THE SIEGE OF BERWICK.
[]ACT THE FIRST.
Sir ALEXANDER, ARCHIBALD, VALENTINE.
SIR ALEXANDER.
IT is not action only that adorns
The ſoldier's character, it is patience,
Calm and induring in the rugged hour
Of want, that forms the nobler part of duty:
You, my lov'd ſons, and all your fellow-ſufferers,
Have well that rigorous iron taſk perform'd.
But now a ſmoother train of hours advances;
The truce, which at to-morrow's dawn takes place,
Will enable me from out the northern gate
To diſmiſs the women, the aged and the infirm,
Then diſencumber'd of its uſeleſs numbers
[2]This foe-encircled town ſhall raiſe its head;
The hand of ſcarceneſs ſhall no more diſpenſe
Her meagre morſel to th' exhauſted ſoldier,
But cheering competency ſhall provide
The meal.
ARCHIBALD.
'Tis well! yet then inform me, Sir,
How you'll employ th' invaluable hours
That ſtill precede the truce?
SIR ALEXANDER.
Our gallant men
Have been ſeverely tried, and worn with toil.
ARCHIBALD.
Their toil-enfeebled bodies ſtill encloſe
The mounting ſpirit of unwearied vigor.
VALENTINE.
Prompt as the hawk to dart upon his prey.
ARCHIBALD.
The foe ſince yeſterday appears to have loſt
Half of his wonted intrepidity.
VALENTINE.
That ſhow'r of arrows we pour'd down at eve
Hath ſomewhat quench'd their ardor!
SIR ALEXANDER.
Be it ſo;
But tell me what is now your preſent purpoſe:
[3]Methinks that ſwelling to ſome bold deſign
Your boſom labours.—Speak, my Valentine.
VALENTINE.
Command my elder brother, Sir, to ſpeak.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Unfold then, Archibald, this myſterious ſomething,
This painful ſecret that diſturbs you both.
ARCHIBALD.
Laſt night, as we reclin'd upon our couch,
Still talking o'er (as is our wonted manner)
The various hazard of the buſy day,
We wiſh'd, we fondly wiſh'd, that ere the truce
Should intervene, ſome daring enterprize
Might be attempted under our direction:
Thus we convers'd in ſacred confidence
Till as our weak'ning voices died away
We wearied into reſt—'twas then an image—
VALENTINE.
Mark, Sir, what now my brother will unfold.
ARCHIBALD.
'Twas then an image ruſh'd upon my ſight,
It ſhew'd as one of the angelic train,
A circling glory glitter'd o'er his head,
A ſmile benignant beautified his lip,
And thus he ſpoke—'Sons of the valiant Seaton,
Ariſe and haſten to the ſouthern gate,
[4]Thence dart upon the foe.'—The viſion ceas'd
And vaniſh'd into air! while a rude noiſe
Like the fierce ſtruggle of contending ſpears
Suddenly waked us! Starting from my couch,
And ere I cou'd communicate my dream,
Valentine with impatient voice diſclos'd
The mutual viſion.
VALENTINE.
'Twas as he relates;
By honor's winnow'd purity I ſwear
The nightly viſitation alſo came
To me.
SIR ALEXANDER.
I hazard no impeachment of
Your truth; yet then, endearing children, tell me
How can a prudent tender parent ſend
His valiant ſons to danger's precipice
At the fantaſtic impulſe of a dream?
ARCHIBALD.
In the old time we read that dreams have often
Been the prophetic leaders to ſucceſs.
VALENTINE.
Oh do not, Sir, with caution's chill reſtraint
O'erſhade the ſplendid purpoſe of our ſoul.
ARCHIBALD.
Let the bright viſion be forgot, if that
Offend you, and attend to reaſon's voice:
[5]Does not the weary foe anticipate
Th' approaching truce, and guard neglectingly
The ſouthern gate?
SIR ALEXANDER.
'Tis a maſk'd neglect,
It is the couchant lion prompt to ſeize
Th' unwary prey—ah! truſt not to his ſtern
Repoſe.
VALENTINE.
If danger ſtill muſt check the current
Of enterprize, tell, tell me, Father, wherefore
You rear'd us in the hardy ſchool of war?
ARCHIBALD.
The road to martial glory well thou know'ſt
Is not gay-ſprinkled o'er with flowers, but broken
Helmets, ſhiver'd ſpears, and blood-ſtain'd arrows
Choak up th' aſpiring path of fame's aſcent.
VALENTINE.
To be reſtrain'd when proud occaſion calls,
'Twere better thou hadſt led me to ſome cloiſter,
Where holy peace reſides, o'er-canopied
By antient roofs, that ever ſhade her from
The madd'ning ſun-beams of ambition's ſky.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Forbear to torture thus a parent's feelings.
ARCHIBALD.
[6]Indulgent Father, reſt aſſur'd we both
Pay homage to the thought that now diſturbs you;
But with th' experienced Melvil we have juſt
Conferr'd.
SIR ALEXANDER.
And he undoubtedly contemn'd
Your gaudy dream, that meteor of the brain.
VALENTINE.
'Twas not the meteor of a heated brain,
It was a ſun [...]beam of revealing Heaven,
It was the ſympathetic glow of two
According minds.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Of this enough—What ſaid
Th' experienc'd Melvil?
ARCHIBALD.
After due attention
To our propoſal, he firſt ſtamp'd it with
The ſeal of his applauſe, and then added
Arguments that embodied as it were
Our enterprize, and brighten'd it with the
Calm colouring of reaſon.
SIR ALEXANDER.
I will myſelf
Confer with Melvil; and if he has words
[7]To ſmooth the rugged doubts that vex my mind,
Think not, my valiant ſons, I ſhall withhold
You from the object of your bold requeſt
ARCHIBALD.
To keep unſullied the bright martial name
Of Seaton, is indeed my proudeſt wiſh.
VALENTINE.
And if thy Valentine might add his mite
To the rich treaſury of his Father's fame,
He would be happy.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Wait till I return.
Exit.
ARCHIBALD.
Excellent man! his ardour to promote
Our cauſe, and his ſolicitude about
Our ſafety, combat and diſtract his will.
VALENTINE.
More active, warm, and forcible affection
Was ne'er emboſom'd in a father's ſoul;
And therefore much I fear that Melvil can't
Subdue his ſcruples.
ARCHIBALD.
Oft have I obſerv'd
That Melvil's clear illumin'd manly judgment
[8]Poſſeſſes ſomething like magnetic power,
Which ſtill attracts opinion to his ſide.
VALENTINE.
May that attractive power be at this moment
Endued with double influence, that my Father
Withholding his reſtraint, I might unbounded
Spring againſt the foe!—This common praiſe
That's claim'd by every ſoldier, ill ſupplies
My ſtarv'd and craving appetite of fame.
ARCHIBALD.
Endearing Valentine, think not that I
Reprove theſe flaſhes of an ardent mind;
But ſhould your mounting wiſhes meet controul,
Wound not a Father's tender caution with
Reproach.
VALENTINE.
Sooner than wound his feeling mind
With ſullen, ſplenetic, unduteous carriage,
I wou'd, like the Spartan boy (who ſilently
Endur'd the gnawing fox) conceal my ſorrow,
Though, like the ſavage animal, it ſhould
Prey upon my vitals.
ARCHIBALD.
Conſider alſo
This warlike age will gratify your wiſhes
With many a future enterprize! The morn
Of life is now but breaking on thy youth.
VALENTINE.
[9]Talk not to me of early youth: behold
Edward's brave ſon, whoſe age but equals mine—
Oh were I equal with him in renown!
Behold that boy on Creſſy's wond'ring field
Reaping an immortal harveſt, while I
Enveloped in obſcurity—
ARCHIBALD.
Deſiſt,
I hear ſome ſtep approaching.
Enter DONALDSON.
VALENTINE.
'Tis my Father;
Ah, no! 'tis Donaldſon. Say, haſt thou ſeen
The Governor?
DONALDSON.
I ſaw him as I paſs'd by
In cloſe conference engag'd with Melvil.
VALENTINE.
Know'ſt thou the ſubject of their conference?
DONALDSON.
There breathes an ignorant rumour of a ſally,
Propos ſeems by Archibald and you.
ARCHIBALD.
[10]It is as you have darkly heard, and here
Impatiently we wait the Governor's
Return.
VALENTINE.
See, here he comes.
Enter Sir ALEXANDER.
Hail to my Father!
ARCHIBALD.
Sir, you appear diſturbed.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Ah! tell me, Archibald,
Is't with a look of cheerfulneſs a parent
Reſigns his duteous children to the hazard
Of a fearful enterprize?
ARCHIBALD.
Yet then reflect,
Melvil the military ſage approves
The enterprize.
SIR ALEXANDER.
But Melvil has no children,
His ſmooth ſail of honour meets no adverſe
Gales to check its progreſs.—'Tis not thus with me:
Say how ſhall I endure the keen reproofs
[11]Of Ethelberta, when ſhe is inform'd
That I have ſent, without the imperious call
Of ſtern neceſſity, her darling children
To the path of danger?
VALENTINE.
Speak not of danger,
'Tis the ſoldier's charter, his beſt privilege.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Something withholds my full conſent.
And calls my judgment to ſevere account!
Forgive this trembling caution in a parent.
VALENTINE.
Had England's warlike king ſuppreſs'd his ſon's
Aſcending ſoul, on her proud liſt of victories
We ſhould not have found the name of Creſſy!
ARCHIBALD.
'Twas on the ſummit of a neighb'ring hill
The father ſtood, and ſaw his youthful ſon
Oppoſe the pride of France; and when the Earls
Of Warwick and of Oxford ſent a herald,
To claim immediate ſuccour from the king—
VALENTINE.
Did not the king reply, Go tell the lords
Who ſent you, that while my boy 's alive
[12]They will require my aid in vain: the glory
Of this great day ſhall be his own?
SIR ALEXANDER.
Enough!
Your arguments prevail, and you have won me
To your requeſt.—Go, join the ſkilful Melvil,
The Neſtor of the war, and ſtrictly mark
His words and well-weigh'd counſel—firſt receive
The anxious Father's bleſſing.
(Embraces his ſons.)
May that Power
Who oft hath ſhielded me in many a combat,
Oh! may that guardian, kind, benignant Angel
Now hover o'er my children!
(Leads them to the door, and returns.)
Donaldſon,
This is an awful moment for a Father!
DONALDSON.
Think not ſo deeply, Sir, nor feed your mind
With buſy tort'ring vain ſurmiſes; think
How often you've encounter'd perils imminent,
And ſtill return'd with glory.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Unavailing
Remembrance! rear'd as I have almoſt been
In ſtorms of battle, ſay what paternal
Boſom will not feel a warm renew'd affection
For two ſuch ſons ſtaged to the front of danger?
DONALDSON.
[13]But ſhould not Ethelberta be informed?
SIR ALEXANDER.
Ah! there you probe my boſom's tender part:
No, Donaldſon, the mother muſt not know
The gathering ſtorm that's brooding o'er her ſons;
Her quick'ning apprehenſion would outrun
The deed, and picture to itſelf images
That would diſtract her.—'Tis my duty, my
Religion, ſtill to ſhield her mind from all
That may aſſail it.
DONALDSON.
Many a time have
I liſten'd to the ſplendid narrative
Of Ethelberta's virtues.
SIR ALEXANDER.
From the happy hour
I firſt call'd her mine, unto this moment,
She has with unremitting fortitude
Attended me through many a rugged day.
DONALDSON.
I think that England triumphs in her birth.
SIR ALEXANDER.
At thoſe fam'd tournaments that Edward held
At Windſor, did I firſt behold that matchleſs
[14]Woman, tho' attractive, yet not dazzling:
As looks the ſofter green amidſt the radiant
Colours of the vernal bow, ſo Ethelberta
Seem'd 'mid the circling fluſh of Britiſh beauties.
—This gorgeous caſtle, and its proud delights,
The daughter of Earl Nevil willingly
Reſign'd, to ſhare with me the perils of
The late cruſade: This faithful Wife, this ſoothing
Companion of my way, ſtill ſmooth'd the harrow'd
Walk of war—Ev'n as the wall-flower rears its form,
And ſmiles and flouriſhes 'midſt tombs and ruins,
So Ethelberta's warm affection grew
'Mid ſickneſs, want, fatigue, diſtreſs, and danger.
Enter ANSELM.
Hail, holy father! what doſt thou report?
ANSELM.
With haſty ſtep I come, Sir, to acquaint you
That the bold enterprize is well prepar'd:
Along the ſubterraneous windings did
The gallant troops advance, 'till they approach'd
The chapel of St. Andrew, near the gate
That iſſues to the field: here paus'd the band—
And then in ſacred ſilence lowly bending
Dedicated themſelves unto their country.
SIR ALEXANDER.
What follow'd?
ANSELM.
[15]Then with ſolemn voice I utter'd
Warm from my throbbing heart, the benediction
That is appointed in the hour of danger.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Yet tell me what directions then were given?
ANSELM.
It was agreed that your two ſons, attended
By a choſen few, ſhould ruſh upon the foe,
While Melvil with a greater number ſhould,
Taking a wide circling path, fall on the rear.
Brave Melvil firſt began the ſilent march:
Then did your ſons lead forth their gallant men
Thro' the deep awful gloom—the ſignal for
The onſet is to be the convent bell
That tolls at midnight.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Wherefore did I yield me
To their wild requeſt? Oh ſay, is 't yet too late?
The leave they wreſted from me I may ſtill
Recall.
ANSELM.
The die is caſt, and you muſt wait
Th' event: yet elevate your mind to hope;
For me I augur well of this bold enterprize.
SIR ALEXANDER.
[16]But as a Father ſhou'd I not have been
More cautious, more reſerved?
ANSELM.
The ſacred poet
Says, Children are as arrows in the hand
Of a giant, to perform his purpoſe.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Your words, good Anſelm, animate my hopes,
And lift me to my wonted confidence
In Heaven.—Did'ſt thou not ſay, the convent bell
At midnight was th' appointed ſignal for
The onſet?
ANSELM.
Ev'n ſo!
SIR ALEXANDER.
See Ethelberta comes;
Farewell—'tis meet that now ye both retire.
Exeunt.
Enter ETHELBERTA.
ETHELBERTA.
I hope I'm no intruder; if I am,
My warm ſolicitude for you muſt plead
Indulgence.
SIR ALEXANDER
[17]Ever moſt welcome!
ETHELBERTA.
Methinks
You look all haraſs'd, pale and overcome;
Tis not ſurpriſing—but I'm told the foe
Anticipates the truce, by retreating
To ſome diſtance.—Wherefore do you not
Retire to reſt? 'Tis late, 'tis almoſt midnight.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Midnight, did'ſt thou ſay?
ETHELBERTA.
Sir, you ſeem alarm'd?
SIR ALEXANDER.
What recent ſubject is there to alarm me?
ETHELBERTA.
Forgive my buſy fond anxiety,
That catches as it were at airy ſymptoms.—
Where are my ſons? tell me when I may ſee them?
SIR ALEXANDER.
I hope to-morrow.
ETHELBERTA.
Wherefore doſt thou only
Hope? Does not the truce take place to-morrow?
[18]What ſhould then prevent?—
(The bell tolls.)
Oh! what tranſports you?
'Twas but the wonted midnight bell, that calls
The holy fathers to their pray'rs; relieve,
Relieve me from this painful ignorance,
And let thine Ethelberta ſhare the pang
That rends thy heart.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Dear Wife, forbear to queſtion me—
ETHELBERTA.
Will you not retire to reſt, for ſure you
Need it much?
SIR ALEXANDER.
Perchance I may.—Directions
Of higheſt import I have firſt to give!
ETHELBERTA.
Farewell—do not tarry long.—Care and ſorrow
Mingle on thy brow.—Farewell!—my warmeſt
Bleſſing to my ſons!—
Exit.
SIR ALEXANDER.
That bleſſing was pronounc'd
By her whoſe ſons perchance are now no more—
Enter DONALDSON.
Well Donaldſon, what haſt thou to relate?
DONALDSON.
[19]By ſome perfidious means the foe, appris'd
Of the intended ſally, were prepar'd to meet
The troops that Melvil led.—O'erpower'd by numbers,
He and moſt of his brave train lie ſlaughter'd
On the plain—As for your ſons—
SIR ALEXANDER.
Ah! what of them?
DONALDSON.
In warmeſt combat they are now engag'd!
SIR ALEXANDER.
I'll fly to their aſſiſtance—
(Draws his ſabre.)
DONALDSON.
Let me firſt—
SIR ALEXANDER.
Ceaſe your vain talking, I muſt ſpeed away
To ſave my ſons, or periſh in their cauſe.
Exeunt.
End of the FIRST ACT.
ACT THE SECOND.
[20]Enter ETHELBERTA and JULIANA.
ETHELBERTA.
SAY, what can be the cauſe of their deſerting me?
I have not ſince the truce began beheld
The Governor, nor have I yet embrac'd
My children! they whoſe dutiful affection
I have until this preſent hour experienc'd!
Whence comes it they defraud me of their cheering
Preſence?
JULIANA.
'Tis buſineſs of ſome great moment
Perchance delays them.
ETHELBERTA.
Feed me not with vain
Pretexts; their preſence only can aſſuage
My ſtarv'd and ravenous longing! wild conception
Peoples the void of abſence with many
Ghaſtly and terrific forms.
JULIANA.
[21]Shall I withdraw
In order to inveſtigate the cauſe?
ETHELBERTA.
No, Juliana, you muſt not deſert me,
I am too wretched and unfit for ſolitude!
Why do you ſend your view to yonder portal.
(Juliana retires a few ſteps, and then returns.)
JULIANA.
Now caſt away your fears; behold, behold!
The Governor approaches.
Enter SIR ALEXANDER.
ETHELBERTA.
Your preſence
Is as the ſun unto the darken'd landſcape:
Wherefore haſt thou linger'd thus? Oh, tell me
Where are my children?
SIR ALEXANDER.
They are well.
ETHELBERTA.
Yet why
Do they delay to bleſs a mother's ſight?
SIR ALEXANDER.
'Tis proper now I ſhould reveal.
ETHELBERTA.
[22]Reveal!
You've then ſome fearful ſecret to unfold.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Dear Ethelberta, be not thus alarm'd!
Already have I ſaid our boys are well.
Laſt night a ſally was propos'd. Archibald
And Valentine entreated much to lead
The onſet.
ETHELBERTA.
And you yielded to their entreaty?
SIR ALEXANDER.
The ſubtle foe by ſome dark perfidy
Had early notice of the deep-laid ſcheme,
And were too well prepar'd.
ETHELBERTA.
My blood runs cold.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Ah, rather let it glow at my recital:
Your ſons have gain'd the warrior's beſt reward,
Unſullied fame. Three times did their ſmall force
Drive back their triple-number'd foes; at length,
By their encreaſing powers ſubdued (with nine
Of their brave men remaining) they ſubmitted
To be captives.
ETHELBERTA.
[23]Say, who firſt ſuggeſted
This raſh enterprize?
SIR ALEXANDER.
Melvil applauded
What my ſons propos'd; and to the energy
With which he utter'd his approving thought
Did I reluctantly give my aſſent.
ETHELBERTA.
Curs'd be old Melvil for his raſh approval!
SIR ALEXANDER.
Spare your reſentment, and revere the dead;
Fall'n is his valiant arm, to riſe no more.
ETHELBERTA.
Then peace be to his ſoul! Let me retain
A grateful ſenſe to Heav'n that my lov'd children
Are not, as Melvil, number'd with the ſlain;
The loſs of thoſe dear boys would be to me
As if the ſpring were blotted from the year.
Come, Juliana, let us to our cuſtomed
Viſitation of the ſick and wounded.
Exit Ethelberta and Juliana.
Enter ANSELM.
ANSELM.
A herald from the foe is juſt arriv'd,
And waits your orders for admiſſion.
SIR ALEXANDER.
[24]Let him be admitted.
Enter HERALD.
THE HERALD.
Sir, this letter,
Of high import, I'm order'd to deliver
Into your hands only.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Retire awhile:
In ſome few moments come for my reply.
(Reads to himſelf.)
ANSELM.
Methinks you look diſturb'd! Say, what can be
The drift of this important note?
SIR ALEXANDER.
"Complaints have reach'd me from my court, as if
"I linger'd in ſubjecting your proud town:
"To theſe complaints ſtrong menaces are added!
"I therefore ſummon you to ſurrender,
"Or elſe your ſons ſhall rue your ſtubbornneſs:
"I will erect two pillars near the tower
"From whence your crowding arrows gall us moſt;
"To theſe two pillars ſhall your ſons be chain'd;
"Expos'd to the whole tempeſt of the war."
ANSELM.
[25]The blackeſt fiend in hell conceiv'd that thought,
And breath'd it on his mind.
SIR ALEXANDER.
I know him well;
It ſuits the native diſpoſition of the man.
Enter ETHELBERTA.
ETHELBERTA.
Ah! wonder not I haſtily return:
I'm told a Herald from the camp is come—
What tidings of my ſons?
SIR ALEXANDER.
Peruſe this note.
(She reads.)
ETHELBERTA.
Say, what doſt thou intend to do?
SIR ALEXANDER.
My duty.
ETHELBERTA.
Is 't then a duty to deſtroy your children?
To rend affection from your inmoſt breaſt;
Uproot the thoughts of pity as they grow;
Embowel nature of her hallow'd feelings?
And to a mother dare you this avow?
SIR ALEXANDER.
[26]I dare avow what honour bids me do.
ETHELBERTA.
The untam'd Arab, who exiſts on plunder,
Lets fall his booty to aſſiſt his child!
But you, whom poliſh'd manners ſhould adorn,
Whoſe pure religion wears a ſofter feature,
Do you reject the impulſe of compaſſion,
For the ſtern morals of imagin'd honour?
Enter HERALD.
HERALD.
Sir, the time urges, what is your reply?
SIR ALEXANDER.
Go, tell your ſavage, and blood-thirſty General,
The ſacred oath I utter'd to my country
And to my royal maſter, when I was
Exalted to the ſtation I now hold,
Contains my anſwer.—Sir, you may return.
ETHELBERTA.
Stay one ſhort moment, hear a mother plead:
Tho' dead to pity, riches may perchance
Allure his mind! I've jewels of high value—
(Sir Alexander makes a ſignal to the Herald, who retires.)
He goes, he heeds not what I ſay; my ſons
Are then condemn'd without reſource. Enjoy,
[27](turning to Sir Alexander.)
Enjoy this philoſophic victory,
This conqueſt, this cold triumph o'er all feeling—
Domeſtic pity, conjugal affiance,
Fatherly endearment, are by you profan'd!
SIR ALEXANDER.
What does this mean? dare you aſſert I do
Not love my children?
ETHELBERTA.
Say, where are the proofs?
Is yielding up your ſons without a conflict,
Without reſorting to the prompt expedient
Affection wou'd have flown to? Is reſigning
Your ſons, without the interpoſing a ſhort
Delay, without a pauſe, without inventing
Some pious artifice; are theſe the proofs
Of your paternal kindneſs? Evidence
Like this would not be admitted in the court
Of Nature.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Ceaſe this idle declamation!
Reſpect, reſpect the great, the ſolemn trial,
To which my pure allegiance now is call'd!
I ſee the deſolating hour approach,
Like the dark ſtorm that thickens as it ſails!
It is the woman's privilege to weep
And utter her complaints: to man belongs
The majeſty of grief! yet not the leſs
Does the fond parent warm this boſom:
[28]Ev'n while proud honour and relentleſs duty
Seem to command the function of my ſoul,
I've that within that tells me I'm a father.
ETHELBERTA.
Thus the pale cheek of hungry fame is fluſh'd
And rudded o'er with the falſe glow of duty.
ANSELM.
Make not the bitter cup he's doomed to drink
Still more bitter by the infuſions of reproach.
ETHELBERTA.
May not the broken-hearted mother ſpeak;
May not her madd'ning ſorrow ſtill attempt
To ſnatch her children from deſtruction?
Enter an OFFICER.
OFFICER.
I come to pour glad tidings on your ear!
Your ſons—
ETHELBERTA.
What of my ſons?
OFFICER.
They are return'd:
Relenting, as 'tis thought, of his intention,
The General has reſtor'd them to your wiſhes.
ETHELBERTA.
[29]Ah! tell me where you ſaw them?
OFFICER.
Ent'ring at
The ſouthern gate, amidſt th' applauding multitude!
They bade me haſten to your preſence with
The news of their return.
ETHELBERTA.
Wherefore do they
Linger thus?
OFFICER.
Methinks I hear their foot-ſteps—
Enter ARCHIBALD and VALENTINE.
ETHELBERTA.
What glorious viſion meets my raptur'd eyes!
(Runs to embrace them.)
This ſudden joy, this unimagin'd heaven,
Tranſports me beyond all pow'r of utterance.—
SIR ALEXANDER.
Your preſence, my lov'd children, ſmooths
The rugged conflict in my breaſt.—Whence comes
This change of counſel in the tyrant's mind?
ETHELBERTA.
[30]Ah! rather tell me where, where is the joy
That ought to harmoniſe with ours? Archibald.
Your down-caſt look portends ſome dread intel⯑ligence:
And you, my Valentine, where is thy wonted
Gaiety?
ARCHIBALD.
I have of high importance
Something to communicate to my Father.
ETHELBERTA.
May not I be preſent at the interview?
ARCHIBALD.
What I'm going to unfold will diſtreſs you.
ETHELBERTA.
No, no! your mutual ſafety is ſufficient
To bear me up againſt this new calamity!
But wherefore do you weep?
ARCHIBALD.
Theſe tears I ſhed
Spring from affection, not from fear.—I'll die
Worthy of ſuch parents.
VALENTINE.
[31]So will I!
ETHELBERTA.
Wherefore,
Wherefore do ye talk of death?
ARCHIBALD.
With a mockery
Of pity does the General ſend us back:
One of us muſt return to be the victim
Of his cruelty.
ETHELBERTA.
Oh! never.
ARCHIBALD.
We're bound
By honour's tie, the ſoldier's ſtrongeſt chain;
One muſt return: and unappall'd we wait
(turning to Sir Alexander.)
For your deciſion.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Ah! what Father can
Decide of two affectionate and duteous
Children, which ſhall be led to ſlaughter? Say,
Was I to raiſe in awful thought the balance
Of my affection, and cou'd judgment ſee
[32]One ſide prevail, ſtill ſacred nature's hand
Would join and equalize the trembling ſcales.
VALENTINE
(to ETHELBERTA.)
Be comforted.
ETHELBERTA.
Oh! my dear Valentine.
(Falls on his neck.)
ANSELM.
I think all this is a mere ſtratagem
To lengthen out the truce.—Allow me, Sir,
To haſten to the General's tent; there will
I urge with glowing words my ſuit,
There paint the infamy that muſt involve him,
If, thus profaning the hallow'd feelings
Of Parents—
VALENTINE.
Holy father! 'twou'd become
Thee better to aſſuage, ſupport with comfort's
Lenient voice, this drooping mother, than to
Interfere with what regards my brother's
Honour and my own.
ETHELBERTA.
I'll write to the General
In words of ſoothing power, in terms of energy,
Such as the mother's throbbing heart conceives.
VALENTINE.
[33]No letter muſt be written, for 'twou'd ſeem
Our dictating, and would ſhew like cowardice.
SIR ALEXANDER.
There ſpoke my valiant ſon.
ARCHIBALD.
Our mutual dignity
Forbids, abhors all interpoſition.
ETHELBERTA.
Then I have loſt my children.
VALENTINF.
That follows not;
He who is firſt in years, in ſkill, experience,
He muſt be ſpar'd, the general cauſe demands him.
ARCHIBALD.
What ſays the haſty Valentine?
VALENTINE.
Command
Your riſing indignation, I'll explain.—
Allow us, Father, for ſome few moments,
To confer alone, that free from all reſtraint
I may to Archibald diſcloſe my mind,
And utter arguments that may ſubdue
[34]His reaſon to my ardent wiſh, and thus
Prevent th' extinction of our family.
ARCHIBALD.
Periſh to the root the name of Seaton,
And let oblivion's night o'erſhade the proud
Exploits of our long anceſtry, ere I
Conſent to that which muſt degrade and ſhrink
Me in my own eſteem!
VALENTINE.
I mean not that.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Come, Ethelberta, let us for a while
Retire, and leave them to confer alone.
ETHELBERTA.
Well the high theme of your diſcourſe I know,
It is a conteſt for the palm of death:
But in this glorious conflict ſtill remember
What is due to your afflicted Mother.
If any plan, expedient, or device,
Allied to honour, ſhould ſuggeſt itſelf;
If any beam ſhould pierce this awful gloom,
Admit its ſacred influence on your mind,
And ſave me from deſpair.
(Exit with ANSELM, JULIANA, and SIR ALEXANDER.)
VALENTINE.
[35]Fear is no inmate of thy glowing breaſt;
Yet then reflect that other thoughts than thoſe
That courage breathes muſt ſometimes regulate
A ſoldier's conduct. Say, haſt thou not heard
That mercy, reſignation, are the nobler
Duties of a ſoldier?
ARCHIBALD.
Where is now that
Mercy claim'd? where call'd for? mercy on whom?
VALENTINE.
Mercy on your Parents, and on your country.
ARCHIBALD.
This puerile declamation moves me not.
VALENTINE.
I ſpeak the language of a mind ſincere,
To one who is my friend as well as brother,
For whom my partial fondneſs ne'er was doubted.
ARCHIBALD.
He loves me not who does not love my fame!
Was I to yield to your ill-tim'd ſuggeſtion,
Wou'd not each finger mark me as I paſs,
As one who ſkulks behind the privilege
Of elderſhip to ſave himſelf from death?
[36]I feel diſhonour as I feel a wound—
The fatal ſpot to which we both aſpire,
Is glory's prize, is honour's awful ſtation,
And I now claim it as my ſacred birth-right.
VALENTINE.
I contend no longer.
ARCHIBALD.
Let me haſten,
Fly to my Father to proclaim the news,
That Valentine at length conſents to live.
VALENTINE.
Allow me one ſhort moment, and be calm:
Say, wilt thou, with an avarice of fame,
Demand excluſively the meed of glory?
Wilt thou purſue the path that leads to death,
And leave thy faithful Valentine behind?
ARCHIBALD.
Ceaſe, generous brother, or thou 'lt break my heart—
VALENTINE.
When firſt I quitted childhood's lowly vale,
Eager with you I climb'd youth's arduous height,
Whence greater ſcenes expanded on-my view;
Still our purſuits, conſenting to one plan,
Our lives like wedded ſtreams united roll'd;
And will you now diſturb the ſacred tide,
And bid the kindred waves diſparting run?
ARCHIBALD.
[37]'Tis as you ſay, in us was ever found
The ſympathetic union of the mind,
The harmony of affection and deſign.
VALENTINE.
And wou'd it not be ſacrilege to tear
Our ſouls aſunder?—Mark my firm reſolve,
I will attend thee to the fatal ſpot,
And ſhare an equal deſtiny with thee.
ARCHIBALD.
I yield, I bow to thy ſublimer mind.
VALENTINE.
Let's haſte away, leſt Ethelberta ſhou'd
Return, and with her tears unman our purpoſe.
ARCHIBALD.
Agreed—We'll haſten to our mutual doom,
Co-equals at the hallow'd ſhrine of danger.
VALENTINE.
Will not the ſpirits of our valiant anceſtry
Lean from their golden thrones on high, well pleas'd
While thus
(Encircling his brother.)
we march undaunted to our fate.
One heart—
ARCHIBALD.
[38]One cauſe—
VALENTINE.
One ruin, and one fame!
Exeunt.
End of the SECOND ACT.
ACT THE THIRD.
[39]Enter ETHELBERTA and JULIANA.
ETHELBERTA.
FLED to the camp! Both fled! Impoſſible!
JULIANA.
Pure honour breathing on their boſom—
ETHELBERTA.
Fled,
Without one parting word!
JULIANA.
The great trial
They are call'd to claims their whole attention.
ETHELBERTA.
Has then the phantom glory ſteel'd my children
Into ſavages?—Not one endearing
Word to ſoothe their fond afflicted Mother?
JULIANA.
[40]The rigorous duty of their ſituation—
ETHELBERTA.
What duty is more preſſing or more ſacred
Than that a Mother claims? It riſes out
Of Nature's boſom, ſummon'd by the voice
Of Heaven!
JULIANA.
Their better judgment held them from
Your preſence; well, full well they knew the ſight
Of two ſons haſt'ning to untimely death
Wou'd rend your heart.
ETHELBERTA.
It muſt be ſo, it was,
It was their love that urg'd them to avoid me!
The cloud of dark ſurmiſe that here was gathering
Begins to melt in air! and my full heart
Expands to all its wonted warm affection.
JULIANA.
To this affection join a confidence
That all may yet be well.
ETHELBERTA.
I dare not caſt
A meeting glance upon th' approaching hour.—
Cou'd I but raiſe my ſinking mind to the
Faint hope, that the arrows haply might not
[41]Reach my children!—That the tyrant may
Relent of his fell purpoſe! Vain endeavour!—
Each way I look I meet deſpair.—Yet now—
A thought poſſeſſes me—Indulge my weakneſs—
Ah! pity the diſeaſe that flies to ſuch
A remedy—I've heard a ſkilful ſorcereſs
Does in this town reſide, whoſe magic power
Unfolds the future to her trembling viſitant—
JULIANA.
It is as you report, and many a hapleſs
Virgin, many a diſtreſsful mother,
Have conſulted her.
ETHELBERTA.
'Tis ſaid ſhe rivals
The weird ſiſterhood of ancient days,
While o'er her mind pale prophecy hangs flutter⯑ing,
The dread vaunt-courier of futurity—
Perchance this deeply-ſkill'd magician may
Tranſport my ignorant fears beyond th' event.
JULIANA.
Yet ſay, was ſhe by her exploring art
To raiſe your ignorant fears to horrid certainties—
ETHELBERTA.
Better to know the worſe, than thus to live
In apprehenſion, unrelenting agony!—
Can'ſt thou inform me where the ſorcereſs dwells?
JULIANA.
[42]Her lonely cell is ſeen not far from hence,
Amidſt the ruins of an ancient cloiſter,
Upon the burial ground! There on a ſeat
Of ebony, o'erſpread with human ſkulls,
She exerciſeth her tremendous function.
ETHELBERTA.
Whence does the hag derive her daring miſſion?
Is 't from on high, or from the caves of hell?
Does ſhe not lift her impious hand to rend
The ſanctuary-veil that hangs 'tween men and angels?
And on the breaſt of heaven ſhe ſends a glance
Profane!
JULIANA.
This deep reflection will avert
Your anxious mind from its new-form'd purpoſe.
ETHELBERTA.
Let me be wretched, let me not be impious:
Never will I tread the path that leads to
Her unhallow'd cell.—Another thought occurs,
Which meets my heart's conſent—Come, come what may,
I'll go in perſon to the hoſtile camp,
There, ruſhing on the rude barbarian,
I will demand my children.
JULIANA.
Vain, vain project!
ETHELBERTA.
[43]He'll hear my plaintive voice, he'll ſee theſe eyes
In tears.
JULIANA.
Th' unfeeling wretch will mock thoſe tears.
ETHELBERTA.
Affection will endue my ſpeech with eloquence;
The monſter ſelf will ſoften at warm nature
Pleading for her darling ſons.
JULIANA.
Conſider
What dangers you'll encounter, to what inſults
You there may be expos'd: 'tis likely you
May be detain'd a captive, and immur'd
Within the precincts of a loneſome dungeon.
ETHELBERTA.
Talk not to me of dangers, I deſpiſe them.
Say, haſt thou not beheld the bold ſea-eagle,
When her dear young one from the rock hath fall'n,
Deſcend undaunted to the roaring main,
Daſh with her throbbing breaſt the waves aſunder,
To ſnatch the neſtling from the ravenous ſhark!
And would'ſt thou have me pauſe and heſitate
To act the mother's part? Let us retire,
And ſeek for Anſelm to attend
And guide my footſteps to the tyrant's tent.
Exeunt.
[44] Enter Sir ALEXANDER and ANSELM.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Yes, Anſelm, I confeſs I glory in
Theſe children—their abrupt departure wakes
At once my wonder and delight! Say, has
It not a reliſh of the antique manners,
Some proud reſemblance of the Roman mind?
ANSELM.
This mutual dedication of themſelves
To certain death will ornament our annals.
SIR ALEXANDER.
As torrents feed the river, ſo my ſons
Swell the ſtrong current of my country's fame.
ANSELM.
You alſo ſhare your part in this ſublime
Tranſaction.
SIR ALEXANDER.
The renown is their's, and mine
Is the diſtreſs.—My ſcene in this deep drama
Is to bid my archers ſhoot their arrows
Where my defenceleſs ſons will be expos'd
To their full rage.—Alas! I fear, good father,
I have not virtue equal to the taſk.
ANSELM.
Virtue is ever found ſuperior to
[45]The rugged taſk; and, like the water-plant,
Aſcends ſtill higher than the ſwelling flood.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Was ever father ſo ſeverely tried?
ANSELM.
Image to yourſelf that you are acting
In ſight of angels and immortal ſpirits,
And thro' the ſcenery that darkens round
Look up, as to the ſun that breaks the cloud,
Look up unto th' approving ſmile of Heav'n!
SIR ALEXANDER.
I ſometimes think the tyrant will relent.
ANSELM.
He 's not of Engliſh birth.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Of that you may be certain:
Humanity adorns the Engliſh ſoldier;
It is the wholeſome gale that ventilates
Their heart, from the low ſubaltern up to
The royal youth who now in Gallia leads
His valiant band—
ANSELM.
From Norway is he not,
This wretch who outrages a parent's feelings?
SIR ALEXANDER.
[46]Ev'n ſo.—A pirate on the northern ſeas,
His ſkill and matchleſs courage lifted him
To fame: and being by diſtreſs of weather
Driv'n on the Engliſh coaſt, the warlike Edward,
Dazzled by his enterprizing ſpirit,
Gave him to command the troops that now inveſt us.
ANSELM.
But tell me, has your ſons' abrupt departure
Yet reach'd the ear of hapleſs Ethelberta?
SIR ALEXANDER.
I know not that.—I muſt not now approach
Her preſence; her unbounded ſorrow would
Ill ſuit the frame of mind that I muſt now
Acquire!—Go, holy father, and diſpenſe
The balm of comfort to her bleeding ſoul—
I muſt confer with Donaldſon.
Exit ANSELM.
Enter DONALDSON.
DONALDSON.
Your commands have been attended to, and
Now the town is diſencumber'd of its
Numbers—The wide northern gate recoiling,
Pour'd forth a length'ning train.—The aged war⯑riors
[47]Paſs'd on in mournful ſilence.—This diſmiſſion,
Which mark'd their inutility, appear'd
To humble and degrade them.
SIR ALEXANDER.
'Tis a cruel
But neceſſary order on my part—
Yet then theſe aged and once active men
May haply in a few ſhort days return,
And then reſume their wonted occupations,
Habits and cuſtoms, which they now forego—
But never ſhall I meet with comfort more—
My ſons! my ſons!
DONALDSON.
Next in long order mov'd
A female band, while many a penſive wife
Threw back a frequent glance of fond regard.
SIR ALEXANDER.
'Tis well.—Your diligence demands my thanks,
The truce will in two hours expire.—I muſt
Prepare me for the ſad, the ſolemn taſk
Imperious duty has impos'd upon me.—
'Tis time the men aſcend th' embattled walls,
In act to hurl the arrowy war below.
DONALDSON.
I left the men aſſembling in the ſquare.
SIR ALEXANDER.
[48]Oh! wou'd that, with the ſafety of this town,
Which to my lateſt moment I'll defend,
I might include the ſafety of my children.
Exit.
SCENE, the Enemy's Camp.
Enter ETHELBERTA and ANSELM.
SENTINEL to ETHELBERTA.
Arreſt your daring footſteps!
ETHELBERTA.
Your uplifted
Weapon frights not her, to whoſe misfortunes
Death were welcome.—I am Ethelberta.
(The Sentinel returns the ſabre into the ſcabbard.)
Haply in ſome far diſtant hamlet ſits
Your mother brooding o'er your abſence, all
In tears: Oh! think of her, and lead me to
My ſons.
SENTINEL.
Beneath you tent the captive youths
Abide.
ETHELBERTA.
[49]Inform your General, that the wretched
Ethelberta humbly begs an audience.
Exit Sentinel.
(As ETHELBERTA and ANSELM approach the tent ARCHIBALD and VALENTINE ruſh out.)
ETHELBERTA.
Marvel not at my appearance, my bleeding
Boſom demanded this ſad interview.
ARCHIBALD.
We're ever bound to you for this new proof
Of your affection.
VALENTINE.
Have you ſeen the General?
ETHELBERTA.
I've aſk'd a conference—I wait the anſwer.
VALENTINE.
Be ſure you let him know that we did not
Urge or prompt you to demand an audience.
ETHELBERTA.
Is it then criminal in me to own
A Mother's feelings?
ARCHIBALD.
[50]It is beneath the dignity
Of Ethelberta to confer with him.
ETHELBERTA.
Say, what dignity belongs to a wretch
Like me?
VALENTINE.
His ear is ſteel'd againſt compaſſion,
Nor do we wiſh to live.
ETHELBERTA.
Why, Valentine,
This contempt of life? would you not live to
Save me from diſtraction?—Is the cruelty
That breathes within the General's tent
Contagious? are my children grown inſenſible
To their afflicted mother?
VALENTINE
(Embracing her knees.)
Think not ſo
Unjuſtly of us.
ETHELBERTA.
Oh! I think you both
Love me, or I ſhou'd wiſh to be the duſt
Beneath your feet.
[51] Enter an OFFICER.
OFFICER.
The General now in council
Waits your attendance.
Exeunt ETHELBERTA, ANSELM, and OFFICER.
VALENTINE.
Sooner would the ſea-cliff
Stoop to the ſinking mariner, than will
The tyrant bend to her imploring voice;
I mean his mercy will not reach us both.
What if Ethelberta ſhou'd return, and
Bring with her commands for your releaſement?
ARCHIBALD.
I wou'd reject the deſpicable mercy.
Has not our mutual vow to Heav'n aſcended?
Yes, brother, both muſt be releas'd, or both
Conſign'd to death!
Enter OFFICER.
OFFICER.
The General bids me lead
You to the fatal ſpot, with orders that
You ſhould immediately be faſten'd to
The ſummit of the pillars.
ARCHIBALD and VALENTINE.
[52]We obey.
Exeunt.
SCENE.—The place where pillars are erected; men with ropes, &c.
FIRST MAN.
I reliſh not this barb'rous employment;
It pains me to behold theſe ligaments,
With which we ſoon muſt bind the valiant youths.
SECOND MAN.
'Tis ſaid the Mother now is with the General,
Imploring for her ſons.
FIRST MAN.
I fear in vain!
Behold, they now approach.
Enter ARCHIBALD, VALENTINE, OFFICER and SOLDIERS.
With great reluctance
Do I perform this office.
ARCHIBALD.
My good friend,
Diſcharge your duty: leave the reſt to Heaven!
ETHELBERTA, behind the ſcenes.
Lead, lead me to thoſe dear unfortunate ſons.
[53] Enter ETHELBERTA and ANSELM.
ETHELBERTA.
Inhuman wretches! check your dreadful office,
This ſight appals me.
ARCHIBALD.
Still, oh ſtill be comforted!
We ſuffer more for your ſake than our own.
ETHELBERTA.
Was it for this I rear'd you with ſuch care?
Was it for this I watch'd your waking virtues,
And kindled at the dawn of your celeſtial mind?
VALENTINE.
We were born to die.
ETHELBERTA.
Had gradual illneſs
Stol'n on you as ye faded in my arms,
Or had ye fall'n in battle, then I ſhou'd,
Like many, many more unfortunate mothers,
Have mournfully ſubmitted; but this outrage,
This indignity—
VALENTINE.
Affects me not, I am
Proud to fall in ſuch a cauſe.
ETHELBERTA,
[54]to ANSELM.
Did I not
Fall at the tyrant's feet; did I not bathe
Them with my tears? Like the unheeding rock
He ſtood unmov'd. The ſtranger Pity knew not
The dark avenue to his heart.
ANSELM.
The king of terrors,
Death, comes like a friendly angel
In a noble cauſe.
ARCHIBALD.
'Tis as the holy
Father ſays. The cauſe for which we die brightens
The darken'd hour: it is the cauſe that dignifies
Thoſe ignominious inſtruments; that turns
Theſe fatal pillars into pyramids
Proclaiming our eternal fame.
ETHELBERTA.
Who would
Not glory in ſuch children? Yes, ye are
My boaſt, my honour, my delight. I firſt led
Your infant footſteps to the path of virtue:
Indulge the fond idea, haply this
Sublime enthuſiaſm flows from me.
VALENTINE.
Speak ever thus, and be the Heroine
Of this conflicting hour.
ARCHIBALD.
[55]Methought! as thus
You ſpoke, a current of new ardour guſh'd
Upon my throbbing heart.
ETHELBERTA.
Be not deceiv'd,
The momentary gleam of triumph's paſt;
To glory's touch ſucceeds tormenting fear,
And Nature gives me up to grief again.
Enter OFFICER.
OFFICER.
The General bids me urge you to retire.
ETHELBERTA.
Does he prohibit this ſhort interview?
This laſt dear horror of a ſad farewell?
(Leans overpower'd upon ANSELM.)
OFFICER.
The General alſo ſays, that one of theſe
Youths may return, and that the choice remains
With you.
ETHELBERTA.
(ſuddenly raiſing up her head.)
Ah! were I to abſolve the life
[56]Of one, ſay by that act ſhould I not condemn
The other to the fate that threatens him?
OFFICER.
Reflect, that by theſe means you will prevent
Th' entire extinction of your name.
ETHELBERTA.
Your reaſoning
Touches not a mother's breaſt.—While I behold
My ſons as now they ſtand before me, and
Recal their virtues, their invariable
Affection tow'rds their mother, and the concord
Of their congenial minds, the interweaving
Harmony of colouring, that compoſes
The texture of their mutual life, my heart
Blends, and unites the two, and my fond eyes
Behold but one dear ſon!
(ARCHIBALD and VALENTINE throw themſelves at her feet, while ETHELBERTA hangs over them.)
ARCHIBALD
(riſing.)
Kind, pitying father,
We intruſt her to your care: Oh comfort her!
ANSELM.
Mark this hallow'd ſymbol of our dread belief:
(Holding up the croſs that hangs at his ſide.)
[57]By this I ſwear I will adminiſter
To her relief, and wait upon her ſorrow,
And ſhed upon the feſt'ring wound of grief
That Gilead balm, Religion only can
Supply: from thence alone can comfort flow.
ETHELBERTA.
Who talks of comfort? Say, will not theſe pillars
Riſe to my mind in every place, to frighten
Comfort from me? In ſuch a ſtate, comfort
Wou'd be impiety, leave, leave me with
Deſpair. Oh! would to Heav'n that in this conflict
Of life and ſorrow, ſorrow might prevail,
That I might fall death-ſmitten on this ſpot,
And in one grave be buried with my ſons!
OFFICER.
The time expires, the truce will ſhortly end,
The war will be renew'd, and from you town
The arrows then will fly.
ETHELBERTA.
To pierce my children—
Tort'ring madneſs harbours in the thought.
OFFICER.
That devious path-way leads not to the town.
ETHELBERTA.
Forgive, I was a moment ſcarce myſelf,
[58]And ſtill a dimneſs hangs acroſs my ſight.
Where are my ſons?
(they go up to her.)
Forbear, forbear to weep,
I ſee my preſence but enfeebles them:
Tis cruelty to linger, then reſolv'd
I tear myſelf away. Oh! God of mercy,
Spread o'er my children thy protecting ſhield!
Exit with ANSELM.
End of the THIRD ACT.
ACT THE FOURTH.
[59]SCENE.—The Archers mounted on the walls, expecting the word of command.
Enter SIR ALEXANDER, JULIANA, DONALDSON.
SIR ALEXANDER, to DONALDSON.
TO your command do I entruſt thoſe archers;
I'll thro' the ſubterraneous paſſage with
A choſen number iſſue on the plain!
My boſom burns to meet the tyrant, and
Provoke him to a ſingle combat. How
Is he diſtinguiſh'd?
DONALDSON.
A bright ſcarlet mantle
Floats around his armour.
SIR ALEXANDER.
The impulſe of an
[60]Injur'd Father will add vigor to this arm,
But Ethelberta is not yet return'd.
DONALDSON.
Her viſit to the camp ſurprizes me.
SIR ALEXANDER.
It moves not my ſurprize, for when th' affections
Of her ſoul are rous'd, no fear, no danger—
JULIANA.
She comes—mark how her tortur'd mind ſpeaks thro'
Th' expreſſive eye.
Enter ETHELBERTA and ANSELM.
ETHELBERTA.
I've ſpoke in vain.
SIR ALEXANDER.
I do
Not yet believe he will proceed to ſuch
Extreme barbarity.
ETHELBERTA.
I ſaw the pillars,
I ſaw the men with chains and inſtruments
Prepar'd. Ere now your ſons are bound to the
Lofty pillars with their boſoms bare, to catch
The arrows which theſe men are now in act
[61]To ſhoot, and only wait your terrible
Command.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Ah! leave me then to my dread duty,
Retire, Retire!—The truce is juſt expiring,
The trembling ſands have almoſt
Run their hour.
ETHELBERTA,
kneeling.
See at your feet the Mother of your children,
Who thro' th' unvaried courſe of long attachment
Has ſhewn ſhe's not unworthy of your choice.
Oh! how I glory'd in that day, when firſt
You call'd me yours! and do I live to curſe
That day?
SIR ALEXANDER.
Riſe, Ethelberta, ceaſe entreating—
Awake each virtue that ſurrounds your heart!
Elevate your mind, and dare to meet the
Approaching trial; think that now you ſtand
As in a ſolemn temple, and forbear
With vain complaining accents to diſturb
The awful ſervice that is now beginning.
ETHELBERTA.
Theſe proud exalted ſentiments ſuit well
The breaſt that's fed with glory's turgid vapour:
My ſimple heart feels nothing but affection.
SIR ALEXANDER.
[62]Would'ſt have me be a traitor do my country?
ETHELBERTA.
Dar'ſt thou aſſume the ſacred name of Father,
And can'ſt thou unappall'd behold that ſcene?
SIR ALEXANDER.
The voice that dares diſſuade me from my duty
Is to my careleſs ear an empty ſound.
Mark me, Ethelberta! I'll not diſgrace
The ſchool of war in which I have been train'd:
My parting ſoul ſhall fly unſullied
Into the boſom of my anceſtry,
And at my death my honour be convey'd
Immaculate, into the aſhes of
My grave!
DONALDSON
(taking up the hour-glaſs.)
The laſt remaining ſands are haſt'ning faſt
Away.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Now bid the archers draw their
Bows.
ETHELBERTA.
One moment yet delay, one moment.
SIR ALEXANDER.
[63]Ring out th' alarm-bell.
(ETHELBERTA faints, and is carried out by JULIANA and ANSELM.)
The beſiegers ſcale the walls, and are repulſed, and purſued; the ſcene then changes to the place where the pillars are erected, where Sir ALEXANDER meets the General.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Well met! my childrens' blood cries out revenge!
New youthful vigor guſhes on my breaſt,
And vengeance, like th' exterminating angel,
Rides on this ſword.
(They fight, the General falls)
Enter ETHELBERTA.
Your ſons are now aveng'd:
See, Ethelberta, where the monſter lies!
ETHELBERTA.
'Tis nobly done, now thou'rt indeed a Father:
But gaudy exultation ill becomes us,
The dreaded pillars we have not ſurvey'd,
I'll haſten to the ſpot, and dare th' event.
(they go to the pillars.)
No children meet theſe fond enquiring eyes.
SIR ALEXANDER.
[64]It ſeems as he relented of his purpoſe.
ETHELBERTA.
My heart preſageful ſcorns the flatt'ring hope:
Mark how the pillars are o'erſpread with arrows,
And ſome that ſtrew the ground are ſtain'd with blood.
(Takes up one, and advances towards the ſtage.)
This dread informer tells a horrid tale.
(Shouts at a diſtance.)
Whence that tumultuous noiſe?
SIR ALEXANDER.
Haply my valiant
Men are now returning from their victory.
ETHELBERTA.
What's victory to me without my ſons?
(Nearer ſhouts; then the troops enter, with ARCHI⯑BALD and VALEN⯑TINE.)
Tranſporting ſight! I'm well repaid for all
The heart-pangs of this agonizing day.
SIR ALEXANDER.
How did ye eſcape the flight of arrows
That wing'd from yonder loſty battlements?
ARCHIBALD.
[65]Chain'd to the pillars, to our doom reſign'd,
We ſaw the angry weapons fly around.
VALENTINE.
Yet then, beneath the ſpreading canopy
Of danger, ſtill did we remain untouch'd.
ETHELBERTA.
Some hov'ring angel, with benignant hand,
Averted from your breaſt the crowding darts.
Yet tell me all! Oh! ſay, by what bleſs'd means
Am I become the happieſt of mothers?
VALENTINE.
As the enemy retreated from the walls,
Orders were iſſued (ſhou'd we be alive)
To drag us back again in chains as captives;
But our bold troops, with haſty ſtep advancing,
By the reſiſtleſs effort of Donaldſon
We are reſtor'd to ſafety and to you.
ETHELBERTA
to DONALDSON.
Take, take a mother's thanks: this gallant deed
Of thine, brave youth, yes, it is here engrav'd
Deep in the laſt receſſes of my heart.
SIR ALEXANDER.
Thanks to my ſons, my matchleſs ſons, who on
[66]This memorable day have pour'd freſh luſtre
On our name and on our country. Dear boys,
Oblivion's gulph ſhall ne'er entomb your ſtory,
While hiſtory, to time's remoteſt bound,
Her ſtream majeſtic ſhall thro' ages roll:
Like kindred flowers that on one ſtem ariſe,
You on her margin ſhall for ever glow.
Exeunt.
End of the FOURTH and LAST ACT.