ALFRED: A MASQUE.
[]ACT I.
SCENE I.
CORIN, EMMA.
EMMA.
SHEPHERD, 'tis he. Beneath yon aged oak,
All on the flowery turf he lays him down.
CORIN.
Soft: let us not diſturb him. Gentle EMMA,
Poor tho' he be, unfriended and unknown,
My pity waits with reverence on his fortune.
Modeſt of carriage, and of ſpeech moſt gracious,
As if ſome ſaint or angel, in diſguiſe,
Had grac'd our lowly cottage with his preſence,
He ſteals, I know not how, into the heart,
And makes it pant to ſerve him. Truſt me, EMMA,
He is no common man.
EMMA.
[8]Some lord, perhaps,
Or valiant chief, that from our deadly foe,
The haughty, cruel, unbelieving Dane,
Seeks ſhelter here.
CORIN.
And ſhelter he ſhall find.
Who loves his country is my friend and brother.
Behold him well. Fair manhood in its prime,
Even thro the homely ruſſet that conceals him,
Shines forth, and proves him noble. Seeſt thou, EMMA,
Yon weſtern clouds? The ſun they ſtrive to hide,
Yet darts his beam around.
EMMA.
Your thought is mine:
He is not what his preſent fortunes ſpeak him.
But, ah! the raging foe is all around us:
We dare not keep him here.
CORIN.
Content thee, wife:
This iſland is of ſtrength. Nature's own hand
Hath planted round a deep defence of woods,
The ſounding aſh, the mighty oak; each tree
A ſheltering grove: and choak'd up all between
With wild encumbrance of perplexing thorns,
And horrid brakes. Beyond this woody verge,
Two rivers broad and rapid hem us in.
Along their channel ſpreads the gulphy pool,
And trembling quagmire, whoſe deceitful green
Betrays the foot it tempts. One path alone
Winds to this plain, ſo roughly difficult,
This ſingle arm, poor ſhepherd as I am,
Could well diſpute it with twice twenty Danes.
EMMA.
Yet think, my CORIN, on the ſtern decree
[9] Of that proud foe; "Who harbours or relieves
"An Engliſh captain, dies the death of traitors:
"But who their haunts diſcovers, ſhall be ſafe,
"And high rewarded."
CORIN.
Now, juſt heaven forbid,
A Britiſh man ſhould ever count for gain,
What villainy muſt earn. No: are we poor?
Be honeſty our riches. Are we mean,
And humbly born? The true heart makes us noble.
Theſe hands can toil, can ſow the ground and reap,
For thee and thy ſweet babes. Our daily labour
Is daily wealth: it finds us bread and raiment.
Could Daniſh gold give more?
EMMA.
Alas the while,
That loyal faith is fled from hall and bower,
To dwell with village-ſwains!
CORIN.
Ah look! behold!
Where, like ſome goodly tree by wintry winds
Torn from the roots and withering, our ſad gueſt
Lies on the ground diffus'd.
EMMA.
I weep to ſee it.
CORIN.
Thou haſt a heart ſweet pity loves to dwell in.
Dry up thy tears; and lean on this juſt hope:
If yet to do away his country's ſhame,
To ſerve her bravely on ſome bleſt occaſion;
If for theſe ends this ſtranger ſought our cottage,
The heavenly hoſts are hovering here unſeen,
To watch and to protect him.—But oh! when—
My heart burns for it—ſhall I ſee the hour
Of vengeance on thoſe Daniſh infidels,
[10] That war with heaven and us?
EMMA.
Alas, my love!
Theſe paſſions are not for the poor man's ſtate.
To heaven and to the rulers of the land
Leave ſuch ambitious thoughts. Be warn'd, my CORIN:
And think our little all depends on thee.
SONG.
O peace! the faireſt child of heaven,
To whom the ſylvan reign was given,
The vale, the fountain and the grove,
With every ſofter ſcene of love:
Return, ſweet peace! and chear the weeping ſwain;
Return, with eaſe and pleaſure in thy train.
CORIN.
Huſh: break thee off—For ſee, our mournful gueſt
Has rais'd his head—and lo! who comes to greet him;
His friend, the woodman of the neighbouring dale,
Whom late, as yeſter evening-ſtar aroſe,
At his requeſt I found, and hither brought.
SCENE II.
ALFRED, Earl of DEVON.
ALFRED.
How long, ſweet heaven! how long
Shall red war deſolate this proſtrate land?
All, all is loſt—And ALFRED lives to tell it!
His cities laid in duſt! his ſubjects ſlaughter'd!
Or into ſlaves debas'd! the murderous foe
[11] Proud and exulting in the general ſhame!—
Are theſe things ſo? and He without the means
Of great revenge? caſt down below the hope
Of ſuccouring thoſe he weeps for? O deſpair!
O grief of griefs!
DEVON.
Old as I am, my Liege,
In rough war harden'd, and with death familiar,
Theſe eyes have long forgot to melt with ſoftneſs:
But O, my gracious maſter, they have ſeen—
All-pitying heaven!—ſuch ſights of ruthleſs rage,
Of total deſolation—
ALFRED.
O my people!
O ruin'd England!—DEVON, thoſe were bleſt,
Who dy'd before this time. Ha! and thoſe robbers,
That violate the ſanctity of leagues,
The reverend ſeal of oaths; that baſely broke,
Like nightly ruffians, on the hour of peace,
And ſtole a victory from men unarm'd,
Thoſe Danes enjoy their crimes! Dread vengeance! [...]
Of power and juſtice! come, array'd in terrors,
Thy garment red with blood, thy keen fword drawn:
O come, and on the heads of faithleſs men
Pour ample retribution; men whoſe triumph
Upbraids eternal juſtice.—But no more:
Submiſſion is heaven's due.—I will not launch
Into that dark abyſs where thought muſt drown.
Proceed, my lord: on with the mournful tale,
My griefs broke off.
DEVON.
From yonder heath-crown'd hill,
This iſland's eaſtern point, where in one ſtream
The Thone and Parret roll their blending waves,
[12] I look'd, and ſaw the progreſs of the foe,
As of ſome tempeſt, ſome devouring fire
That ruins without mercy where it ſpreads.
The riches of the year, the golden grain
That liberal crown'd our plains, lies trampled wide
By hoſtile feet, or rooted up and waſte
Deforms the broad high-way. From ſpace to ſpace,
Far as my ſtraining eye could ſhoot its beam,
Trees, cottages, and caſtles, ſmoak to heaven
In one aſcending cloud. But Oh for pity!
That way, my lord, where yonder verdant height,
Declining, ſlides into a fruitful vale,
Unſightly now and bare; a few poor hinds,
Grey-hair'd, and thinly clad, ſtood and beheld
The common ravage: motionleſs and mute
With hands to heaven uplift, they ſtood, and wept—
My tears attended theirs—
ALFRED.
If this ſad ſight
Could pain thee to ſuch anguiſh, what muſt I
Their king and parent feel?—Thou ſacred ſhade
Of my lov'd father! all ye parted ſpirits
Of my fam'd anceſtors! be men once more,
To know my pangs, and weep for England's ſhame—
Why end I not at once this wretched being?
The means are in my hand.—But ſhall a prince
Thus poorly ſhroud him in the grave from pain,
And ſenſe of ſhame? The madman, nay the coward,
Has often dar'd the ſame. A monarch holds
His life in truſt for others. I will live then:
Let heaven diſpoſe the reſt.
DEVON.
Thrice-noble ALFRED,
And England's only hope, whoſe virtues raiſe
Our frail mortality, our human duſt,
[13] Up to angelic ſplendor and perfection;
With you to bear the worſt of ills, the ſpoil
Of waſteful war, the loſs of life or freedom,
Is happineſs, is glory.
ALFRED.
Ah, look round thee:
That mud-built cottage is thy ſovereign's palace.
You hind, whoſe daily toil is all his wealth,
Lodges and feeds him. Are theſe times for flattery?
Or call it praiſe: ſuch gaudy attributes
Would miſbecome our beſt and proudeſt fortunes.
But what are mine? what is this high-prais'd ALFRED?
Among ten thouſand wretches, moſt undone.
That prince who ſees his country laid in ruins,
His ſubjects periſhing beneath the ſword
Of foreign rage; who ſees and cannot ſave them,
Is but ſupreme in miſery!
DEVON.
My Liege,
Who has not known ill fortune, never knew
Himſelf, or his own virtue. Be of comfort:
We can but die at laſt. Till that hour comes,
Let noble anger keep our hopes alive.
A ſudden thought, as if from heaven inſpir'd,
Darts on my ſoul. One caſtle ſtill is ours,
Tho cloſe begirt and ſhaken by the Danes.
In this diſguiſe, my chance of paſſing on,
Of entering there unknown, is promiſing,
And wears a lucky face. 'Tis our laſt ſtake,
And I will play it like a man whoſe life,
Whoſe honor hangs upon a ſingle caſt.
Mean while, my Lord—
ALFRED.
[14]Ha! DEVON, thou haſt rous'd
My ſlumbering virtue. I applaud thy thought.
The praiſe of this brave daring ſhall be thine:
The danger ſhall be common. We will both
Strait tempt the Daniſh camp, and gain this fort;
To animate our brothers of the war,
Thoſe Engliſhmen who yet deſerve that name.
And hear, eternal Juſtice! if my life
Can make atonement for them, King of Kings!
Accept thy willing victim. On my head
Be all their woes: To them be grace and mercy.
Come on, my noble friend.
DEVON.
Ah, good my Liege,
What fits a private valor, and might grace
The ſimple ſoldier's venture, would proclaim
His general's raſhneſs. You are England's king:
Your infant children, and your much-lov'd queen;
Nay more, the public weal, ten thouſand ſouls,
Whoſe hope you are, whoſe all depends on you,
Forbid this enterprize. 'Tis nobler courage
To cheque this ardor, to reſerve your ſword
For ſome great day of known and high import;
That to your country, to the judging world
Shall juſtify all hazards you may run.
This trial ſuits but me.
ALFRED.
Stay thee, raſh man—
Deſpair and indignation wing his ſteps.
May that good angel, who inſpir'd thy thought,
Throw round thy ſteps a veil of cloudy air,
That thou mayſt walk inviſible and ſafe.—
Now for reflection—Ha! this ſylvan ſcene,
The broad wild umbrage of theſe pendant ſhades
[15] That murmur in the breeze, and deep embrown,
As evening ſpreads the holy Hermit's cave:
Theſe ſcenes that muſing Melancholy loves,
Breathe their ſtill influence on me. O bleſt lot
Of calm obſcurity—But, liſt. Ha! whence
Theſe air-born notes that ſound in meaſur'd ſweetneſs
Thro this vaſt ſilence?
SCENE III.
Solemn muſic is heard at a diſtance. It comes nearer in a full ſymphony: after which a ſingle trum⯑pet ſounds a high and awakening air. Then the following ſtanzas are ſung by two aërial ſpirits unſeen.
Firſt SPIRIT.
Hear, ALFRED, father of the ſtate,
Thy Genius heaven's high will declare!
What proves the hero truly great,
Is never, never to deſpair:
Is never to deſpair.
Second SPIRIT.
Thy hope awake, thy heart expand
With all its vigor, all its fires.
Ariſe! and ſave a ſinking land!
Thy country calls, and heaven inſpires.
Both SPIRITS.
Earth calls, and heaven inſpires.
SCENE IV.
[16]ALFRED alone.
All hail, ye gentle miniſters of heaven!
Your ſong inſpires new patience thro my breaſt,
And generous hope: it wings my mounting ſoul
Above th' entangling maſs of earthly paſſions,
That keep frail man, tho ſtruggling to be free,
Still fluttering in the duſt.
SCENE V.
ALFRED, the HERMIT advancing from his cave.
ALFRED.
Thrice-happy Hermit!
Whom thus the heavenly habitants attend,
Bleſſing thy calm retreat; while ruthleſs war
Fills the polluted land with blood and crimes.
In this extremity of England's fate,
Led by thy ſacred character, I come
For comfort and advice. Thy aged wiſdom,
Purg'd from the ſtormy cloud of human paſſions,
And by a ray from heaven exalted, ſees
Deep thro' futurity. Say what remains,
What yet remains to ſave our proſtrate country?
Nor ſcorn this anxious queſtion even from me,
A nameleſs ſtranger.
HERMIT.
[17]ALFRED, England's king,
All hail! and welcome to this humble cell.
ALFRED.
Whence doſt thou know me, venerable father?
HERMIT.
Laſt night, when with a draught from that cool fountain,
I had my wholeſome, ſober ſupper crown'd;
As is my ſtated cuſtom, forth I walk'd,
Beneath the ſolemn gloom and glittering ſky,
To feed my ſoul with prayer and meditation.
And thus to inward harmony compos'd,
That ſweeteſt muſic of the grateful heart,
Whoſe each emotion is a ſilent hymn;
I to my couch retir'd. Strait on mine eyes
A pleaſing ſlumber fell, whoſe myſtic power
Seal'd up my ſenſes, but enlarg'd my ſoul.
At once, diſclos'd amid the dark waſte night,
A viſion to my phantaſy appear'd.
For know, this ample element contains
Unnumber'd ſpiritual beings, or malign,
Or good to man. Theſe, when the groſſer eye
Of nature ſleeps, oft play their ſeveral parts,
As on a ſcene, before th' attentive mind,
And to the favour'd man diſcloſe the future.
Led by theſe ſpirits friendly to this iſle,
I liv'd thro' future ages; felt the virtue,
The great, the glorious paſſions that will fire
Diſtant poſterity: when guardian laws
Are by the patriot, in the glowing ſenate,
Won from corruption; when th' impatient arm
Of liberty, invincible, ſhall ſcourge
The tyrants of mankind—and when the Deep,
Through all her ſwelling waves, ſhall proudly joy
Beneath the boundleſs empire of thy ſons.
[18] I ſaw thee, ALFRED, too—But o'er thy fortunes
Lay cloud [...] impenetrable.
ALFRED.
Ah, good Hermit,
That ſcene is dark indeed! Ye awful powers!
To what am I reſerv'd? Still muſt I roam
A wanderer here, inglorious and unknown?
Or am I deſtin'd thy great inſtrument,
From fierce oppreſſion to redeem this land?
HERMIT.
Perhaps, the laſt.—But, prince, remember, then,
The vows, the noble uſes, of affliction.
Preſerve the quick humanity it gives,
The pitying, ſocial ſenſe of human weakneſs:
Yet keep thy ſtubborn fortitude entire,
The manly heart that to another's woe
Is tender, but ſuperior to its own.
Learn to ſubmit; yet learn to conquer fortune.
Attach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds
And offices of life: to life itſelf,
With all its vain and tranſient joys, ſit looſe.
Chief, let devotion to the ſovereign mind,
A ſteady, chearful, abſolute dependance
On his beſt, wiſeſt government, poſſeſs thee.
In thoughtleſs, gay proſperity, when all
Attends our wiſh; when nought is ſeen around us,
But kneeling flattery, and obedient fortune;
Then are blind mortals apt, within themſelves
To fix their ſtay, forgetful of the giver.
But when thus humbled, ALFRED, as thou art,
When to their feeble natural powers reduc'd,
'Tis then they feel this univerſal truth—
That heaven is all in all—and man is nothing.
ALFRED.
[19]I thank thee, father, for thy pious counſel.
And witneſs, thou dread power! who ſeeſt my heart;
That if not to perform my regal taſk,
To be the common father of my people,
Patron of honor, virtue and religion;
If not to ſhelter induſtry, to guard
His honeſt portion from oppreſſive pride,
From waſtful riot, and the ſons of rapine,
Who baſely raviſh what they dare not earn;
If not to deal out juſtice, like the ſun,
With equal light; if not to ſpread thy bounty,
The treaſures truſted to me, not my own,
On all the ſmiling ranks of nouriſh'd life;
If not to raiſe our drooping Engliſh name,
To clothe it yet with terror; make this land
Renown'd for peaceful arts to bleſs mankind,
And generous war to humble proud oppreſſors:
If not to build on an eternal baſe,
On liberty and laws, the public weal:
If not for theſe great ends I am ordain'd,
May I ne'er idly ſill the throne of England!
HERMIT.
Still may thy breaſt theſe ſentiments retain,
In proſperous life.
ALFRED.
Proſperity were ruin,
Could it deſtroy or change ſuch thoughts as theſe.
When Thoſe whom heaven diſtinguiſhes o'er millions,
Proſuſing on them honors, riches, power,
Whate'er th' expanded heart can wiſh; when they,
Accepting the reward, neglect the duty;
Or worſe, pervert theſe gifts to deeds of ruin:
Is there a wretch they rule ſo mean as they?
Guilty, at once of ſacrilege to heaven,
[20] And of perfidious robbery to men—
But hark! methinks I hear a plaintive voice
Sigh thro the vale, and wake the mournful echo.
SONG.
1.
Sweet valley, ſay, where, penſive lying,
For me, our children, England, ſighing,
The beſt of mortals leans his head.
Ye fountains, dimpled by my ſorrow,
Ye brooks that my complainings borrow,
O lead me to his lonely bed:
Or if my lover,
Deep woods, you cover,
Ah whiſper where your ſhadows o'er him ſpread!
2.
'Tis not the loſs of pomp and pleaſure,
Of empire, or of tinſel treaſure,
That drops this tear, that ſwells this groan:
No; from a nobler cauſe proceeding,
A heart with love and fondneſs bleeding,
I breathe my ſadly-pleaſing moan.
With other anguiſh
I ſcorn to languiſh:
For Love will feel no ſorrows but his own.
SCENE VI.
[21]ALFRED, HERMIT, ELTRUDA, advancing.
ALFRED.
Sure, by the voice, and purport of the ſong,
This generous mourner is my queen, ELTRUDA.
And yet how can that be?—O all good powers!
'Tis ſhe! 'tis ſhe!
ELTRUDA.
My lord, my life, my ALFRED!
Oh take me to thy arms; with toil o'ercome,
And ſudden tranſport, thus at once to find thee,
In this wild foreſt, pathleſs and perplext!
ALFRED.
Come to my ſoul, thou deareſt, beſt of women!
Come, and repoſe thy ſorrows in my boſom.
O all my paſſions mix in doubtful ſtrife!
If pain or joy prevail, I ſcarce can ſay,
While thus I claſp thee, yet recall the perils
To which thy trembling ſteps have been expos'd.
Why haſt thou left the convent where I plac'd thee?
Why, unprotected truſt thee to a land,
A barbarous land where rages Daniſh war?
Our hoſpitable England is no more!
ELTRUDA.
Dire was the cauſe, my ALFRED. The rous'd country,
All hurl'd in breathleſs terror and confuſion,
Inform'd us, a near party of the Danes,
Whoſe brutal fury ſpares no ſex, no age,
No place however privileg'd or holy,
Were on full march that way. Inſtant I fled,
[22] In this diſguiſe, with only theſe attendants:
But in our way oft chear'd by airy voices,
To bear to this retreat our helpleſs children.
ALFRED.
Ah wanderers too young! ah hapleſs children!
But more unhappy Sire! who cannot give,
To thoſe he loves, protection.
ELTRUDA.
Thou too, ALFRED,
Art thou not unattended? None to ſerve thee,
To ſoothe thy woes, to watch thy broken ſlumbers!
And when the ſilent tear o'erflows thy eye,
None, with the warm and cordial lip of love,
To kiſs it off! There is in love a power,
There is a ſoft divinity, that draws
Even tranſport from diſtreſs; that gives the heart
A certain pang, excelling far the joys
Of groſs unfeeling life. Beſides, my ALFRED,
Even had the fury of this barbarous foe
Not forc'd me from the convent, life is ſhort;
And now it trembles on the wing of danger:
Why ſhould we loſe it then? One well-fav'd hour,
In ſuch a tender circumſtance, to lovers,
Is better than an age of common time.
ALFRED.
Oh 'tis too much! thy tenderneſs o'ercomes me!
Nay, look not on me with that ſweet dejection,
Thro tears that pierce my ſoul!—Chear thee, my love:
Hope ſtill the beſt; that better days await us,
And fairer from remembrance.—Thou, ELTRUDA,
Thou art a pledge of happineſs!—On thee
Good angels wait; they led thy journey hither:
And I have heard them, in this wild retreat,
Warbling immortal airs, and ſtrains of comfort.—
But ah the foe is round us: and this iſle
[23] Now holds my ſoul's beſt wealth, the treaſur'd ſtore
Of all my joys.—I go to ſkirt it round,
To viſit every creek and ſedgy bank,
Where ruſtles thro the reeds the ſhadowy gale;
Or where the bending umbrage drinks the ſtream.
And now, by ſlow degrees, ſolemn and ſad,
Wide-falling o'er the world, the nightly ſhades
Huſh the brown woods, and deepen all their horrors:
While humbled into reſt, and aw'd by darkneſs,
Each creature ſeeks the covert. To that cell
Retire, my life. I will not long be abſent.
End of the firſt Act.
[24]ACT II.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
ALFRED alone.
'TIS now the depth of darkneſs and repoſe.
Nowwalksmute Midnight ſhadowy o'er the plain,
To rule the ſolitary hour; and ſheds
His ſlumbery influence o'er the peaceful world.
All nature ſeems to reſt: while ALFRED wakes
To think, and to be wretched.—My brave friend,
I fear me, has miſcarry'd.—Where yon oak
With wide and duſky ſhade o'erhangs the ſtream,
That glides in ſilence by, I took my ſtand:
What time the glow-worm thro' the dewy path
Firſt ſhot his twinkling flame. Attent I ſtood,
Liſtening each noiſe from twilight hill and dale:
But all was huſh'd around. Nor trumpet's clang,
Nor ſhout of roving foe, nor haſty tread
Of evening paſſenger, diſturb'd the wide
And awful ſtillneſs. Homeward as I ſped,
O'er many a delve, thro many a path perplext,
Maze running into maze; ill-boding thoughts
Haunted my ſteps.—Perhaps my gallant friend,
Diſcover'd to the Danes, this moment bleeds
Beneath their ſwords! or lies a breathleſs corſe,
The prey of midnight wolves.—Some mournful ſound
Struck ſudden on my ſenſe.
SCENE II.
[25]ALFRED, ELTRUDA.
ELTRUDA.
Here will I lean
On this green bank, to wait the wiſh'd return
Of morning, and my lord.
ALFRED.
My gentle love,
ELTRUDA, why to this untimely ſky
Expoſe thy health? The dews of night fall faſt:
The chill breeze ſighs aloud.
ELTRUDA
I could not reſt.
Can Love repoſe when Apprehenſion wakes,
And whiſpers to the heart all fearful things,
That walk with night and ſolitude? Methought,
In each deaf murmur of the woods, I heard
The dreadful foe—or heard my ALFRED groan!
Our tender inſants too—their fancy'd cries
Still ſound within my cars!
ALFRED.
ELTRUDA, there
I am a woman too: I who ſhould cheer,
And ſhelter thee from every care. My children!
The thought of what may chance to them compleat [...]
Their father's ſum of woes. O what ſafe ſhade
Can ſkreen their opening bloſſom from the ſtorm
That beats ſevere on us! Not ſweeter buds
[26] The primroſe in the vale, nor ſooner ſhrinks
At winter's churliſh blaſt—
ELTRUDA.
Behold, my Lord—
Good Angels ſhield us—What a flood of brightneſs
Waves round our heads!
ALFRED.
The Hermit moves this way.
That wondrous man holds converſe with the hoſt
Of higher natures. Theſe far-beaming fires
Were doubtleſs kindled up at his command.
Be ſilent and attentive.
SCENE III.
ALFRED, ELTRUDA, HERMIT.
HERMIT.
I have heard
Thy fond complainings, ALFRED.
ALFRED.
You have then,
Good father, heard the cauſe that wrings them from me.
HERMIT.
The human race are ſons of ſorrow born:
And each muſt have his portion. Vulgar minds
Refuſe, or crouch beneath their load: the Brave
Bear theirs without repining.
ALFRED.
Who can bear
The ſhaft that wounds him thro an infant's ſide?
When whom we love, to whom we owe protection,
Implore the hand we cannot reach to ſave them?
HERMIT.
[27]Weep not, ELTRUDA.—Yet thou art a King,
All private paſſions fall before that name.
Thy ſubjects claim thee whole.
ALFRED.
Can public truſt,
O reverend ſage! deſtroy the ſofter ties
That twine around the parent's yearning heart?
That holy paſſion heaven itſelf infus'd,
And blended with the ſtream that feeds our life.
HERMIT.
You love your children, Prince—
ALFRED.
Lives there on earth,
In air, or ocean, creature tame or wild
That has not known this univerſal love?
All nature feels it intimate and deep,
And all her ſons of inſtinct or of reaſon.
HERMIT.
Then ſhew that paſſion in its nobleſt form▪
Seaſon their tender years with every virtue,
Social or ſelf-retir'd; of public greatneſs,
Or lovely in the hour of private life;
With all that can exalt, or can adorn
Their princely rank.
ALFRED.
Alas, their hope muſt ſtoop,
Such my unhappy fate, to humbler aims:
Affliction and baſe want muſt be their teachers.
HERMIT.
Affliction is the wholeſome ſoil of virtue:
Where patience, honor, ſweet humanity,
Calm fortitude take root, and ſtrongly flouriſh.
But proſperous fortune, that allures with pleaſure,
[28] Dazles with pomp, and undermines with flattery,
Poiſons the ſoil, and its beſt product kills.
Should'ſt thou regain thy throne—
ALFRED.
My throne? What glimpſe,
What ſmalleſt ray of hope—
HERMIT.
That day may come—
What do I feel? My labouring breaſt expands
To give the glorious inſpiration room.
And now the cloud that o'er thy future fate,
Like total night, lay heavy and obſcure,
Fades into air: and all the brightening ſcene
Dawns gay before me! A long line of kings,
From thee deſcending, glorious and renown'd,
In ſhadowy pomp I ſee!
Genius of England! hovering near,
In all thy radiant charms appear.
O come and ſummon, from the world unknown,
Thoſe mighty chiefs, thoſe ſons of future fame,
Who, ages hence, this iſland ſhall renown,
And ſpread to diſtant realms her dreaded name.
Slow let the viſionary forms ariſe,
And ſolemn paſs before our wondring eyes.
[Muſic grand and awful. The Genius deſcending ſings the following
[29]
SONG.
From thoſe eternal regions bright,
Where ſuns, that never ſet in night,
Diffuſe the golden day:
Where ſpring unfading pours around,
O'er all the dew-impearled ground,
Her thouſand colors gay:
O whether on the fountain's flowery ſide,
Whence living waters glide,
Or in the fragrant grove,
Whoſe ſhade emboſoms peace and love▪
New pleaſures all your hours employ,
And rapture every ſenſe with every joy!
Great heirs of empire! yet unborn,
Who ſhall this iſland late adorn;
A monarch's drooping thought to chear,
Appear! appear! appear!
Spirits of EDWARD III. PHILIPPA his queen, and the Black Prince his ſon, ariſe.
HERMIT.
ALFRED, look; and ſay,
What ſeeſt thou yonder?
ALFRED.
Three majeſtic ſhapes:
Two habited like mighty warriors old;
A third in whoſe bright aſpect beauty ſmiles
More ſoft and feminine. A lucid veil,
From her fair neck dependent floats around,
Light-hovering in the gale.
HERMIT.
O ALFRED, man
[30] Belov'd of heaven, behold a King indeed;
Matchleſs in arms; in arts of peaceful rule,
A ſovereign's trueſt glory, yet more fam'd,
England's third EDWARD!—At his fear'd approach,
Proud France, even now, thro all her dukedoms quakes▪
Her Genius ſighs: and from th' eternal ſhore,
The ſoul of her great CHARLES, a recent gueſt,
Looks back to earth, and mourns the diſtant woes,
His realms are doom'd to feel from EDWARD'S wrath.
Beneath his ſtandard, Britain ſhall go forth,
Array'd for conqueſt, terrible in glory:
And nations ſhrink before her. O what deaths,
What deſolation ſhall her vengeance ſpread,
From engines yet unfound; whoſe lightnings flaſh,
Whoſe thunders roar, amazing, o'er the plain:
As if this King had ſummon'd from on high
Heaven's dread artillery to fight his battle!
Nor is renown in war his ſole ambition:
A nobler paſſion labours in his breaſt—
ALFRED attend—to make his people bleſt!
The ſacred rights that Reaſon loudly claims
For free-born men—theſe, ALFRED, are his care:
Oft to confirm, and fix them on the baſe
Of equal laws.—O father of mankind!
Succeſſive praiſes from a grateful land
Shall ſaint thy name for ever!
ALFRED.
Holy ſage,
Whom angels thus enlighten and inſpire,
My boſom kindles at thy heaven-born flame.
Great EDWARD! Be thy conqueſts and their praiſe
Unrival'd to thy ſelf. But O thy fame
For care paternal of the public weal;
For England bleſt at home—my rapt heart pants
[31] To equal that renown!
HERMIT.
Know farther, ALFRED;
A ſovereign's great example forms a people.
The public breaſt is noble, or is vile,
As he inſpires it. In this EDWARD'S time,
Warm'd by his courage, by his honor rais'd,
High flames the Britiſh ſpirit, like the ſun,
To ſhine o'er half the globe: and where it ſhines,
The cheriſh'd world to brighten and enrich.
Laſt ſee this monarch in his hour of leiſure;
Even ſocial on a throne, and taſting joys
To ſolitary greatneſs ſeldom known:
As friend, as huſband, and as father bleſt.
That god-like Youth remark, his eldeſt hope,
Who gives new luſtre to the name he bears;
A hero ere a man.—I ſee him now
On Creſſy's glorious plain! The father's heart,
With anxious love and wonder at his daring,
Beats high in mingled tranſport. Great himſelf,
Great above jealouſy, the guilty mark
That brands all meaner minds, ſee, he applauds
The filial excellence, and gives him ſcope
To blaze in his full brightneſs!—Lo again,
He ſends him dreadful to a nobler field:
The danger and the glory all his own!
A captive King, the rival of his arms,
I ſee adorn his triumph! Heaven! what grace
What ſplendor from his gracious temper mild
That triumph draws! As gentle Mercy kind,
He chears the hoſtile prince whoſe fall he weeps!
ALFRED.
A ſon ſo rich in virtues, and ſo grac'd
With all that gives thoſe virtues fair to ſhine,
[32] When I would aſk of heaven ſome mighty boon,
Should claim the foremoſt place.
HERMIT.
Remember then,
What to thy infant ſons from thee is due,
As parent and as prince.
ELTRUDA.
Forgive me, Hermit,
Forgive a queen and wife her anxious fondneſs.
Yon beauteous ſhade, that, as I gaze her o'er,
My wonder draws, eſcapes your graver thought.
HERMIT.
O bright ELTRUDA! thou whoſe blooming youth,
Whoſe amiable ſweetneſs promiſe bleſſings
To ALFRED and to England! ſee, and mark,
In yonder pleaſing form, the beſt of wives,
The happieſt too, repaid with all the faith,
With all the friendſhip, love and duty claim.
She, powerful o'er the heart her charms enſlave—
O virtue rarely practis'd!—uſes nobly
That happy influence; to prompt each purpoſe
Fair honor kindles in her EDWARD'S breaſt.
Amid the pomps, the pleaſures of a court,
Humble of heart, ſeverly good: the friend
Of modeſt worth, the parent of the poor.
ELTRUDA! O tranſmit theſe nobleſt charms
To that fair daughter, that unfolding roſe,
With which, as on this day, heaven crown'd your loves.
The ſpirit of ELIZABETH ariſes.
ALFRED.
Say, who is ſhe, in whom the noble graces,
Th' engaging manner, dignity and eaſe,
Are join'd with manly ſenſe and reſolution?
HERMIT.
[33]The great ELIZA. She, amid a world
That threatning ſwells in high commotion round her;
Each dangerous ſtate her unrelenting foe,
And chief a proud enormous empire ſtretch'd
O'er half mankind; with not one friendly power,
But what her kind creating hand ſhall raiſe
From out the marſhes of the branching Rhine;
And min'd, at home, her ever-tottering throne
By reſtleſs bigots, who, beneath the maſk
Of mild religion, are to every crime
Set looſe, the faithleſs ſons of barbarous zeal:
Yet ſhe ſhall crown this happy iſle with peace,
With arts, with riches, grandeur and renown;
And daſh, by turns, the madneſs of her foes.
As when the winds, from different quarters, urge
The tempeſt on our ſhore: ſecure, the cliffs
Repel its idle rage, and pour it back,
In broken billows, foaming to the main.
ALFRED.
How ſhall ſhe, Hermit, gain theſe glorious ends?
HERMIT.
By ſilent wiſdom, whoſe informing power
Works unperceiv'd: that ſeems in council ſlow;
But, when reſolv'd and ripe for execution,
That parts like lightning from the ſecret gloom.
By ever ſeizing the right point of view,
Her trueſt intereſt; which ſhe firm purſues,
With ſteady patience, thro the maze of ſtate,
The ſtorm of oppoſition, the mixt views,
And thwarting manag'd paſſions of mankind.
By healing the diviſions of her people,
And ſowing that fell peſt among her ſoes.
By ſaving, from the vermin of a court,
Her treaſure; which, when fair occaſion calls,
[34] She knows to laviſh, in protecting arts,
In guarding nations, and in nurſing ſtates.
By calling up to power, and public life,
Each virtue, each ability: yet ſhe,
Amid the various worthies glowing round her,
Still ſhines the firſt; the central ſun that wakes,
That rules their every motion: not the ſlave,
And paſſive property of her own creatures.
But the great ſoul that animates her reign,
That lights it to perfection, is the love,
The confidence unbounded, which her wiſdom,
Her probity and juſtice, ſhall inſpire
Into the public breaſt. Hence cordial faith,
Which nought can ſhake; hence unexhauſted treaſure:
And hence, above all mercenary force,
The hand that by the freeborn heart is rais'd,
And guards the blended weal of prince and people.
She too ſhall rouſe Britannia's naval ſoul;
Shall greatly raviſh, from inſulting Spain,
The world-commanding ſcepter of the deep.
ELTRUDA.
O matchleſs queen! O glory of her ſex!
The great idea, father, fills my ſoul,
And bids it glow beyond a woman's paſſions.
Spirit of WILLIAM III. ariſes.
HERMIT.
Once more, O ALFRED, raiſe thine eyes, and mark,
Who next adorns the ſcene, yon laurel'd ſhade.
Ere yet the age that clos'd this female reign
Hath led around its train of circling years,
Shall Britain on the verge of ruin ſtand.
A monarch, loſt to greatneſs, to renown,
The ſlave of dreaming monks, ſhall fill her throne.
Weak and aſpiring; fond of lawleſs rule,
[35] The lawleſs rule his mean ambition covets
Unequal to acquire. Yon prince thou ſaw'ſt,
To glory tutor'd by the hand ſevere
Of ſharp Adverſity, ſhall heaven upraiſe,
And injur'd nations with joint call invoke,
Their laſt, their only refuge. Lo! he comes:
Wide o'er the billows of the boundleſs deep
His navy rides triumphant: and the ſhores
Of ſhouting Albion echo with his name.
Immortal WILLIAM! from before his face,
Flies Superſtition, flies oppreſſive Power,
With vile Servility that crouch'd and kiſs'd
The whip he trembled at. From this great hour
Shall Britain date her rights and laws reſtor'd:
And one high purpoſe rule her ſovereign's heart;
To ſcourge the pride of France, that foe profeſs'd
To England and to freedom. Yet I ſee,
From diſtant climes in peaceful triumph borne,
Another KING ariſe! His early youth
With living laurel crown'd, for deeds of arms
That Reaſon's voice approves; for courage, rais'd
Beyond all aid from paſſion, greatly calm!
Intrepidly ſerene!—In days of peace,
Around his throne the human virtues wait,
And fair adorn him with their mildeſt beams;
Good without ſhow, above ambition great;
Wiſe, equal, merciful, the friend of man!
O ALFRED! ſhould thy fate, long ages hence,
In meaning ſcenes recall'd, exalt the joy
Of ſome glad feſtal day, before a prince
Sprung from that king belov'd—Hear, gracious heaven!
Thy ſoft humanity, thy patriot heart,
Thy manly virtue, ſteddy, great, reſolv'd,
Be his ſupreme ambition! and with theſe,
[36] The happineſs, the glory, that await
Thy better days—be ſhower'd upon his head!
ALFRED.
O Hermit! thou haſt rais'd me to new life!
New hopes, new triumphs ſwell my bounding heart—
HERMIT.
It comes! it comes!—The promis'd ſcene diſcloſes!
Already the great work of fate begins!
The mighty wheels are turning, whence will ſpread,
Beyond the limits of our narrow world,
The fair dominions, ALFRED, of thy ſons.
Behold the warrior bright with Daniſh ſpoils!—
The raven droops his wings—and hark! the trumpet,
Exulting, ſpeaks the reſt.
SCENE IV.
Symphony of martial muſic.
ALFRED, ELTRUDA, HERMIT, Earl of DEVON, followed by ſoldiers.
ALFRED.
Welcome, my lord
I ſee true courage lags not in its courſe;
It ſtands not weighing actions, with cold wiſdom
That borders near on cowardice.
DEVON.
My Liege,
Your troops have been ſucceſsful.—But to heaven
Aſcend the praiſe! For ſure th'event exceeds
The hand of man.
ALFRED.
[37]How was it, noble DEVON?
DEVON.
You know my caſtle is not hence far-diſtant,
Thither I ſped: and in a Daniſh habit
The trenches paſſing, by a ſecret way,
Known to myſelf alone, emerg'd at once
Amid my joyful ſoldiers. There I found
A generous few, the veteran, hardy gleanings
Of many a hapleſs fight. They with a fierce
And gloomy joy inſpirited each other;
Reſolv'd on death, diſdaining to ſurvive
Their deareſt country.—"If we fall, I cry'd,
"Let us not tamely fall like paſſive cowards!
"No: let us live—or let us die, like men!
"Come on, my friends: to ALFRED we will cut
"Our glorious way; or, as we nobly periſh,
"Will offer to the genius of our country
"Whole hecatombs of Danes."—As if one ſoul
Had mov'd them all, around their heads they flaſh'd
Their flaming faulchions—"Lead us to theſe Danes!—
"Our country!—vengeance!" was the general cry.
Strait on the careleſs drouſy camp we ruſh'd:
And rapid, as the flame devours the ſtubble,
Bore down the heartleſs Danes. With this ſucceſs
Our enterprize encreas'd. Not now contented
To hew a paſſage thro the flying herd;
We, unremitting, urg'd a total rout.
The valiant HUBBA bites the bloody field,
With twice ſix hundred Danes around him ſtrow'd.
ALFRED.
My glorious friend!—this action has reſtor'd
Our ſinking country.—What reward can equal
A deed ſo great?—Is not yon pictur'd Raven
Their famous magic ſtandard—Emblem fit
[38] To ſpeak the ſavage genius of the people—
That oft has ſcatter'd on our troops diſmay,
And feeble conſternation?
DEVON.
'Tis the ſame.
Wrought by the ſiſters of the Daniſh king,
Of furious IVAR, in a midnight hour:
While the ſick moon, at their enchanted ſong,
Wrapt in pale tempeſt, labour'd thro' the clouds.
The Demons of deſtruction then, they ſay,
Were all abroad, and mixing with the woof
Their baleful power: The ſiſters ever ſung;
"Shake, ſtandard, ſhake this ruin on our foes!"
HERMIT.
So theſe infernal powers, with rays of truth
Still deck their fables, to delude who truſt them.
ALFRED.
But where, my noble couſin, are the reſt
Of your brave troops?
DEVON.
On t'other ſide the ſtream,
That half encloſes this retreat, I left them.
Rous'd from the fear, with which it was congeal'd
As in a froſt, the country pours amain.
The ſpirit of our anceſtors is up,
The ſpirit of the Free! and with a voice
That breathes ſucceſs, they all demand their king.
ALFRED.
Quick, let us join them, and improve their ardor.
We cannot be too haſty to ſecure
The glances of occaſion.
SCENE the laſt.
[39]To them CORIN, EMMA, kneeling to ALFRED.
CORIN.
Good my Liege,
Pardon the poor unequal entertainment,
Which we, unknowing—
ALFRED.
Riſe, my honeſt ſhepherd.
I came to thee a peaſant, not a prince:
And, what exalts a king o'er other men,
Stript of the toys of royalty? Yet more,
Thy rural entertainment was ſincere,
Plain, hoſpitable, kind: ſuch as, I hope,
Will ever mark the manners of this nation.
You friendly lodg'd me, when by all deſerted:
And ſhall have ample recompenſe.
CORIN.
One boon,
Is all I crave.
ALFRED.
Good ſhepherd, ſpeak thy wiſh.
CORIN.
Permiſſion, in your wars, to ſerve your Grace:
For tho here loſt in ſolitary ſhades,
A ſimple ſwain, I bear an Engliſh heart:
A heart that burns with rage to ſee thoſe Danes,
Thoſe foreign ruffians, thoſe inhuman pirates,
Oft our inferiors prov'd, thus lord it o'er us.
ALFRED.
[40]Brave countryman, come on. 'Tis ſuch as thou,
Who from affection ſerve, and free-born zeal,
To guard whate'er is dear and ſacred to them,
That are a king's beſt honor and defence.
EMMA ſings the following ſong.
1.
If thoſe, who live in ſhepherd's bower,
Preſs not the rich and ſtately bed:
The new-mown hay and breathing flower
A ſofter couch beneath them ſpread.
2.
If thoſe, who ſit at ſhepherd's board,
Soothe not their taſte by wanton art;
They take what Nature's gifts afford,
And take it with a chearful heart.
3.
If thoſe, who drain the ſhepherd's bowl,
No high and ſparkling wines can boaſt;
With wholeſome cups they chear the ſoul,
And crown them with the village toaſt.
4.
If thoſe, who join in ſhepherd's ſport,
Gay-dancing on the daizy'd ground,
Have not the ſplendor of a court;
Yet Love adorns the merry round.
ALFRED.
[41]My lov'd ELTRUDA! thou ſhalt here remain,
With gentle EMMA, and this reverend Hermit.
Ye ſilver ſtreams, that murmuring wind around
This duſky ſpot, to you I truſt my all!
O cloſe around her, woods! for her, ye vales,
Throw forth your flowers, your ſofteſt lap diffuſe!
And Thou! whoſe ſecret and expanſive hand
Moves all the ſprings of this vaſt univerſe:
Whoſe government aſtoniſhes; who here,
In a few hours, beyond our utmoſt hope,
Beyond our thought, yet doubting, haſt clear'd up
The ſtorm of fate: preſerve what thy kind will,
Thy bountiful appointment, makes ſo dear
To human hearts! preſerve my queen and children!
Preſerve the hopes of England! while I go
To finiſh thy great work, and ſave my country.
ELTRUDA.
Go, pay the debt of honor to the public.
If ever woman, ALFRED, lov'd her huſband
More fondly than herſelf, I claim that virtue,
That heart-felt happineſs. Yet, by our loves
I ſwear, that in a glorious death with thee
I rather would be wrapt, than live long years
To charm thee from the rugged paths of honor:
So much I think thee born for beauteous deeds,
And the bright courſe of glory.
ALFRED.
Matchleſs woman!
Love, at thy voice, is kindled to ambition.
Be this my deareſt triumph, to approve me
A huſband worthy of the beſt ELTRUDA!
HERMIT.
Behold, my Lord, our venerable Bard,
[42] Aged and blind, him whom the Muſes favour.
Yet ere you go, in our lov'd country's praiſe,
That nobleſt theme, hear what his rapture breathes.
An ODE.
1.
When Britain firſt, at heaven's command,
Aroſe from out the azure main;
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian Angels ſung this ſtrain:
"Rule Britannia, rule the waves;
"Britons never will be ſlaves."
2.
The nations, not ſo bleſt as thee,
Muſt, in their turns, to tyrants fall:
While thou ſhalt flouriſh great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.
"Rule, &c.
3.
Still more majeſtic ſhalt thou riſe,
More dreadful, from each foreign ſtroke:
As the loud blaſt that tears the ſkies,
Serves but to root thy native oak.
"Rule, &c.
4.
Thee haughty tyrants ne'er ſhall tame:
All their attempts to bend thee down,
Will but arrouſe thy generous flame;
But work their woe, and thy renown.
"Rule, &c.
[43]5.
To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities ſhall with commerce ſhine:
All thine ſhall be the ſubject main,
And every ſhore it circles thine.
"Rule, &c.
6.
The Muſes, ſtill with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coaſt repair:
Bleſt iſle! with matchleſs beauty crown'd,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves:
"Britons never will be ſlaves.
HERMIT.
ALFRED, go forth! lead on the radiant years,
To thee reveal'd in viſion.—Lo! they riſe!
Lo! patriots, heroes, ſages, croud to birth:
And bards to ſing them in immortal verſe!
I ſee thy commerce, Britain, graſp the world:
All nations ſerve thee; every foreign flood,
Subjected, pays its tribute to the Thames.
Thither the golden South obedient pours
His ſunny treaſures: thither the ſoft Eaſt
Her ſpices, delicacies, gentle gifts:
And thither his rough trade the ſtormy North.
See, where beyond the vaſt Atlantic ſurge,
By boldeſt keels untouch'd, a dreadful ſpace!
Shores, yet unfound, ariſe! in youthful prime,
With towering foreſts, mighty rivers crown'd!
Theſe ſtoop to Britain's thunder. This new world,
Shook to its centre, trembles at her name:
[44] And there, her ſons, with aim exalted, ſow
The ſeeds of riſing empire, arts, and arms.
Britons, proceed, the ſubject Deep command,
Awe with your navies every hoſtile land.
In vain their threats, their armies all in vain:
They rule the balanc'd world, who rule the main.
The END.