[] EDWIN AND ELTRUDA.
A LEGENDARY TALE.
PRICE TWO SHILLINGS.
[] EDWIN AND ELTRUDA.
A LEGENDARY TALE.
BY A YOUNG LADY.
Mark it, Ceſario, it is true and plain;
The ſpinſters and the knitters in the ſun
And the free maids that weave their thread with bones,
Do uſe to chant it. It is ſilly, ſooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.
SHAKSPEARE'S TWELFTH NIGHT.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR T. CADELL, IN THE STRAND. MDCCLXXXII.
ADVERTISEMENT, By the EDITOR.
[]THE young Lady who is the writer of the following Poem is a native of London, but was removed, with her Family, in very early life, to a remote part of the kingdom, where her ſole inſtruction was derived from a virtuous, amiable, and ſenſible mother. In ſo diſtant a ſituation, ſhe had ſuch little acceſs to books, that, when the piece now preſented to the public was written, ſhe had not read Mr. Cartwright's Armine and [2] Elvira, Dr. Percy's Hermit of Warkworth, and other beautiful productions of that kind. On her return to the metropolis laſt ſummer, the Poem being ſhewn to ſeveral of her ac⯑quaintance, they earneſtly requeſted its pub⯑lication; to which ſhe hath conſented, with the modeſty and diffidence that, in the ſea⯑ſon of youth, are the uſual concomitants of true virtue. Having long been intimate with the family, I with pleaſure undertook the taſk of Editor; and my pleaſure will be greatly increaſed, if this performance ſhall meet with a favourable reception from the judges of poetical merit. Should there be found in it many marks of an elegant and pathetic genius, to theſe not only the candid, but even the judicious critic will direct his principal attention; and will be diſpoſed to forgive the ſimplicity of the ſtory, and that [3] diffuſion of ſentiment which is ſo natural to a youthful mind, in its firſt eſſays in com⯑poſition.
FEB. 23, 1782.
AND. KIPPIS.
ERRATA
[]Page 4, line 11, for this read his.
Page 5, l. 4, for grace, r. charm.
Page do. l. 11, for blows, r. blooms.
Page 7, l. 10, for was, r. were.
Page 12, l. 2, for youthful, r. golden.
Page 21, l. 16, for do, r. no.
Page 26, l. 1, for To, r. I.
EDWIN AND ELTRUDA.
[]WHERE the clear DERWENT'S waters glide
Along their moſſy bed,
Cloſe by the river's verdant ſide,
A caſtle rear'd its head.
The ancient pile by time eras'd,
And level'd with the ground,
Once many a ſculptur'd trophy grac'd,
And banners wav'd around.
There liv'd a Chief, to fame well known,
A warlike, virtuous knight,
Who many a well-fought field had won
By valour and by might.
[2]
What time in martial pomp he led
His choſen gallant train,
The foe that erſt had conquer'd, fled,
Indignant fled the plain.
Yet milder virtues he poſſeſt,
More gentle paſſions felt;
And in his calm and yielding breaſt
Each ſoft affection dwelt.
Not all the rugged toils of war
His boſom e'er could ſteel;
He felt for every child of care,
His heart was apt to feel.
And much that heart was doom'd to bear,
And many a grief to prove;
To feel the fulneſs of deſpair,
The woes of hopeleſs love;
[3]
To loſe the partner of his breaſt,
Who ſooth'd each riſing care;
And with mild efforts charm'd to reſt
The griefs ſhe ſought to ſhare.
He mark'd the chilling damps of death
O'erſpread her fading charms;
He ſaw her yield her quiv'ring breath,
And ſink in death's cold arms.
From ſolitude he hop'd relief,
And this lone manſion ſought,
To cheriſh there his ſacred grief,
And nurſe the tender thought.
Here, object of his fondeſt cares,
An infant daughter ſmil'd;
And oft the mourner's falling tears
Bedew'd his EMMA's child!
[4]
Theſe tears, as o'er the babe he hung,
Would tremble in his eye;
While bleſſings fault'ring on his tongue,
Were breath'd but in a ſigh.
For many a ſad revolving year
His hopeleſs griefs endure;
For ah! a ſorrow ſo ſevere
'Tis death alone can cure.
Yet time can ſoften the deep wound
It has not power to heal;
And in this child he thought he found
His much-lov'd EMMA ſtill.
In his ELTRUDA's gentle breaſt
His griefs he could repoſe;
With each endearing virtue bleſt,
She ſoften'd all his woes.
[5]
Twas eaſy in her look to trace
An emblem of her mind:
There dwelt each mild attractive grace,
Each gentle grace combin'd.
Soft as the dews of morn ariſe,
And on the pale flower gleam,
So ſoft, ſo ſweet her melting eyes
With love and pity beam.
As far retir'd the lonely flower
Smiles in the deſart vale,
And blows its balmy ſweets to pour
Upon the flying gale;
So liv'd in ſolitude unſeen
This lovely, peerleſs maid;
So ſweetly grac'd the vernal ſcene,
And bloſſom'd in the ſhade.
[6]
Yet love could pierce the lone receſs,
For there he loves to dwell;
He ſcorns the noiſy croud to bleſs,
And ſeeks the lowly cell.
There only his reſiſtleſs dart
In all its power is known;
His empire ſways each willing heart;
They live to love alone,
EDWIN, of every grace poſſeſt,
Firſt taught her heart to prove
That gentleſt paſſion of the breaſt,
To ſeel the power of love.
Tho' few the paſtures he poſſeſt,
Tho' ſcanty was his ſtore,
Tho' wealth ne'er ſwell'd his hoarded cheſt,
EDWIN could boaſt of more!
[7]
EDWIN could boaſt the liberal mind,
The gen'rous, ample heart;
And every virtue heav'n inclin'd
To bounty, can impart.
The maxims of this ſervile age,
The mean, the ſelfiſh care,
The ſordid views that now engage
The mercenary pair,
Whom riches can unite or part,
To them was all unknown;
For then the ſympathetic heart
Was link'd by love alone.
They little knew that wealth had power
To make the conſtant rove;
They little knew the ſplendid dower
Could add a bliſs to love.
[8]
They little knew the human breaſt
Could pant for ſordid ore;
Or, of a faithful heart poſſeſt,
Could ever wiſh for more.
And tho' her peerleſs beauty warms
His heart to love inclin'd;
Not leſs he felt the laſting charms,
The beauties of her mind.
Not leſs his gentle ſoul approv'd
The virtues glowing there;
For ſurely Virtue to be lov'd
Needs only to appear.
The ſweets of dear domeſtic bliſs
Each circling hour beguil'd;
And meek-ey'd hope, and inward peace
On the lone manſion ſmil'd.
[9]
Oft o'er the daiſy-ſprinkled mead,
They wander'd far away,
Some lambkin to the fold to lead,
That haply chanc'd to ſtray.
Her heart, where pity lov'd to dwell,
With ſadneſs oft was wrung;
For the bruis'd inſect as it fell,
Her ſoft tear trembling hung.
As roving o'er the flow'ry waſte,
A ſigh would heave her breaſt
The while her gentle hand replac'd
The linnet's falling neſt.
Then would ſhe ſeek the vernal bow'r,
And haſte with tender care
To nurſe ſome pale declining flow'r,
Some op'ning bloſſom rear.
[10]
And oft with eager ſteps ſhe flies
To chear the lonely cot,
Where the poor widow pour her ſighs,
And wails her hapleſs lot.
Their weeping mother's trembling knees
Her liſping infants claſp;
Their meek imploring look ſhe fees,
She feels their tender graſp.
Wild throbs her aching boſom ſwell!
They mark the burſting ſigh—
(Nature has form'd the ſoul to feel)
They weep, unknowing why.—
HER hands the lib'ral boon impart,
And much her tear avails
To ſooth the mourner's burſting heart,
Where feeble utterance fails.
[11]
On the pale cheek where hung the tear
Of agonizing woe,
She bids the guſh of joy riſe there,
The tear of rapture flow.
If greater plenty to impart
She e'er would heav'n implore,
'Twas only that her ample heart
Still panted to do more.
Thus ſoft the gliding moments flew,
(Tho' love would court their ſtay)
While ſome new virtue roſe to view,
And mark'd each fleeting day.
Peace, long condemn'd the world to roam,
Like the poor wand'ring dove,
Here ſoftly-reſting found a home,
And wiſh'd no more to rove.
[12]
The youthful poet's ſoothing dream
Of youthful ages paſt,
The Muſes' fond ideal theme
Was realiz'd at laſt.
Joy ſprings amid' encircling cares
To breaſts where virtue glows;
For Virtue, in this vale of tears,
A paradiſe beſtows.
But vainly here we hope that bliſs
Unchanging will endure;
Ah, in a world ſo vain as this,
What heart can reſt ſecure?
For now aroſe the death-fraught day,
For civil diſcord fam'd,
When YORK from LANCASTER's proud ſway,
The Royal ſceptre claim'd.
[13]
The paſſing moments now were fraught
With deſolating rage;
And now the bloody deeds were wrought
That ſwell th' hiſtoric page.
The good old ALBERT vows again
To ſeek the hoſtile field;
The cauſe of HENRY to maintain,
The ſpear for him to wield.
But oh, a thouſand ſacred ties
That bind the hero's ſoul,
A thouſand tender claims ariſe,
And EDWIN's breaſt controul,
And link the youth to HENRY's foes—
But ah, it rends his heart
The aged ALBERT to oppoſe;
To bear an adverſe part.
[14]
Tho' paſſion pleads in HENRY's cauſe,
And EDWIN's heart would ſway,
Yet honour's ſtern imperious laws
The brave will ſtill obey.
Oppreſs'd with many a mingled care,
Full oft ELTRUDA ſigh'd,
And mourn'd the rugged brow of war
Should thoſe ſhe lov'd divide.
At length the fatal morn aroſe
In gloomy vapours dreſt;
The penſive maiden's ſorrow flows,
And pale fear heav'd her breaſt.
A thouſand pangs the father feels,
A thouſand tender fears;
While at his feet ſhe trembling kneels,
And bathes them with her tears.
[15]
A falling drop bedew'd his cheek,
From the ſad ſcene he flew;
The tender father could not ſpeak—
He could not ſay—adieu!
Then EDWIN, hapleſs EDWIN came;
He ſaw her pallid look,
And tremblings ſeize her tender frame,
While thus he fault'ring ſpoke:
" This cruel tenderneſs but wounds
" The heart it means to bleſs:
" Thoſe falling tears, thoſe plaintive ſounds,
" Increaſe the ſoft diſtreſs!
" Then be to wretched EDWIN kind,
" Nor mourn, dear tender maid"—
At length, on EDWIN's breaſt reclin'd,
ELTRUDA faintly ſaid:
[16]
" If fate relentleſs has decreed,
" On yonder hoſtile plain,
" My EDWIN's deſtin'd heart to bleed,
" And ſwell the heaps of ſlain;
" Truſt me, my love, I'll not complain,
" I'll ſhed no feeble tear;
" Not one weak drop my cheek ſhall ſtain,
" Or tell what paſſes here!
" Ah, let thy fate of others claim
" A tear, a tender ſigh;
" I'll only murmur thy dear name—
" Call on my love—and die."
'Twere vain for feeble words to tell
The pangs their boſoms prov'd;
They only can conceive it well
Whoſe hearts have trembling lov'd.
[17]
The timid Muſe forbears to ſay
What laurels EDWIN won;
Nor paints the gallant deeds that day
By aged ALBERT done.
On ſofter themes alone ſhe dwells,
As trembling thro' the grove,
Of friendſhip's woes ſhe ſad'ning tells,
Or ſings of hapleſs love.
Tho' long the beaming day was fled,
The fight they ſtill maintain;
While night a deeper horror ſhed
O'er the enſanguin'd plain.
The martial trump invades the ear,
And drowns the orphan's cry:
No more the widow's ſhriek they hear,
The love-lorn virgin's ſigh!
[18]
The pangs thoſe dear-bought laurels yield,
Alas, what tongue can ſpeak?
Perchance not one that ſtrews the field
But leaves ſome heart to break.
To ALBERT's breaſt the faulſhion flew—
He felt a mortal wound;
The drops that warm'd his heart, bedew
And ſtain the flinty ground.
The Foe who aim'd the deadly dart,
Heard his expiring ſighs;
Soft pity touch'd his yielding heart,
To ALBERT ſtreight he flies—
While round the Chief his arms he caſt,
While oft his boſom ſigh'd,
And ſeem'd as if it mourn'd the paſt—
Old ALBERT faintly cry'd,
[19]
" Tho' nature heaves theſe feeble groans,
" Without complaint I die.
" Yet one dear care my heart ſtill owns,
" Still feels one tender tie.
" For YORK, a youth well known to fame
" Uplifts the hoſtile ſpear;
" EDWIN's the blooming heroe's name,
" To ALBERT's boſom dear;
" Ah, tell him my expiring ſigh,
" Say my laſt words beſought
" To my deſpairing child to fly,
" 'Ere fame the tidings brought:"
He ſpoke!—but oh, what mournful ſtrain
In ſadneſs apt to melt,
What moving numbers can explain
The pangs that EDWIN felt!
[20]
For EDWIN 'twas himſelf that held
The dying warrior preſt,
(Whom the dark ſhades of night conceal'd)
Cloſe to his throbbing breaſt.
" Ah, fly (he cry'd) my touch profane!
" Oh how the reſt impart?
" 'Twas EDWIN plung'd—rever'd old man—
" The dagger in thy heart."
His dying eyes he feebly rais'd,
Which ſeem'd for ever clos'd;
On the pale youth they piteous gaz'd—
And then in death repos'd.—
" I'll go (the hapleſs EDWIN ſaid)
" And breathe a laſt adieu;
" And with the drops deſpair will ſhed,
" My mourning love bedew.
[21]
" I'll go the tender maid to ſeek,
" To catch her burſting ſigh,
" To wipe the tear from her pale cheek,
" And at her feet to die."
And as the tender maid to ſeek
The frantic mourner flew,
To wipe the tear from her pale cheek,
And breathe a laſt adieu,
Appall'd his ſtartling fancy ſees
His true love's ſorrows flow;
And hears in every paſſing breeze
The plaintive ſounds of woe.
Mean while the weeping maid, whoſe prayers
In vain would heav'n implore,
Of ALBERT's fate deſpairing hears,
But yet had heard do more.
[22]
She ſaw her much-lov'd EDWIN near—
She ſaw, and piteous ſigh'd;
The ſight chill'd every falling tear—
At length ſhe faintly cry'd,
" Eternal woes this heart muſt prove;
" Its tendereſt ties are broke:
" Ah ſay, what ruthleſs arm, my love,
" Could aim the deadly ſtroke!
" Could not thy hand, my EDWIN, thine,
" Have warded off the blow?
" For, ah, he was not only mine,
" He was thy father too!
No longer EDWIN could endure
The pangs no ſtrains can tell;
From death he fondly hop'd a cure,
As ſenſeleſs, cold, he fell.
[23]
She flew—ſhe gave her ſorrows vent—
A thouſand tears ſhe pour'd;
Her mournful voice, her moving plaint,
The youth to life reſtor'd.
" Why wildly throbs each ſhiv'ring vein?
" (She cry'd) my EDWIN ſpeak—
" Or all unable to ſuſtain
" Theſe pangs, my heart will break."
" Yes—it will break, (he frantic cry'd)
" For me will life reſign—
" Then trembling know thy father died,
" And know the guilt was mine."
" It is enough!"—with ſhort quick breath,
Exclaim'd the mournful maid:
She ſpoke no more, but ſeem'd from death
To hope for inſtant aid.
[24]
But lo! a penſive, ſilent train
With downcaſt looks appear;
Who ALBERT'S pallid corſe ſuſtain,
Plac'd on a ſable bier.
For hapleſs EDWIN fondly thought
It might ſome comfort yield,
If good old ALBERT'S corſe were brought
From off the blood-ſtain'd field.
He thought 'twould ſooth ELTRUDA'S pains,
O'er the dear hallow'd urn
Which ALBERT'S ſacred duſt contains,
A while her griefs to mourn.
But ah, all frantic at the ſight,
A hurried glance ſhe threw;
Then ſtarting wild with pale affright,
That hurried glance withdrew.
[25]
Trembling ſhe ruſh'd, and in her arms
The dear remains ſhe preſt;
But ſudden, paleneſs veil'd her charms
So late in beauty dreſt.
In plaintive accents EDWIN cries,
" And have I murder'd thee?—
" To other worlds thy ſpirit flies,
" And mine this ſtroke ſhall free."
His hand the death-fraught weapon graſp'd,
The ſteel he firmly preſt,
When ſudden ſhe aroſe, and claſp'd
Him wildly to her breaſt.
" Methought (ſhe cry'd with panting breath)
" My EDWIN talk'd of peace,
" I knew 'twas only found in death,
" And fear'd that ſad releaſe.
[26]
" To claſp him ſtill—'twas but a dream—
" Help yon wide wound to cloſe,
" From which a father's ſpirits ſtream,
" A father's life-blood flows.
" But ſee, from thee he ſhrinks! nor would
" Be blaſted by thy touch—
" Ah, tho' my EDWIN ſpilt thy blood,
" Yet once he lov'd thee much.
" My father, yet in pity ſtay!
" I ſee his white beard wave—
" A ſpirit beckons him away,
" And points to yon cold grave.
" E'en now, my love, I trembling hear
" Him breath a laſt adieu!
" I ſee, my love, the falling tear
" His furrow'd cheek bedew!
[27]
" I feel within his aged arms
" His poor ELTRUDA preſt:
" I hear him ſpeak the fond alarms
" That wring a parent's breaſt.
" He's gone!—and here his aſhes ſleep;
" I do not heave a ſigh—
" His child a father does not weep,
" For, ah, my brain is dry!
" But come, together let us rove
" At the pale hour of night,
" When the moon glimm'ring thro' the grov
" Shall ſhed her fainteſt light:
" We'll gather from the roſy bow'r
" The faireſt wreaths that bloom;
" We'll cull, my love, each op'ning flow'
" To deck his hallow'd tomb.
[28]
" We'll thither from the diſtant dale,
" A weeping willow bear;
" And plant a lily of the vale,
" A drooping lily there!
" We'll ſhun the glaring face of day,
" Eternal ſilence keep;
" Thro' the dark wood we'll chearleſs ſtray,
" And only live to weep.
" But hark!—'tis come—the fatal time
" When, EDWIN, we muſt part;
" Some angel tells me 'tis a crime
" To hold thee to my heart.
" My father's ſpirit hovers near:
" Alas, he comes to chide—
" Is there no means, my EDWIN dear,
" The fatal deed to hide?
[29]
" None, none—for whereſoe'er we go
" Lo, ſtreams of blood proceed!
" And ſhould the torrent ceaſe to flow,
" Yet ſtill our hearts would bleed.
" Our hearts the ſecret would betray,
" The tale of death reveal;
" Angels would come in dread array,
" The bloody deed to tell.
" Yet, EDWIN, if th' offence be thine
" Too ſoon I can forgive;
" But, oh, the guilt would all be mine,
" Could I endure to live.
" Farewell, my love!—for, ah, I faint:
" Of pale deſpair I die.—
" And ſee that hoary murder'd ſaint
" Deſcends from yon blue ſky.
[30]
" Poor, weak old man!—he comes, my love,
" To lead to heav'n the way;
" He knows not heaven will joyleſs prove,
" While EDWIN is away."
" It is too much!" (he frantic cry'd)
Then to his boſom preſt
The dying maid, who piteous ſigh'd—
And ſunk to endleſs reſt.
He ſaw her dying eye-lids cloſe,
He heard her lateſt ſigh,
And yet no tear of anguiſh flows
Faſt ſtreaming from his eye.
For, ah, the fulneſs of deſpair,
The pang of high-wrought woe,
Admits no ſilent trembling tear,
No lenient drop to flow.
[31]
He feels within his ſhivering veins
A mortal chillneſs riſe;
Her pallid corſe he feebly ſtrains—
And on her boſom dies!
No longer may their hapleſs lot
The mournful Muſe engage;
She wipes away the tears that blot
The melancholy page.
For heav'n in love diſſolves the ties
That chain the ſpirit here;
And diſtant far for ever flies
The bleſſing held moſt dear;
To bid the ſuff'rer's ſoul aſpire
A higher bliſs to prove,
To wake the pure, refin'd deſire,
The hope that reſts above!
FINIS.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4668 Edwin and Eltruda A legendary tale By a young lady. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5A0C-3