDITHA.

To thee, and Heaven, do I commit myself.

BRITHRIC.

Farewell my Child! I could almost persuade

My old fond heart, that innocence, like thine,

Might melt the most relentless son of Denmark

To soft humanity.—Farewell! Farewell!

(Exit.)

EDITHA.

Farewell! May all-overwatching Providence

Assist thy pious care, and shield thy Daughter!

Enter RODOLPH.

RODOLPH.

Once more, my beauteous Captive, e'er I plunge

Amid the storm of war, I come to hear

More gentle accents from thy mouth, to meet

More gentle glances from thy eyes.—Hath Brithric,

My Friend, thy ancient Countryman been with thee?

EDITHA.

He hath.

RODOLPH.

Thou view'st me with the look of scorn.

And his persuasions have not overcome

That stubborn heart.

EDITHA.

Away! I would reproach thee.

But sentiments like mine will prompt a language

Thou can'st not understand.

RODOLPH.

Hah! Do'st thou know

My power o'er thee is absolute?

EDITHA.

I know it.

To wounds, to accidents, to violence,

This outward frame is subject; but the mind

Enjoys her glorious freedom uncontroul'd.

RODOLPH.

Nor have I hurt that mind, tho' privileged

By war and conquest.

EDITHA.

Rather say by sacrilege,

Rapine, and cruelty. All other nations

Respect the Matron and the hoary Sire,

Melt at the Virgin's and the Infant's tear.

Thy savage race, intent on ruthless slaughter,

Heeds none of these; nor can the holiest places

Protect them from their fury. Like the Tiger,

Which loves to swim in blood, and tears the flock,

Tho' gorged with food in frantic wantonness.

RODOLPH.

What treatment can a foe expect but death,

Or slavery, from a foe? We have not yet

Enervated our minds by southern manners.

Nursed in the arms of war, I love the fight,

The whizzing arrow, and the flying spear,

The clang of shields, and tempest of the field.

To love my Country, and to hate my Enemy,

Be mine. What virtue can exalt the soul

Of man, but courage.

EDITHA.

Mercy and compassion,

Which bind a wreathe around the Warriors helm,

And lead his footsteps in the paths of glory.

RODOLPH.

And guard him doubtless in the day of battle!

By these your Englishmen have fought so bravely,

And with resistless ardour stopp'd our course.

Such virtues ever may my foes possess!

EDITHA.

O blind to truth! Uncivilized Barbarian!

With what disdain the polish'd soul beholds

The man who sinks himself beneath the brutes!

RODOLPH.

No more. Thou wilt perchance repent this pride.

EDITHA.

No; I despise thee from a nobler motive;

I soar above thee, conscious of a dignity

Thy heart ne'er felt, the dignity of virtue.

RODOLPH.

That be thy solace here! I go to execute

My Chief's commands. The moon hath left the Heavens,

The clouds of night hang o'er the sleeping city,

And lull it to its fate. Tho' cloath'd with beauty,

Excelling all my eyes have seen before,

Yet think not I shall soothe, and fawn, and kneel,

For favours in my power.—Thou art my Captive.

EDITHA.

But am thy Captive only while I please.

Think'st thou I prize my life beyond my honour?

RODOLPH.

The words of many a Fair, who, to enhance

The boon, would make it difficult to win.

So far I've been thy Lover, when I next

Return with victory, expect thy Master.

(Exit.)

EDITHA.

A Slave! A Master!—Yet I could submit

To the most humble servile offices,

With innocence, companion of my toil.

If my own heart reproach'd me not, nor shame

Sat kindling on my cheek.—And could I leave

My native Country? Leave my Friends? My Brother?

A Mother, who her being wrapt in mine,

Lives but in me? O my dear long-lost Father!

So lately found! Save, save me from the thought!

Yet, what can'st thou! A slave to these Barbarians!

A wretched slave!—Oh! never shall I see

My Parents meet, a witness to their joy,

I shall not tend their age, and smooth its cares,

Or drop the pious tear upon their grave.—

Who knows my future fate!—My soul shrinks back!

Nor through the horrid gloom dares penetrate.

O thou Supreme o'er all! To whom I bend

With humblest duty, let thy power be shewn!

Confound tyrannic force! Support the weak!

And from afflictions soul remove despair!

SCENE III. The CITY.

ALBERT and CITIZENS.

ALBERT.

The time requires our strictest vigilance.

Is the watch doubled? Hast thou visited

Each quarter of the ramparts?

CITIZEN.

I have.

ALBERT.

Protected by our walls, and more

By love of liberty, by brave disdain,

And hatred t'ward our unrelenting foes,

We need not fear.—This bold Adventurer,

Equal to Swein in bravery and conduct,

Whose fame in arms hath call'd forth Denmark's Sons,

By choice to follow his unfolded standard,

Shall, with his numerous host, or starve beneath

Our unscaled mounds, or seek their ships with shame,

If, (as I trust you will), with steady valour,

You guard your native city; if your deeds

Answer in future to your last days actions.

And lo! where comes our succour and support,

Heroic Edred!—Noble Youth, right welcome!

Thou hast succeeded in thy enterprize?

EDRED.

In part, and but in part.—Alas my Friend!

What we this morning dreaded is complete.

Th' inhuman Dane no holy place reveres.

The abbey is despoil'd, the virgin train

Murder'd. Assisted by the hand of Heaven,

Bertha is saved.—But Oh! My noble Sister!

How cruel is her fate! A prisoner

To these Barbarians! Seeing them retreat,

I turn'd my steps, and sought among the slain,

She was not to be found.—I have not time

To tell thee all; for as with stealthy pace,

Skreen'd by the gloom of night, thro' secret paths

The careful foe I shunn'd, methought I heard

A sound confused of feet and murmuring voices,

And strait the glimpse of armour caught my eye.

Some action is on foot; they seem'd to me

As winding t'ward the Castle.

ALBERT.

Let them come.

They steal not on a sleeping enemy;

We are prepared: and as a lofty rock

Beats back the furious waves which rage in vain,

So shall before our well-mann'd battlements

These ravagers retire.—I see thy grief

Thou gallant Youth; and for thy hapless Sister

Feel similar emotions to thy own.

The lovely Editha all hearts confess

Unparagon'd in beauty, and in virtue.

EDRED.

Oh! witness Heaven! no common love I bore her!

No Brother ever better loved a Sister;

And she deserved my love.—Her active soul

Soaring above the weakness of her sex,

My younger spirit raised to glorious daring.

When but a Boy, she to my listening ear,

Taught all the martial deeds of my great Ancestors.

She set before my eye my Father's virtues,

(Whose early death my Mother ever mourns:)

And bade me tread like them the paths of fame.

If aught within this breast transcends the vulgar,

To her the debt is due, the generous fire

By her was kindled.

ALBERT.

'Twas unfortunate—

EDRED.

Oh! it was greatly so. That they should think

The ties of faith would check those lawless robbers!

That I should suffer them to put in practice

So idle a resolve! Exposed to danger,

When here with us they might have dwelt in safety.

For what is sacred to the Danish race?

They spare not hoary age, nor innocence

Within its Mother's clasping arms inshrined,

Nor e'en religion at the hallow'd altar.

ALBERT.

Would I could comfort thee!

EDRED.

That wish is vain.

Nor seek I any comfort but revenge.

Join with me there my Friend! Let us this instant

Pour forth the tide of fury on their camp.

My eager sword is thirsty for revenge.

The holy Virgins weltering in their blood,

My ravish'd Sister's wrongs now urge me on,

String all my nerves, and fill my soul with ardour.

ALBERT.

Thou hast forgot thy tidings.—But whate'er

Shall happen, all is ready for defence,

Or vigorous onset; by e•ch public motive,

And private sentiment impell'd, this arm

Shall join with thine in boldest enterprize;

And deep upon the Danish crests, inscribe

In bloody characters, the holy compact.

But much I wonder, Oswy with his powers

Is not as yet arrived; this morn he sent

A messenger, who told me e'er the sun

Set in the West, we should behold his camp

Pitch'd on the neighbouring-hills; with hasty march,

He, from the bounds of Tamar, to our aid

Approaches.

EDRED.

Never did my heart esteem

That Lord; in words, most fierce, in action, cold;

Of crafty and designing nature, he,

A slave to avarice, and inherent baseness.

ALBERT.

He hath a beauteous Daughter.

EDRED.

True, he hath;

Gunhilda. With an ample dower to me

He would have given the Maid; but underneath

The veil of fairest semblance, I beheld

A soul too like her Father's, and refused her.

Since which enraged, they ever have pursued me

With base insidious hate, which I despise.

(A Trumpet sounds.)

ALBERT.

The signal of alarm!

(Enter a Citizen.)

CITIZEN.

Our scouts inform us

A party of the foe, in deepest silence,

Is climbing the ascent toward the Castle.

Another party to the Eastern gate,

With rapid haste advances.

ALBERT.

This my Edred,

This is the wish'd-for hour, the hour of glory!

She holds her prize aloft, and animates

The chosen breast with tenfold intrepidity.—

The Castle be thy care; we guard the gate.

And now my Friend, the Warrior's courtesy,

One brief embrace!—The rest belongs to Heaven.

EDRED.

And Heaven is just.—My keen-edged sword I draw,

Which shall not to its scabbard be restored,

Till drench'd and satiated with Danish blood.

(Exeunt.)

ACT III.

SCENE I. The CAMP. VOLNIR's Tent.

VOLNIR, RODOLPH, and DANISH CAPTAINS.

VOLNIR.

Again repulsed! Again with shame compell'd

To seek our camp! The Danish Genius droops.

Oh! where was Rodolph's matchless valour! Where

That untamed spirit wont to rise superiour

To every obstacle! The waves of chance

To stem with steady breast, and gain the shore!

To press against the hand of opposition,

And urge his way more swiftly for resistance!

But love, fond love enslaved the Warrior's heart,

Beauty's soft chains had shackled his bold spirit,

And he was conquer'd e'er he sought the fight.

Now, by my soul, thou seest the Fair no more,

Till we have laid those turrets in the dust,

And steer our course t'ward Denmark.

RODOLPH.

These reproaches

No doubt become thee well. Injustice ever

With weak excuses vindicates its actions.

Scarce can I trust my ears; these taunts from thee!

But I'm perhaps a stranger, and thou never

Beheld'st my footsteps in the crimson field,

Or sword destructive dealing slaughter round.

And didst thou take my Captive from my Tent?

And do I live and bear this injury?

VOLNIR.

No more rash man. Learn thou thy duty better.

Did I not charge thee not to woe the Maid?

What! shall our camp be changed into a school

Of wanton dalliance? Of inglorious love?

Our deeds depend not on the breath of Rodolph.

We judge, we act, from reason's firm resolves.

RODOLPH.

Oh! would we were in Denmark! I should there

Meet thee thy equal. See my friends, the man,

Who acts, who judges, as firm reason dictates!

He saw the beauteous prisoner, he loved her,

And from his envied Rival took the Maid.

But love no doubt is glorious in the Chief,

And base unmanly dalliance in the Soldier.

VOLNIR.

What power withholds, that now I rush not on thee,

And smite thee to the earth?—The fixed soul,

Which conscious of its rectitude, despises

A madman's calumny.—But urge no farther.

It may be dangerous.—Yet, hear me all!

And thou attend!—In yonder Tent inclosed,

She dwells, to me as tho' she not existed,

Or was not form'd of mortal elements,

And subject to the passions of mankind.

No private end I seek; the public good

Is all my care; and from the warm emotion

A bar of frost secures this settled bosom.

Retire; and in thy Tent converse with shame,

Th' attendant of unguarded liberty,

And thoughtless Youth. I pardon thee. Begone.

(Exit. Rodolph.)

Enter a SOLDIER.

SOLDIER.

As in our farthest limits t'ward the City,

I with my fellows held observant watch,

A Damsel cross'd our way with two attendants.

She bade us straitway lead her to our Chief,

And begs to be admitted to thy presence.

VOLNIR.

Bring her before us.

Enter GUNHILDA.

VOLNIR.

'Mid the paths of death,

And throng of hostile arms, say gentle Maid,

What brings thee hither at this hour of night?

GUNHILDA.

Art thou the much-famed leader of the Danes?

VOLNIR.

My name is Volnir.

GUNHILDA.

Hail illustrious Chief!

My errand is to thee, and my request

The favour of thy private ear.

VOLNIR.

Retire. (To the Attendants.)

Thy will is granted. From a messenger

So beauteous, and so rare, I may expect

No common tidings. Whence? and who art thou?

GUNHILDA.

From Devon's West extreme I come; a Friend

To thee and Denmark.

VOLNIR.

How a Friend? Proceed.

GUNHILDA.

Art thou ambitious o'er this town to triumph?

To gird the Conqueror's laurel round thy brow?

And all thy valiant host enrich with plunder?

A female tongue shall teach thee how to act.

VOLNIR.

Whoe'er thou art, whatever be thy counsel,

Thou read'st my wish aright.

GUNHILDA.

I am the Daughter

Of Oswy, powerful Chief, a name to thee

Well-known, my name Gunhilda. In our veins

Flows Danish blood; e'er that inhuman massacre

Destroy'd thy Countrymen, by holy union

Of marriage 'twas acquired.

VOLNIR.

Say on fair Damsel.

GUNHILDA.

Thus then; my Father with a mighty aid

Is near at hand prepared to raise this siege;

So Albert credits, so the Citizens.

But if thy heart consents with his, to terms

Which I shall now propose, the town is thine.

VOLNIR.

What bond coercive answers for his faith?

GUNHILDA.

I will remain with thee a willing Hostage.

VOLNIR.

'Tis well; the terms unfold.

GUNHILDA.

On Oswy's part

He promises, when Host with adverse Host

Is mix'd in fight, to fly with all his troops.

Then while the Citizens confusedly urge

Their way toward the walls, thy Friends may enter

With the affrighted croud. Or e'er two days

Are past, when he is in the City posted,

He will, the gate committed to his care,

To thee deliver at a certain hour.

From thee he asks in coin, in plate, or gems,

Secretly given, a third part of the spoil.

He wishes thee to curb impetuous rage,

Nor shed unnecessary blood, but one,

One odious life he at thy hands requires.

VOLNIR.

Name the devoted victim.

GUNHILDA.

Edred; he

Who every needy artizan inspires

With pride, and every vile mechanic breast

With obstinacy. He it is who checks thy course,

Thy greatest enemy and our's.

VOLNIR.

I know

The Youth; when first we for this siege prepared,

He came with Albert, and defied our power.

Bold were his words, and stately was his mien.

I saw him afterwards like lightning pierce

Our thickest ranks, his fury front to front

Rodolph opposed, and desperate was the fight;

But Rodolph's arm prevailed not. On he rush'd,

And havock mark'd his way. This night again

His valour foil'd us; he, our prisoners say,

The Citadel defended. We accept

Thy terms fair Stranger. To the noble Oswy,

We swear the third part of the spoil to give,

And Edred's forfeit life.

GUNHILDA.

He asks no more.

The first he claims a debt of justice, due

From thee to his deserts; the last, a sacrifice

To the diminish'd honour of his house,

And sullied name. 'Twere long, nor need I tell

The cause of his desired revenge; enough

That Edred is beyond expression base,

Vile, contumelious, and that we would see,

With pleasure see this Island from its base

Torn by an earthquake, and with all its rocks

Plunged in the main, so he might sink beneath

The ponderous ruins.

VOLNIR.

Be it as thou wilt

My generous Hostage. We will pay the debt

Of justice and of vengeance. Were he placed

Within our power, had he a thousand lives

He dies.

GUNHILDA.

That thought gives comfort to my soul.

For that I braved the horrors of the night,

That steel'd the weaker nature of my sex,

And brought me hither spite of danger's frown,

And the pale eye of fear.

VOLNIR.

Dismiss all fear.

Here thou art safe as in thy Father's palace.

My hardy Danes shall form a bulwark round thee,

As round the temple of some sacred power,

By whose superiour aid they may obtain

Each splendid trophy of triumphant war,

Wealth, conquest, and renown.—Lead to the tent

Of Rodolph's captive, this illustrious stranger.

Collect a band of the most beauteous slaves

To wait upon her person. She demands

Respect and reverence from each Son of Denmark.

GUNHILDA.

Collect them not; I need not their attendance.

Send back with speedy diligence my guides.

'Tis meet I should be private. To thy worth

I trust, great Chief, for safety and protection.

VOLNIR.

We all are thine, and with obsequious readiness

Shall thy commands obey.

GUNHILDA.

My confidence

Is fully tried, I thank thee for thy care.

(Exit.)

VOLNIR.

What small events may shake the firmest States!

Armies destroy, and sack imperial Cities!

The veriest trifles oftentimes beget

Important consequences. Private spleen,

A female pique, perhaps a foolish quarrel,

A disappointed passion, or the sting

Of wayward pride, betrays without a blow

This town, which I almost despair'd to win

By open force. Chance governs all below.

To British treachery, British valour yields.

The rich reward, and golden harvest mine.

(Exit.)

SCENE II. The CITY.

EDRED, OSWY, ALBERT.

EDRED.

This cold advice is out of season Oswy.

I would not give to them a moment's respite.

Why not pursue the path where Fortune leads?

While yet they droop, and struck with fear, lament

Our prosperous arms, let us attack their camp.

E'er the grey dawn appears above the hills,

When heavy sleep weighs down their lids o'er-watch'd,

Let us in silence to their tents proceed,

Then like a whirlwind on their squadrons rush,

And wake them from repose to breathe their last.

OSWY.

Was it for this, with rapid march I came

To your relief? And must experience stoop

To the rash fervour of impatient youth?

To-morrow, by th' addition of my forces,

Who now fatigued and spiritless, require

Refreshment due, you gain a certain victory.

To pass by the indignity you offer

By this attempt to me; why should you court

Unnecessary peril? Rather why

With headlong madness hurry on to meet

Inevitable fate, and sure destruction?

EDRED.

There is a time, when what the calmer tongue

Stiles rashness, is the voice of truest wisdom.

Had we not tried these Danes thou might'st persuade us

That they are unassailable, exempt

From wounds, nor subject to mortality.

Indignity to thee by this attempt!

We mean it not. E'er thou wert in the city,

Our plan was laid, our chosen bands prepared.

But should we fight, nay, overcome without thee,

Say, should'st thou not rejoice whatever hand

Laid low thy Country's Foes? The patriot heart

Disclaims each interested sentiment,

Nor heeds false glory but the public good.

ALBERT.

And Oswy surely seeks the public good,

Tho' differing in opinion. This attack

Was pre-determined; and I think it bears

A seemly aspect. For thy speed we thank thee,

And for thy caution Oswy. We shall guide,

Doubt not, this enterprize with prudence. Thou

See that thy harrast troops be well refresh'd.

This night's attempt, if with success uncrown'd,

Will not impede but that we join to-morrow,

And with united strength engage the Danes.

OSWY.

Prosperity attend you! tho' I fear

The circumspection of the enemy,

And tremble for th' event.

(Exit.)

EDRED.

The dastard spirit,

Not e'en a beam from Heaven could enkindle.

The lukewarm Oswy trembles for th' event.

He fears lest we should conquer. Envy, fraud,

And every creeping passion fills his breast.

But as we know him, so we shall not trust him.

Now let us hence, and join our ardent bands,

Who cover'd by the friendly veil of night,

Shall hurl confusion thro' the adverse Host.

ALBERT.

No tardiness is mine—I haste before—

The needful orders shall with speed be given.

(Exit.)

EDRED.

O Editha! My Sister! Hapless Maid!

Not for my Country only, but for thee

Form'd I this bold adventure.—Generous Albert!

He too reveres thy virtues.—Thro' the gloom

I see methinks thy injured form wave on

Our daring steps! The desart Lioness

Seeks not her ravish'd young with greater rage,

Than I will thro' these spoilers cut my way,

To rescue thee, or gain a glorious death.

(Exit.)

SCENE III. The CAMP. VOLNIR's Tent.

VOLNIR and one of his CAPTAINS.

VOLNIR.

'Tis full of hope and probability.

They hate each other; and their civil discord

Will work our great advantage. But be secret,

Nor let a word transpire, 'till opportunity

Call us to instant action.—Hah! Gunhilda

Again before us!

(Enter Gunhilda.)

GUNHILDA.

Pardon this instrusion.

And yet my tidings are of such import

As well deserve thy audience. But first swear,

If I by other means than those proposed,

Procure thee a full ransom for the City,

Thou wilt perform thy part without reserve.

VOLNIR.

By every holy tye I bind myself.

GUNHILDA.

Judge my surprize, when in my Tent I found,

In Rodolph's captive Virgin, Edred's Sister.

She knew me too; and thinks I am a prisoner:

For I amused her with a piteous tale

Of feign'd distress.—He loves this Sister well.—

And to this Deity the Praefect Albert

Is thought to offer incense; by her wiles

Enticed to adoration.—Would they not,

To save her life, submit to pay what price

Thou may'st impose?—Let Edred be the Hostage.

Two shares receive, and for the third, slay him,

And we'll acquit thee.—Thus my noble Father,

Without suspicion, and absolved of danger,

His foe's destruction shall enjoy; the trash,

The sordid trash relinquish'd.

VOLNIR.

In thy bosom

A more than manly soul resides Gunhilda.

In policy and courage far beyond

The little weakness of inferiour minds,

High-soaring o'er the vulgar!—Thy desires,

If they accept our terms shall be fulfill'd.

Our gratitude to thee shall know no bounds.

Lead hither Editha, the captive Maid. (Exit Captain.)

The dread of death perhaps will make her supplicate

Her Brother's quick decision in our favour.

A letter she shall write, 'twill to our message

Add double weight.—Do thou retire Gunhilda;

Late is the hour of night: go, seek repose. (Exit Gunhilda.)

Enter EDITHA.

EDITHA.

Why am I summon'd hither?

VOLNIR.

Edred's Sister!—

Nay, start not; Thou art known.

EDITHA.

Thou know'st me then

Born of a race, on which, tho' full of worthies,

The deeds of Edred cast sublimer lustre.

VOLNIR.

He is our deadly Foe.

EDITHA.

He loves his Country.

VOLNIR.

Thee too he loves.

EDITHA.

With tenderest affection.

VOLNIR.

Then hear me Virgin.—If he loves his Country,

He wishes not the iron hand of war

To waste these fields; he wishes not to see

Devouring flames inwrap yon lofty towers.

EDITHA.

Heaven shield him from the sight!

VOLNIR.

'Tis thou must shield him.

EDITHA.

What say'st thou Dane!

VOLNIR.

We know thy influence o'er him.

Exert thy winning talents of persuasion;

Write him our terms, and beg him to accept them.

We, for a stipulated sum, will quit

This shore for ever.

EDITHA.

Never will I write

What Edred would peruse with shame and scorn.

VOLNIR.

Take heed: thy life is lost by his refusal.

EDITHA.

A life of little consequence compared

With Edred's glory, and my Country's fame.

VOLNIR.

Can'st thou support the thoughts of death?

EDITHA.

I can.

VOLNIR.

Of torture?

EDITHA.

Cease thy cruel threats Barbarian!

And know the sufferings nature cannot bear,

Religion can unterrified encounter.

VOLNIR.

Prepare thee for the trial.—Yet thy freedom

Would follow his consent.

EDITHA.

To wear for ever

The worst of chains, my own reproaching conscience.

VOLNIR.

Will nothing bend thy mind?

EDITHA.

To what effect?

VOLNIR.

To save thyself? Thy Country? And thy Friends?

EDITHA.

Can aught incline that soul to soul dishonour,

Which looks on thee, on all thy warrior Host,

On all the transient glories of this world,

Its crouded cities, realms, and mighty empires,

As nothing, when compared with vast eternity?

VOLNIR.

Enthusiastic notions!

EDITHA.

Reason thus

Is to the madman folly; moderate aims

To wild ambition; mercy to the tyrant.

VOLNIR.

This instant send a trumpet to the city,

With him a trusty messenger, to whom

Our mind impart. Let him acquaint young Edred,

Unless he move the Citizens to grant

The sum we shall require, his Sister dies.

If he return to us with his refusal,

That moment is her last.

(Exit Captain.)

EDITHA.

And think'st thou Edred

Will stoop ignobly to perform a deed

A Woman can despise?—Mistaken Man!

Whose courage is barbarity, whose policy

Is shallow cunning! Wisdom throned above,

Beyond thy feeble ken, with virtue joined,

Looks down on thee with scorn.—Heroic Edred

Will ne'er disgrace his high illustrious line;

Nor, to preserve a Sister, lose himself.

VOLNIR.

Lead her away!

(Exit Editha.)

VOLNIR.

There is a dignity,

An inexpressive grace, when Goodness utters

Her glowing language thro' the lips of Beauty.—

Even my heart is moved, and were I placed

In lower station, might give way to pity.

But now my Danes this sacrifice demand,

And Oswy's Daughter.—'Tis not for a Chief

To yield to private and more humble feelings.

He must consult the genius of his people.

Mine thrive by innate courage and ferocity;

By scattering dire dismay among the nations;

And rush to conquest thro' the paths of terror.

(Exit.)

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The Tent of EDITHA.

EDITHA, GUNHILDA.

EDITHA.

Link'd as we are in sad captivity,

I bid adieu to every private quarrel,

And thank thee for thy pity.

GUNHILDA.

Why not write?

The generous soul of Edred sure would melt;

And to avert thy fate—

EDITHA.

Cease Virgin, cease.

'Twere impious to suppose it.

GUNHILDA.

Yet the voice

Of nature is commanding, to obey

Its dictates, lawful.

EDITHA.

I acknowledge it,

When nature leagues with rectitude. If not,

Blind is her boasted guidance, and may lead

The devious foot, 'mid all the mazy wilds,

And all the fatal labyrinths of vice.

Trust me Gunhilda, not the wealth of worlds

Should tempt me to this deed.—Would'st thou to reign

O'er the wide universe, betray thy Country?

GUNHILDA.

Dost thou suspect I would?

EDITHA.

Suspect thee! No.

Th' advice thou gavest me was not from thy heart.

'Twas inconsiderate sympathy alone;

A weakness springing from a generous motive.

Oh! Heaven foresend, that I should e'er believe

A British Maid, of noble birth, like thee,

Would coolly prompt me to commit an action

Of base dishonour.

GUNHILDA.

Did'st thou so believe

Thy judgment would bel so rash, and most unjust.

EDITHA.

I blame thee not. Thou feel'st for my afflictions,

And would'st, if possible, preserve my life.

But I must die Gunhilda, o'er my head

Fate is impendent. Yet hath death with me

Lost half his terrors; death is my deliverer.

No more exposed to brutal treatment, now

Unblemish'd to the grave I shall descend,

Nor yet inglorious in my Country's annals.

May not my lot be happier far than thine?

Oh! can I speak it!—Thou art doom'd perhaps

To savage violence.—Unawed by faith,

Strangers to that religion they profess,

These ill-converted pagans still retain

All their original fierceness.—I must drop

Amid my own calamities, a tear

For thee Gunhilda.

GUNHILDA.

I for both will weep.

EDITHA.

And yet I feel a pang, a pang severe.

Strong are affections, strong are nature's bonds.

Each Friend, now doubly amiable, appears

Before my tortured mind.—And Oh! Gunhilda!

A Father lately found.

GUNHILDA.

A Father!

EDITHA.

Sigebert;

Long mourn'd by us as dead; preserved; alive.

Here in this hostile camp I found a Father.

GUNHILDA.

Most strange!

EDITHA.

Long time a wretched slave to Volnir;

And undiscover'd under Brithric's name.

He saved me from the horrors of pollution;

But cannot now avert the stroke of death,

Or shield himself from the extremity

Of poignant anguish.—Thus to meet his Daughter!

The thought is dreadful!—Help me to recall,

O Virgin! help me to recall my mind;

And with calamity like this oppress'd,

To re-assume my fortitude; for much,

Much do I need it all.

GUNHILDA.

Alas! what aid

Can I impart? My words would slow in vain.

Brithric the present name he bears! 'Tis well.

(Aside.)

EDITHA.

Yet will I strive, yet struggle with my weakness.

May I not prove victorious? 'Tis for guilt

To tremble; innocence should stand unmoved.

O righteous Heaven, with patience steel my soul!

With resignation! in the hour of trial

Guide me! support me! and tho' death be mine,

Crown Edred with success! Protect my Friends!

Preserve my Father's life! Preserve my Country!

Enter VOLNIR and CAPTAIN.

VOLNIR.

Hah! Did they thus insult thee! Brave my power!

And load me with reproaches! They shall find

I did not threaten what I'll not perform.

Bear her to instant death!—Thy Brother scorns

Our generous offer, and hath seal'd thy doom.

EDITHA.

O noble Edred!—Learn Barbarian, learn

The softer and more cultivated manners

Which thou abhorr'st, enervate not the soul.

The most humane of Brothers and of Men,

The youthful hero warm with patriot zeal,

Could not but thus decide the dangerous conflict;

While honour triumphs o'er fraternal love.

VOLNIR.

Remove her from our sight.

EDITHA.

I thank thee Volnir.

I would not linger in uncertainty.

Here thou art kind.—But from my blood expect

No common storm; it rolls with speed toward thee,

And Edred drives it on.

VOLNIR.

Quick, bear her hence.

Enter BRITHRIC.

BRITHRIC.

Oh! spare her, and revoke the cruel orders!

VOLNIR.

Say, art thou mad old Man? How hast thou dared

To enter here unbidden?

BRITHRIC.

I am told

Thou mean'st to sacrifice this captive Maid.

VOLNIR.

She falls a victim to her Brother's obstinacy,

And her own foolish pride.

BRITHRIC.

Oh! if I e'er

Have gain'd attention from thee, hear me now!

Forgive the Prisoner; listen to the Friend,

Who for thy glory feels!—Oft have I wept

This ravaged country, and her slaughter'd Sons.

But 'mid the heat of action, in the rage

And fury of the battle, death I know

Must take its course; nor have I once reproached thee.

Where is the fury of the battle now?

This unresisting Maid! must she be slain,

To satisfy a splenetic revenge,

Beneath the greatness of thy soul to think of?

That soul, which prompted thee to spare my life?

Which thou hast told me, scorn'd to plunge a sword

In the unguarded bosom of the brave?

VOLNIR.

Thou plead'st in vain; uncommon accidents

Call forth unusual deeds.

BRITHRIC.

Shall accident

Warp then the even tenor of thy temper?

Art thou so weak in resolution?

VOLNIR.

My Prisoner, my Teacher!

BRITHRIC.

I have taught thee,

And thou with gratitude hast often own'd it,

In civil life, in policy, in war,

Many a glorious, true, and useful maxim.

Now let me teach thee an immortal lesson!

Who, not from passion, but from reason act,

Crush giant arrogance, protect the weak,

And tho' by specious interest impell'd,

Dare not with guilt contaminate their souls,

May claim a co-equality with Heaven.

VOLNIR.

I need not thy advice; begone, and leave me.

BRITHRIC.

I cannot leave thee.—Didst thou but behold

This Virgin with my eyes, a thousand reasons

Would in thy bosom war against her death.

Alas! can beauty influence all but thee?

Beneath that outward elegance of shape,

That unaffected dignity, I read

A soul, which Volnir cannot but approve.

A soul detesting every meaner act,

Inform'd with innocence, with purity,

Undaunted courage, and sublimest virtue.

Thou fight'st against her Country—But in her,

Thou wilt inflict a wound on Nature's self.

Manhood will weep, and Denmark's Genius blush,

To hear that Volnir could descend so low,

Because he could not gain a town by treachery,

Coolly to spill a captive Virgin's blood.

VOLNIR.

Brithric no more—on thee too may descend

The angry shaft—beside thee peril stands—

Beware.

GUNHILDA.

Hah! Brithric! (Whispers Volnir.)

VOLNIR.

He, her Father say'st thou?

GUNHILDA.

Sigebert his name, the Sire of her and Edred.

Yes, Sigebert is her Father. (Aloud.) I cast off

The veil mysterious.—Foolish Maid! behold

Thy open enemy!—Tho' wrath may slumber,

It wakes to vengeance. Vengeance brought me hither.

'Twas she that made me a firm Friend to Denmark.

No Captive, but the scourge of thee and thine.

The vindicator of my injured fame,

And antient noble stock, in me insulted.

EDITHA.

I look in vain! The lightning doth not blast her.

SIGEBERT.

Astonishment! Can Nature's varying hand

Produce such opposites! There the black form

Of treacherous vice—here virtue's brightest image.

VOLNIR.

Didst thou not say that Sigebert was his name?

GUNHILDA.

I did.

VOLNIR.

The Earl so call'd?

GUNHILDA.

The fame.

VOLNIR.

Deceiver!

Traitor! Art thou the man, whose sword of yore

So often foil'd the Danish strength? Wert thou

Chief of the war, in which my Father perish'd?

In which the flower of Denmark's youth were slain?

Filling our land with widows and orphans?

SIGEBERT.

I was.

VOLNIR.

Now, by yon Many cope I swear,

Thou with thy Daughter diest!—Th' ill-sorted league

I here break off by thy illusions form'd.

Dissembling wretch!—When first I took the spear,

And to revenge my Country, rush'd to battle,

I swore that thou, of all the Anglian race,

Should'st never taste my mercy—Heaven is just.

The stated period is arrived. My oath,

Tho' tardily, shall be at length absolved.

GUNHILDA.

Why was I thus compell'd?—No more—'tis right—

Let mischief work—my injuries demand it.

At least the scornful youth will be tormented,

And suffer worse than death in those he loves. (Aside.)

Exit.

VOLNIR.

Bear them away to speedy execution!

EDITHA.

My Father!

SIGEBERT.

Dearest, dearest Editha! Embracing.

Enter a MESSENGER.

VOLNIR.

What means this haste?

MESSENGER.

Rodolph, my Lord, with fierce

And hurried language stirs the camp to mutiny.

The soldiers throng around him, thy injustice

Themes his bold eloquence. They murmur all;

And say the Chief hath no dispensing power

O'er old establish'd customs: that his prisoner

Is his alone, not thine; her death, or life,

Due to the man who earn'd her with his sword.

VOLNIR.

Fools as they are! But we will satisfy them.

Call to my tent each Leader of the bands,

And with them let that fiery youth be present.

They all shall learn my reasons. Individuals

Must for the general weal their rights forego.

Should they be ardent to support his cause,

I need but speak; sedition will be quell'd.

For these, their fate we for awhile defer;

But when the rising sun gilds yonder towers,

The foe first summon'd by the trumpet thither,

And this discovery known, shall see their deaths.

Mean-while divide, and guard them.

(Exit.)

EDITHA.

Must we part?

SIGEBERT.

A little while my Child, to meet for ever.

EDITHA.

I was prepared myself.—But, Oh! my Father!

Canst thou forgive?— (Kneeling.)

SIGEBERT.

What means my Editha?

EDITHA.

My folly? my imprudence? to intrust

That Woman with.—

SIGEBERT.

Oh! rise!—my blessings on thee!

My love! my utmost tenderness!—Oh! wound not

My nature with the thought!—Forgive thee say'st thou?

And could'st thou think that I would wish for life

Without my Daughter? I had fondly form'd

A thousand flattering dreams, of freedom, bliss,

And future days of joy; but thou in all

Wert still predominant.—Have I forgot

The infant prattler, my prophetic soul

E'en then had fix'd to cheer my hours of age?

And can I, now I find, and feel thee all,

Which Fancy in her wildest scope could frame,

Bear to protract my being, torn from thee?

Could Bertha, could my Edred, e'er have pluck'd

The barbed anguish from thy Father's heart?

Oh! 'twould be misery in its worst extreme.

'Twas Heaven, kind pitying Heaven, discover'd me,

That I might die with thee.

EDITHA.

Oh! this is death;

This, its severest pang. I feel it here.

It pierces through each inlet of my soul;

A Father's tenderness, ne'er known till now.

The filial passions swell, and almost burst

My labouring bosom; gratitude, which ne'er

Can be indulged—whose debt must be unpaid.

For fate, stern fate—

SIGEBERT.

Oh! cease. I know it all.

All thou would'st say, all thou would'st do, I feel.

Each pious duty, every tender care,

Each soft solicitude.—O worthiest! best!

Have I not known thee? tried thee? art thou not

The Child of my fond heart? more dear to it

Than the warm stream which feeds it?

EDITHA.

Thus to meet!

Thus know! thus lose my Father!

SIGEBERT.

Oh! thou should'st not

Have waked me from my vision to that thought.

To lose thy Father! to be lost to him!—

Irrevocably lost!—And yet, 'tis fit.

For thus dissolved in tenderness, I should not

Meet death, as it becomes the brave to die.

EDITHA.

Meet death!

SIGEBERT.

The common lot of all.

EDITHA.

'Tis true.

SIGEBERT.

To-morrow—

EDITHA.

We must share it.

SIGEBERT.

Must!—that word!

EDITHA.

The mandate of necessity; the call

To virtue, and to fortitude.

SIGEBERT.

I thank thee.

Yes, we will rouse us from lethargic sorrow.

The morn shall view us with erected mein,

And mark our tearless eye.—These Danes shall see,

And wonder at our brave contempt of death.

But ah! this night!—this dreadful separation!

Into this little night, I could methinks

Have stored whole years of happiness! while thus

I held thee, thus pour'd forth my fond endearments,

And thus received thy tribute of affection.

But 'twill not be—relentless savages!

(To the guards who part them.)

Have ye no mercy?—Oh! a moment longer—

My Editha!

EDITHA.

My Father!

SIGEBERT.

'Tis in vain—

Never shall I again embrace my Child.

EDITHA.

My Father!—these emotions!—Oh! controul—

Lest I should sink—

SIGEBERT.

I will, I will, for thee

I'll force my nature. Sure I should encourage

And comfort thee—not thus by my example

Dep•ess—but ah! I cannot—for mortality

Hath forged no bonds to curb parental love.

Farewell!—Farewell!—ye gracious powers support!—

EDITHA.

Heaven will support us.

(Exeunt. Forced off different ways.

SCENE II. RODOLPH's Tent.

RODOLPH and CAPTAIN.

CAPTAIN.

And did they all submit?

RODOLPH.

All, all submitted.

While I was lest alone to plead my cause.

They bless'd his prudent care; while I seem'd awed,

And stifled in my breast the fierce resentment.

But know my Friend, (for such I still have found thee.)

By thee I learn'd his message to the city,

And thus I have at least her doom retarded.

Know then a trusty Band I have engaged,

And bound them to me with a solemn oath,

Within this hour to force her guarded tent,

And bear her to my ship. Then let our Chief

Lord it o'er passive slaves, I shall enjoy

My loveliest prize, and leave to him unenvied,

The plunder, and the war.

CAPTAIN.

I am thy Friend.

Twice do I owe my life in battle saved

To thy victorious arm. Nor will forsake thee,

Tho' hazardous and desperate be thy plan.

RODOLPH.

Courage and friendship can be only tried

In perilous extremes. By Heaven, I ne'er

Knew love till now.—Not all this city's wealth,

Tho' counted ten times o'er, should ever from me

Ransom this Editha.—Tho' I could wish

Her Brother's haughty soul to suffer pain,

By whom alone I have been foil'd in battle:

Tho' I could wish her Father might be punish'd,

Who, as I now suspect, as first betray'd me:

Yet by her death it shall not be. Her absence

Let them lament. She will rejoice hereafter,

Nor cast one sigh toward the Anglian shore.

CAPTAIN.

But how hast thou contrived?

RODOLPH.

I will instruct thee.

CAPTAIN.

Hark! (Shouts, &c. at a distance.)

RODOLPH.

'Twas the sound of onset.

CAPTAIN.

It increases. (Shouts, &c.)

RODOLPH.

The clamour and tumultuous noise of battle!

CAPTAIN.

A sally from the City.—

RODOLPH.

Cursed event!

Must I then draw again my sword for Volnir!

An hour had made me master of my wishes.

But now perhaps the opportunity

Is lost, and never may return. (Shouts, &c.)

CAPTAIN.

The uproar

Spreads wider, and approaches nearer 'twards us.

Enter a MESSENGER.

RODOLPH.

What are thy tidings?

MESSENGER.

Ruin to the Danes.

Our camp is enter'd; havock and confusion

Urged by the foe, now triumph o'er our troops.

They stole upon us in this silent hour,

By sleep oppress'd. Nor yet the dawn appears,

Or glimmering twilight. In their shouts resound

The hated names of Edred and of Albert.

Volnir, with more than mortal courage, holds

Their violence at bay: around his tent

The conflict grows; there he protracts awhile

The Danish fate. He bids thee Rodolph haste,

And head some chosen bands by him prepared,

To cover our retreat.

RODOLPH.

I will attend him. (Exit Messenger.)

Oh! were my gallant Friends but now around me,

I still might bear this much-loved Maid away,

And cut a passage thro' th' opposing Foe!

But what can we atchieve? Or what remains

But to exert a vain and fruitless bravery?

To fight beneath this Chief against our wills?

And sell our lives as dearly as we can?

(Exeunt.)

ACT V.

SCENE I. Before the Tent of EDITHA.

RODOLPH.

'Tis flight, or slaughter all.—These fierce Damnonians!

Nought can withstand their fury.—Yet I could not

Find out the death my arm hath bravely earn'd.

Why did they ope their ranks to let me pass?

My followers are destroy'd—shall I alone

Escape?—This tent! there's fascination in it.

The guards are fled—this quarter of the camp

Is still and solitary.—Wherefore hither

Wander'd my steps unconscious?—Hold—'tis right—

There's something to be done.—Shall I submit?

Solicit from this haughty Maid protection?

Not love? but life on stinted terms!—Ah! no.

'Twere mean—'twere base.—Shall I, a prisoner,

Behold her in possession of another?

Some enemy beloved, preferr'd to me?

No never—kill her then—and so prevent it.

But hark! I hear methinks the sound of steps.

Darkness as yet holds back the struggling morn.

Quick let me be.—She dies.—Prepare thee Editha!

Keen is my sword—and desperate is my mind.

I'll enter—did she speak? No, all is silent.

I will not give her time to supplicate,

Lest she disarm my resolution.

(Enters the Tent.)

Enter SIGEBERT.

SIGEBERT.

Freed by their flight, to whom I was intrusted,

I come to thee my Editha! and wield

A sword again on British soil, to guard

Thy tent my Daughter, from the lawless rage

Of Friend or Foe; for beauty such as thine

May fear them both alike.—My Child! my Editha!

Enter RODOLPH from the Tent.

RODOLPH.

Who calls on Editha?

SIGEBERT.

Who? Whence art thou?

Why that stern question? wherefore in this tent?

RODOLPH.

Cease thy enquiries, lest my answer please not.

SIGEBERT.

Rodolph!

RODOLPH.

Betrayer! Yes.

SIGEBERT.

Betrayer!

RODOLPH.

Caitiff!

False Friend! and thence, the murderer of thy Daughter.

SIGEBERT.

My Daughter!—Oh! my soul!

RODOLPH.

This hand hath slain her.

SIGEBERT.

Thou could'st not—dared'st not.

RODOLPH.

Didst thou think a Briton

Should ever win the Maid beloved by Rodolph?

SIGEBERT.

Monster!—And canst thou to a Father's ear?—

Thou hast not flain her.

RODOLPH.

By yon Heaven she's dead.

This reeking steel permits me not to lye.

SIGEBERT.

My curses on thee, thou inhuman murderer!

O tardy feet! thus am I come to guard thee

My Editha? And have I lost thee thus?—

Thou sacrilegious wretch! didst thou not fear

From that pure temple—But I can revenge

My Child! I can revenge, if not protect thee.

Thus ruffian, I assail thee—guard thyself.

RODOLPH.

Away old Man! and dread the arm of youth.

I covet not thy death.

SIGEBERT.

Thy arm of youth

This old Man braves, nay scorns. Old as I am,

I have not yet forgot to bear a sword.

I am the avenger of my Daughter's death,

And thou the destined victim.

RODOLPH.

Hence! Away!

'Tis thine to weep, not fight.

SIGEBERT.

And weep I will.

But first the crimson stream shall flow from thee.

When thou wert in thy cradle, I have trod

The fields of war; thy gasping countrymen

Then own'd my prowess; many a Danish Chief

Hath sunk in dust beneath me. In my heart

I feel the ardour of my youth revive.

My Daughter's fate braces each feeble nerve.

For her, for her I strike.

RODOLPH.

No more. Begone!

SIGEBERT.

Thou shalt not pass.

RODOLPH.

Thou urgest on thy fate.

Why wilt thou force destruction on thy head?

SIGEBERT.

Insulting wretch! Assassinating coward!

Come, to the Daughter's, add the Father's death!

Nor doth he wish to live, deprived of her.

Yet neither doth he fear thy strength of youth,

Nor doubt of conquest in so just a cause.

RODOLPH.

Take then thy death!

(Fight. Rodolph falls, mortally wounded.)

SIGEBERT.

Death is not thine to give;

'Tis Heaven's alone.—O barbarous Dane! the debt

To vengeance thou hast paid.—Yet, what's thy life

For her's, in lieu of Editha's?—Alas!

How can I enter here?—Support my steps

Ye trembling knees!—most miserable Father!—

Dead! dead!—detested place!—the deepest dungeon,

The habitation of the toad and adder,

Were paradise to this polluted tent,

Where virtue, honour, lye insteep'd in blood.

Yet will I on—tho' horror should o'verwhelm me.

(Enters the Tent.)

Enter EDRED.

EDRED.

Through the forsaken camp, in vain I seek

Thee, hapless Maid!—Alas! this victory

Is but half won, if Editha be lost. (Rodolph groans.)

Hah! Who art thou? this twilight gloom forbids

To trace thy features.

RODOLPH.

Rodolph is my name—

Sure I have heard that voice.

EDRED.

The voice of Edred.

Brave, but ill-fortuned foe! I pity thee.

Thy wounds shall be with utmost care attended.

We o'er the fallen, triumph not.

RODOLPH.

In death

I thank thee Youth. Twice hath thy sword prevail'd

O'er me in battle. But thy softer manners

Now conquer my fierce nature.—All thy care

Were fruitless now—e'en if thou could'st forgive me.

EDRED.

Forgive thee!

RODOLPH.

I thy Sister loved—her fate

Thou know'st not—she—in yonder tent—

Lies slain—the murderer is— (Dies.)

EDRED.

In yonder tent!—The murderer is—Where?

Where is the murderer?—Invidious death!

To stop thee there!—Slain!—Dearest, dearest Editha!

This did I dread.—O cruel, cruel Volnir!

Thou wert the murderer.—Yet pale and cold

Let me embrace thee! clasp thee to my heart!

A Brother's agonizing heart!—Oh! slain

In early youth!—Yet fame is thine my Sister.

Rather than prompt me to betray my country,

Thou greatly diedst.—So would I wish to fall.

(Advancing to the Tent.)

Amazement! horror! Do my eyes play false?

Mock'd by this faint and dubious light?—No, ruffian,

Thou shalt not 'scape me.—That's no doubt the murderer!

I see him dimly standing, and his sword

Still in his hand, he holds.—He bends to earth.

And darest thou touch her sacred corse barbarian!

Out sword!—perform thy office!—But thou shalt not

Die in this hallow'd tent—I'll drag thee thence.

(Enters, and drags out Sigebert, who drops his sword.)

SIGEBERT.

Strike! strike!—I'll bless the hand which gives the blow.

EDRED.

Most base! most execrable deed! if crimes

Beyond the common course of villainy

Deserve a punishment more fell, this act

Claims something more than death.

SIGEBERT.

It claims damnation.

Heaven will not, cannot pardon it.

EDRED.

Nor I

The instrument of Heaven's avenging wrath.

Prepare thee for thy death!—Thou murderous slave!

Sure as the Sun begins to streak the East

With purple light, this moment is thy last. (Lifting his hand.)

SIGEBERT.

O Youth!—this warmth of thine! restrain thy hand—

Art thou not—

EDRED.

Peace, I will not hear thee; old

And hoary in iniquity!—now— (Going to strike.)

SIGEBERT.

Hold!

I am—

EDRED.

I care not who thou art—my sword— (Going to strike.)

Enter EDITHA.

EDITHA.

Thy Father! Spare thy Father!

EDRED.

Gracious Powers!

SIGEBERT.

And is it possible!—What blest event!—

Art thou alive! restored to me again!

All-bounteous Heaven! This miracle of mercy!

My Editha alive! unwounded! safe!

'Tis joy too great for frail humanity—

My labouring brain turns giddy with the rapture—

The heart of age faint under these emotions.

Thy arm—thy arm my Son—soft—stay awhile—

Oh! leave me not my Child—I shall recover—

And bear with calmness—Hold—I'm well again;

My strength and former faculties return.

EDRED.

My Father!—Oh! it must be so.—And have I

Lifted my hand against thee?

SIGEBERT.

Noble Youth!

Son of my much-loved Bertha! I have heard

Thy glorious actions. Editha hath told me.

Preserver of thy Mother's sacred life!

Of mine, and of thy Sister's! More than this,

The saviour of thy Country!

EDRED.

I behold

That face with reverence, and these words of thine

Pierce thro' my inmost bosom, and enkindle

Transports ne'er felt till now.—But how so long

Wert thou conceal'd? How in this hostile camp?

Why in this Danish dress?

SIGEBERT.

The tale is long;

I'll tell thee all anon.—But how my Daughter

Hast thou escaped? In disappointed rage,

The barbarous Rodolph said that he had slain thee.

For which he fell by my avenging sword.

In all the agony of frantic grief,

Entering thy tent, I thought I found thee there,

Yet warm—tho' breathless; in despair I clasp'd

The bleeding corse; and by the dusk deceived,

Mourn'd over it for thine.

EDRED.

Me too the Dane

Inform'd that thou wert dead within thy tent;

And almost stain'd my hand with parricide.

But Providence sent thee to save my soul

From horror and remorse.—Say, how my Sister

Didst thou escape? And who is slain for thee?

EDITHA.

Gunhilda was no doubt the fated victim.

EDRED.

Gunhilda!

EDITHA.

Oswy's Daughter.

EDRED.

Treacherous Maid!

I know her Father's baseness and her own.

The intercepted guides who led her hither,

Discover'd all.

EDITHA.

One tent confined us both.

I thought her too a captive; and with pity

Return'd her seeming pity. She reveal'd

My rank to Volnir; thence his threatening message.

My simple confidence betray'd my Father;

By which, when bravely thou defiedst his power,

We both had well-nigh fall'n a sacrifice.

SIGEBERT.

Hadst thou not storm'd their trenches, we e'er now

Had with the dead been number'd.

EDITHA.

When I found

That thy assault was prosperous, and the foe

Fled headlong from our gallant countrymen,

I from my tent rush'd forth, if possible

To find my Father. Trembling, in the entrance

Gunhilda stood, fearful to stay, or fly.

EDRED.

And there no doubt my Sister fell for thee,

By Rodolph's blind and erring fury slain.

EDITHA.

Through the deserted camp in vain I wander'd,

I found not whom I sought, till by the hand

Of Heaven directed, dubious of my way,

I measured back again the mazy path,

And found him here.

SIGEBERT.

Found me indeed; and never

To part from thee again, till Nature's hand

Stops my faint pulse, and sinks me to my grave.

EDRED.

Oh! be that time far off!—I long to hear

Thy sad disasters, every strange adventure,

And wonderful vicissitude of fate.

Much must thou have endured.

SIGEBERT.

For eighteen years

Hath Volnir held me an unwilling prisoner.—

But now thou shalt conduct me to thy Mother,

Much do I wish to see that best of Women.

There shalt thou question me, and I will answer

Throughout the live-long day. Nor wilt thou hear

An uninstructive lesson. My experience

Hath dearly been acquired, thro' many a scene

Of checquer'd life, by varying fortune cast.

But now each boistrous storm is over-blown,

And I shall spend my life's decline in peace,

Sequester'd from the world.

EDRED.

That must not be.

I here resign to thee my borrow'd state.

Thy King, thy Country, claim thy sage advice.

Nor art thou yet by years so much enfeebled,

But they may claim thy valour.

SIGEBERT.

Oh! my Son!

Thy duty charms me. I shall not be needed;

For thou art all their own.—The tears of joy

Moisten my cheeks my Children, while I think

Upon your virtues.—Happy, happy Sigebert!

In the warm hours of youth I could not see

Such true, such home-felt satisfaction.

O'erpast misfortune, e'en to luxury

Heightens my joy. Now do I know indeed

What 'tis to be a Father—exquisite

Is the delight from Children such as mine.

EDITHA.

Benignant Heaven!—Ye fierce, ye boasted Heroes!

Ye Conquerors of the world! here look with envy.

We taste, we feel what you in vain desire,

What war and ravaged countries cannot yield,

True, real happiness.

(Trumpet.)

SIGEBERT.

What sounds are these?

EDRED.

'Tis Albert, from the slaughter of the Danes

Returning. (Enter Albert.) Oh! my Friend! let me embrace thee.

My Editha is safe—And I have found

A Father here. This is the noble Earl

Whom well thou know'st by fame: This is my Father.

Him too from hapless slavery have we rescued.

SIGEBERT.

The brave and virtuous empty forms despise:

They mingle in an instant souls together.

Brave Albert! Second Son! whose patriot virtues

(Embracing)

Fill my old heart with warm affection 'tward thee,

Thus let me strain thee to my breast!

ALBERT.

How sweet

Are the applauses of the wise and good!

My heart acknowledges the warmth of thine,

And every string accordant vibrates here.—

O Editha! Thou little think'st what pleasure

I feel in thy deliverance: not more

Thy Brother, or thy Father feels.

EDITHA.

The thanks

A grateful soul can give, receive. The worth

Of Albert I revere; thy Country saved

Shall join its praise with mine.

EDRED.

How far my Friend

Was thy pursuit?

ALBERT.

To yonder heights they fled.

There were they rallied by their Chief again,

Who bravely fought. All that a Leader could,

To turn the desperate fortune of the day,

He did. At length, when all was lost, he join'd

His flying bands, who now in wild dismay

Haste to their ships; our victory's compleat.

But say my Friend, the treacherous Gunhilda,

Hast thou not found her in the Camp?

SIGEBERT.

She lies

Dead in this tent, slain by mistake for her.

ALBERT.

For Editha! Just Heaven!

SIGEBERT.

Now let us hence!

This accident shall be to thee explain'd.

To all my history shall be unfolded,

Each wonderful event.

ALBERT.

But first 'twere fit,

E'er we dismiss our troops, to seize and punish

The traitor Oswy.

SIGEBERT.

Would'st thou punish him?

EDRED.

Doth he not merit punishment?

SIGEBERT.

He doth.

And can he feel a greater, than to view

His murder'd Child? Could cunning cruelty

Devise one more severe?—Oh! Editha!

The tortures of the rack were light to this:

Well know I what a Father must endure.

To think too that she fell by his contrivance!

No, gallant Albert, seek no other vengeance.

Permit him to retreat, oppress'd with sorrow,

And stung with conscious guilt. While we reflect

With pleasure on the difference of our souls,

Which bear no sordid stains. While we rejoice,

Raised from calamity and woe, to bliss.

While we congratulate our ransom'd Country,

And as we offer up our thanks to Heaven,

Pray, that she ever thus may stand secure

From foreign arms, and from domestic treason.

Free, glorious, happy, to remotest ages.

EPILOGUE.

NO longer now in pomp of grief array'd,

No longer Editha, the Captive Maid;

Prepared t' examine this same Tragic story,

In my own person I advance before ye.

My critic art at least this once to try,

And scan our Bard's defects with nicest eye.

Yet some apology th' attempt may need—

But by your looks embolden'd, I'll proceed.

Who, without terror, Rodolph's fury traces?

Why, tho' a Dane, was he refused the Graces?

Were such the manners of those Northern Climes?

Why not have bent them to our gentler times?

To seek his Mistress' life!—So desperate grown!—

He should have rather fled, and saved his own.

Surely that Albert might have spoke more plain.

The City's Praefect—but my dying Swain.

Why had he not some crafty scheme devised?

And ventured 'mid the Danish camp disguised?

He should have crept, or swam, or fought, or strove,

And hazarded his trust—to gain his Love.

Th' affection of a Brother!—How misplaced!

And what a violence to modern Taste!

A soul defying death! and accents Roman!

How could they suit with any British Woman!

The simple, and the natural!—How stupid!

I should have ransack'd all the stores of Cupid.

Hopes, fears, doubts, jealousies, and warm desires,

Darts, arrows, daggers, poison'd bowls, and fires.

Are to a Tragic Piece my powers decreed?

Let it be great and Tragical indeed.

Let Passion cease the guiding rein t' obey,

Let Grief be strain'd to its sublimest key,

In frantic fury let me curse the light,

And die enchantingly, with all my might.

But egotisms and irony apart—

Say, have our Author's numbers touch'd the heart?

Have they from Pity stole th' ingenuous sigh?

And raised the trembling tear in Virtue's eye?

This is th' unerring comment; this the test—

And all remarks besides—like mine—a jest.

Information about this book

Title statement

Editha. A tragedy: By Hugh Downman, M.D.

Downman, Hugh, 1740-1809.

Publication

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University of Oxford Text Archive
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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/4603

ID [isbn10]

1106016025

ID [isbn13]

9781106016027

ID [TCP]

K063037.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3310069751

ID [ECLL]

0055101400

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— Editha. A tragedy: By Hugh Downman, M.D., Downman, Hugh, 1740-1809.. 4,86,[2]p. ; 8⁰. Exeter :: printed by E. Grigg, and sold by G. Kearsley; P. Elmsley; G. Wilkie, London; and W. Grigg, Exeter,. 1784.. [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT75033.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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