Now, thinking of Elgiva close at hand,

We shall be fill'd with her victorious spirit.

Athulf. I would to God that I could think her wise. All is in jeopardy through her. By heaven!

I know not which is worst-to

Or come with broken strength.

Edwin.

come too late,

To come too late

Is worst by far. When Leolf went from Audley "Tis true he bade us to beware of haste ;

But then he knew not that the enemy's force

Would move on Nantwich, which, with his own at Lea, Shall cheek-by-jowl bring them, whilst us it leaves More laggard than we were.

Athulf.

I'll stake my head

'Twas ne'er by Leolf's wish his force was moved So far as Lea; but be it so or not,

"Twas moved in error; it can bring no aid

To Leolf and Elgiva; rather, I fear,
"Twill draw the forces of the enemy down
Upon the very wayside of their flight.
Still moved it is, and I deny not now
That we should follow at our best of speed.

SCENE VII.-Night. A Coppice near Acton in Cheshire.-In front is a mortstone.

of LEOLF.

Enter certain Retainers and Servants

1st Servant. This is the road, bring up the horses, ho! Hark! heard'st thou aught? If Dunstan knew, my friends,

He'd ope

his book and read a verse of power, And send a goblin that should...

2nd Servant.

Hush! thou fool!

"Tis here,

Is it not hither the Earl should come?

1st Servant.

Six furlongs from the chapel. What is this? Oh me! the mortstone! No it is not here, 'Tis further on.

3rd Servant.

Seest thou not something white?

1st Servant. Jesu Maria save us! 'tis a Spirit.

Enter LEOLF and ELGIVA.

[Exeunt.

Leolf. Fresh horses should have met us here; what
chance

Hath hinder'd them, I know not; we must wait
Till these be rested. Here is a rude stone-seat;
We may rest likewise.

Elgiva.

Is there danger still? Leolf. But little here; the dangers of the road, I trust, are left behind.

Elgiva.

Oh Leolf! much

I owe you, and if aught a kingdom's wealth
Affords, could pay the debt . . .

Leolf.

A kingdom's wealth!

Elgiva! by the heart the heart is paid.

You have your kingdom, my heart hath its love.

We are provided.

Elgiva.

Oh! in deeds so kind,

And can you be so bitter in your words!

Have I no offerings of the heart, wherewith
Love's service to requite?

The least of boons

Leolf.
Scatter'd by royal charity's careless hand
O'erpays my service; to requite the rest

All

you possess is but a bankrupt's bond.
This is the last time we shall speak together;
Forgive me, therefore, if my speech be bold
And need not an expositor to come.
I loved you once; and in such sort I loved
That anguish hath but burnt the image in
And I must bear it with me to my grave.
I loved you once; dearest Elgiva, yes,
Even now my heart doth feed upon that love
As in its flower and freshness, ere the grace
And beauty of the fashion of it perish'd.

2

It was too anxious to be fortunate,
And it must now be buried, self-embalm'd
Within my breast, or living there recluse
Talk to itself and traffick with itself;
And like a miser that puts nothing out
And asks for no return, must I tell o'er
The treasures of the past.

Elgiva. Can no return Be render'd? And is gratitude then nothing? Leolf. To me 'tis nothing-being less than love; But cherish it as to your own soul precious; The heavenliest lot that earthly natures know Is to be affluent in gratitude.

Be grateful and be happy.

For myself,

If sorrow be my portion, yet shall hope,

That springs from sorrow and aspires to heaven,
Be with me still. When this disastrous war
Is ended, I shall quit my country's shores
A pilgrim and a suitor to the love

Which dies not nor betrays.-What cry is that?
I thought I heard a voice.

Oh Leolf, Leolf!

Mistake me not;

I would not be unjust; I have not been;
Now less than ever could I be, for now
A sacred and judicial calmness holds
Its mirror to my soul; at once disclosed
The picture of the past presents itself
Minute yet vivid, such as it is seen
In his last moments by a drowning man.
Look at this skeleton of a once green leaf:
Time and the elements conspired its fall;
The worm hath eaten out the tenderer parts
And left this curious anatomy
Distinct of structure-made so by decay;
So at this moment lies my life before me

In all its intricacies, all its errors,

And can I be unjust?

Elgiva.

Oh, more than just,

Most merciful in judgment have you been,
And even in censure kind.

Leolf.

Our lives were link'd

By one misfortune and a double fault.
It was my folly to have fix'd my hopes
Upon the fruitage of a budding heart;
It was your fault,-the lighter fault by far,-
Being the bud to seem to be the berry.
The first inconstancy of unripe years
Is nature's error on the way to truth.
But, hark! another cry! they call us hence;
Why come they not to us? Hark! Hist! again!
A clash of swords! Our band then is beset;
Alas, Elgiva!
Elgiva.

Say, is it so?

Leolf, we are lost.

I am not afraid; but, oh!

Forgive me, Leolf, for I have wrong'd in you

The noblest of your kind. Oh Edwin! ... Leolf,
Tell him that I was true till death to him,

Though sometime false to you.

Leolf.

Fly, fly, Elgiva!

Our horses are at hand-we still may fly.

SCENE VIII.-Lea in Cheshire.

EDWIN, ATHULF, and SIDROC.

Sidroc. Neither of them nor those that with them

went

Nor those that went to meet them, can I glean

One grain of tidings. Even lies are scarce

And false reports arrive not.

Athulf.

They are lost.

Edwin. Peace, Athulf! if thou wouldst not see me . sink

To cowardice now, when most I need my courage,

Speak not that word again. They shall be found.
Let us but march on Malpas.

Sidroc.

By the way

It may be we shall meet them. But if news
Of them be wanting, of the Danes 'tis rife.
In Somerset, which now they leave behind,
Town, hamlet, monastery, church and grange,
Lie smoking; and at Glastonbury Sweyne
Wasted the Abbot's lands, his treasure took,
And scared his bed-rid mother, that she fled,
Though seized with mortal sickness.

Athulf.

Hurt to her

Strikes at the human corner of his heart.

Sidroc. Upon him now, then, while his cheer is low. Athulf. Oh, Sidroc! what is ours?

Edwin. Nay, hope the best; Sidroc is right; we'll march at once on Malpas, Sending the women to our friends in Wales.

SCENE IX.-Malpas.

BRIDFERTH and RUOLD.

Bridferth. He is in much perplexity of mind, You cannot see him. Since his mother's death He comes not from his chamber, save at night When the sad brethren of St. Benedict

Say masses for her soul.

Ruold.

His mother dead!

Bridferth. At Glastonbury she lay sick, and thence Driven by the Dane, the terror of her flight,

Conspiring with her malady, put out

Her spark of life. To her great son she sent

Her dying charge that he as best he might

Should heal his country's wounds and give it peace,
And rescue from the Northmen's ravages

Its poor remains.

Ruold.

Indeed! His mother dead!