Hic furor, hic rabies, hic
sunt tua criinina, Caesar, —
cladis tamen hujus habemus Vindictam.
Lucan:
Lib:
vii.
PERSONS
OF
THE DRAMA.
King
Edward the First.
Clyfford,
Nephew to the
King.
Mortimer.
Llandorvin,
the Bard.
Queen
Eleanor.
Gwendylen,
the Daughter of
Llandorvin.
SCENE—WALES.
A
Castle at the foot of Snowdon, and different spots on the
Mountain.
SCENE
I.—A HALL IN AN ANCIENT CASTLE. KING EDWARD, and ATTENDANTS.
KING
EDWARD.
Tell
me no more our conquest is complete!
All
we have gained is but a trembling trophy,
Which
oft as Snowdon, from its secret caves,
Pours
forth these vagrants of rebellious song,
Shakes
at the echo of a minstrel's voice.
Our
victories yet want the bloody seal,
That
gives stability to power. I wait
In
anxious indignation, till I hear,
That
these prime sources of seditious fury,
These
scoffers at our sway,—the captive bards,
Are
silenced all by death.
SCENE
II.
KING
EDWARD, CLYFFQRD, and ATTENDANTS.
KIND
EDWARD.
Well!
my young soldier,
Hast
thou, as I enjoined thee, seen these miscreants,
Who
to their harps breathed anarchy and carnage,
Resign
their forfeit lives?
CLYFFORD.
Yes!
my dread liege,
I
have indeed beheld ----shield, shield me, Heaven,
From
such another spectacle!
KING
EDWARD.
Weak
boy!
What,
choaked with tears! art thou the martial youth,
Whom,
for thy father’s sake, tho’ marriage failed
To
give the stamp of honor to thy birth,
I
fondly fostered as a future hero?
CLYFFORD.
If I
offend, whom I would die to serve,
Pray
you, my liege, assign me any torture.
Rather
than your reproach!
KING
EDWARD.
Then
be corrected!
Thy
too indulgent sire, the gentle Edmund
Would
lead thee, by his homilies on peace,
To be
an anchorite:—thy king, my Clyfford,
Must
steel thy sinews to the sterner duties
Of
discord-quelling power.— But to thy story
What!
did these fierce offenders die so bravely,
Thou
couldst have wished their pardon?
CLYFFORD.
From
my soul—
O
royal Edward! think me not ungrateful
For
all thy lavish bounty to my youth,
If
when I saw these victims of thy wrath
Perish,
amid the groans of suffering thousands,
I
wished thy mercy -----
KING
EDWARD.
Poor,
deluded stripling!
These
wild enthusiasts have ensnared thy fancy;
And
foolish pity for the expiring traitors has made thee half a
rebel.
CLYFFORD.
No, I
my liege, I pitied not the dying: their demeanour
Might
waken envy, but not weak compassion:
They
died as freedom’s martyrs—and they said
The
benedictions of their bleeding country
Would
waft to Heaven their unrepining spirits.
It
was the anguish of their mourning kindred
That
pierced my soul it
seemed, that in their death
The
vital spirit of their nation perished.
KING
EDWARD.
There,
Clyfford, thy unconscious lips applaud
The
wisdom of severity. The arm,
That
strikes against us in the field of war,
Is
not so much an object of our fear,
As
that more potent voice, which, in the scene
Of
festive tumult, arrogantly spreads
Contagious
enmity against our rule,
And
mutinous defiance. These wild tribes
Of
hardy mountaineers will soon become
The
docile vassals of our sovereign pleasure,
When
their presumptuous rhapsodists no more
Exist,
to fire the fascinated people
To
frantic insurrection. Quiet now
May
guard and fertilize our new domain,
Since
these rebellious, these strife-kindling bards
Are
all extirpated.
CLYFFORD.
Not
all my liege.
KING
EDWARD.
What!
are we disobeyed? is not our sentence
Justly
fulfilled on all the trait’rous tribe?
CLYFFORD.
Of
the devoted band, one hoary chief,
Pre-eminent
in genius and renown,
The
famed Llandorvin, by a pious fraud,
That
nature framed to save him, has eluded
His
watchful guard, and "scaped the general doom,
Which
sunk to day in everlasting silence
All
the lost brothers of his art.
KING
EDWARD.
Escaped!
He shall not foil my power
-- by Salem’s cross
Not
all the deep recesses of their mountains
Shall
screen this fugitive, and whosoe’er
Has
stolen the victim from insulted justice,
Shall
in atonement share his future death.
CLYFFORD.
Recall
that oath —O noble minded
Edward
For it involves a cruelty, thy nature
Could
never execute. Our glorious sovereign,
The
pride of Christendom! bears not a sword
To
strike at female youth, and filial duty.
KING
EDWARD.
What
canst thou mean?
CLYFFORD.
The
culprit is a daughter
Of
radiant beauty; and, as fame reports,
Endowed
with all the mental energy,
That
made her sire the darling of his nation.
KING
EDWARD.
Bribed
she our guard?—Perdition on the traitors!
CLYFFORD.
No!
on my life my liege the men are faithful.
This
damsel with prevailing supplication
(A savage must have
granted her request)
Begged
but to pass within her father’s prison
The
night preceding his appointed death.
How
she effected his escape, we know not;
But
when the morning came, and all the victims
Were
summoned to their fate, the fearless maiden
Boasted,
her sire was free; and nobly added
To
seal his freedom, if her blood might seal it,
She
would exult to meet th’ impending doom,
From
which she had redeemed him.
KING EDWARD.
.
Mark! thou novice
In the high task to govern
wayward rebels,
Mark! how these fierce
enthusiasts of the harp
Subvert all power! How with
outrageous fury
They spurn authority, and
smile at death.
This artful traitress may
have severed from us
The hearts of half our
soldiery. Inform me
How they received this
daring subterfuge!
CLYFFORD.
As
men, my liege, who tho’ inured to scenes,
Where
lawless war oft leads to wildest outrage,
Yet
feel the force of beauty, and of nature.
They
praised the noble girl, exclaimed “ God bless her,”
And
would have sent her crowned with garlands home,
But
that stern Mortimer, whose rigid spirit
Can
ne’er forgive her countrymen the havoc,
They
spread so frequent o’er his neighbouring lands,
Seized
on the maid, and resolutely vowed
He
would conduct her to your royal presence,
As
hostage for her father’s peaceful conduct.
KING
EDWARD.
He
judges better than thy simple youth;
And
knows the caution, that our state requires.
SCENE
III.
KING
EDWARD, CLYFFORD, MORTIMER, GWENDYLEN.
MORTIMER.
Behold,
my liege—but from your gallant kinsman
You
are apprized of all I would relate,
Touching
this fair delinquent, whom my duty
Brings
to attend the order of your highness.
KING
EDWARD.
My
faithful Mortimer I we ever find thee
Intelligent
and active in our service.
Fair
stranger! thy offence has nature’s plea:
We
shall not therefore, as our state might warrant,
Weigh
it, as treason to our sovereignty.
Think
us thy friend! and know we mean to place thee
In
the protection of our gentle queen,
Whose
fair retinue, and well ordered court,
Form
an asylum for thy youth and beauty.
There
wilt thou learn, what thy distracted country
Ought
to have learnt, a grateful just obedience ,
Nor
rashly mingling in rebellious broils
Partake
thy father’s crimes.
GWENDYLEN.
My
father’s crimes!
O
royal Edward, do not let the pride
Of
recent conquest make thee arrogate
What
God denies himself; the power to alter
Th’
eternal sacred bounds of good and evil.
My
father’s life may be, as once it seemed,
Thy
victim: but his virtue, and his fame
Are
far beyond the reach of thy attaint;
And,
like his firm unspotted soul, immortal.
KING
EDWARD.
So
young and so presumptuous! thy apt childhood
Has
caught the ravings of licentious freedom:
But
softer studies, and submissive manners
More
suit thy sex and age.
GWENDYLEN.
Your
pardon, sir!
My
brief, and artless life has only been
One
plain continued lesson in the school,
The
heart-improving school of true submission,
Where
quick obedience is the happy offspring
Of
love, and veneration.
KING
EDWARD.
Has
thy father,
Plunged
in the storm of dark hostility,
That
drowns domestic joy, has he found leisure
To
tutor thy fond infancy; and grow
By
the alluring powers of mild instruction
The
idol of his child?
GWENDYLEN.
If I,
my lord,
As
partial friends have said, if I appear
Of
spirit riper, than my youth might promise,
I owe
it to his rare paternal bounty;
Who
from my cradle, with incessant fondness
Watched
o’er the dawn of reason in my soul,
And to my young enchanted
mind displayed
The lustre of his own.—O
mighty Edward!
Couldst thou but feel a
moment, what my heart
Has felt for years------ the pure
benignant splendor
Of
that rich mind, where fancy’s fervid powers
Blaze,
but as solar fire, to guide the world,
Thou
wouldst not wonder, that I thus exult
To
draw my being from so bright a source,
And
vindicate the glory of my father.
KING
EDWARD.
My
young, and fair enthusiast, 1 esteem
Thy
filial pride, good children make good subjects.
Thy
spirit pleases, and perchance may lead me
To be
thy father’s friend: but we must teach him
To
court our mercy, not insult our power.
Wait
till the queen, youth’s patroness! appears
To
take thee to her charge. Come, Mortimer,
Receive our private
orders!
[Exit
with Mortimer.]
SCENE
IV.
GWENDYLEN,
CLYFFORD.
CLYFFORD.
Lovely,
sequestered fair! whose native graces
Surpass,
what I have seen, of finished beauty!
I
gaze upon thee with delight, and anguish:
The
admiration, that thy charms inspire,
Is
turned to torture by the fears I feel
Of
ills, that threaten thee, which yet thou know’st not
GWENDYLEN.
Have
they surprised my father? Noble youth!
If
thou indeed hast pity for our wrongs,
Rack
not my soul with ignorance and terror!
CLYFFORD.
No
lovely Gwendylen! thy father yet
Retains
the liberty thy virtue gave him.
GWENDYLEN.
Blest
be the voice, which gives me that assurance.
It
has disolved the icy bonds, that seemed
To
rob my heart of motion. In his safety
I
live again; and feeling but for him,
Smile
at adversity, whose baffled force
Falls
on myself alone.
CLYFFORD.
Thou
sweet perfection!
That
Heaven should form thee for a fate so cruel!
E’en
now thou seem’st to my afflicted sense
Like
a lost infant, seeing not its peril,
Wandering
with sightless eyes in active slumber
Upon
a turret’s roof:—another step
Is
sure destruction. How! how shall I save thee?
GWENDYLEN.
What
means thy kind inquietude? Is Edward
So
ruthless, as to thirst for blood like mine?
Nay,
if he is, lament not, generous Clyfford!
I
have not passed my days with such a father.
Untaught
in life’s great lesson, how to die!
CLYFFORD.
No!
not thy blood! O thou enchanting fair one!
Thy
beauty, and thy perils will distract
My
troubled brain, and turn me to a traitor
Against
th’ imperial patron of my youth.
My
heart recoils, when I attempt to speak
Against
the bounteous Edward, but his rage
To
crush all opposition to his sway
In
this devoted country, may induce him—
No!
no! I am to blame—his noble nature—-
I
will not shew thee that detested image,
Which
my o’er-anxious fancy had created,
GWENDYLEN.
My
young ingenuous friend! I see, and honor
The
struggle in thy soul between just pity
To
the sunk victims of abhorred oppression,
And
fond attachment to an artful tyrant,
Allied
to thee in blood, but not in virtue.
CLYFFORD.
If
thus thou think’st of Edward, I may banish
My
groundless dread, lest his imperial offers
Of
splendid favour might induce thy candor
To
call thy wand’ring father to our court;
And then behold him in some
fatal season,
When stern necessity of
state might prompt
To faithless rigor ----but
the King returns:
Treasure
my caution in thy tender bosom!
And
know me for thy friend in fate’s worst hour.
SCENE
V.
GWENDYLEN,
CLY FFORD, KING EDWARD, MORTIMER.
KING
EDWARD.
Come,
my fair ward; to shew you, that we honor
A
daughter’s courage, we return in person
To
lead you to our Queen. To all your race
Our
purposes are kind: we freely grant
Your
father’s forfeit life. Make him our friend.
We
mean to place you in our realm of England,
Where
both shall flourish in our royal favor.
GWENDYLEN.
My
lord, in childhood, I was taught a fable,
Touching
the lion’s court.
KING
EDWARD.
Now,
on my soul,
This
girl is passing shrewd; but hear me, damsel!
Wake
not the lion’s wrath! yon know my power
Can
sweep this hoary fugitive from earth:
Would
you provoke my rigor? be advised!
Embrace
my proffered bounty, and confide
His
safety to your King!
GWENDYLEN.
I
will confide it
But
to the King, whose word was never broken
The
King of Kings! If it is Heaven’s decree,
That
he must perish, never shall his daughter
Be
lured by false ambition to betray him.
KING
EDWARD.
Betray
him! say’st thou? is it to betray
An
outcast, lurking in wild woods and caverns,
To
call him from despair? perhaps from death,
To
the bright refuge of a monarch’s favor?
GWENDYLEN.
Insidious
tyrant! talk not of thy favor!
’Twas
this ensnared the princes of our land,
And
made the fair face of our bleeding country
A
scene of ruin, horrible to think of,
And
to behold, distracting. While my thoughts
Exulted
in the rescue of my father,
My
nation’s woes seemed banished from my mind:
But
now, that I survey thy angry visage,
My
country’s evil genius glares upon me:
Thy
cruelty, thy crimes, in all their horror,
Remorseless
Edward I rush upon my brain,
And
all my father’s virtues fire my soul
With
just and brave contempt of barb’rous power.
KING
EDWARD.
Art
thou so frantic in thy enmity,
That
grace and clemency are lost upon thee? .
Thou
female abstract of thy nation’s fury!
Then
salutary rigor must instruct thee
Not
to insult our bounty. Mortimer!
Take
thou the charge of this intractable!
Tame
the young zealot with the due correction
Of
strict imprisonment, and solitude,
To
teach her better thoughts; while we, my Clyfford,
Inform
the Queen, that her intended charge
Is
found unworthy of her kind acceptance.
[Exit
with Clyflord.]
SCENE
VI.
GWENDYLEN,
MORTIMER.
MORTIMER.
Come
1 my fair captive, tho’ you were to blame
To
irritate the King, who meant you kindness,
While
I confine, I yet must pity you.
GWENDYLEN.
J'f
thou, our most inveterate foe! hast pity, Bestow it on th’
oppressor I not th’ opprest 1 The one, has men, and demons for
his vassals; The other, angels for her friends. Just Heaven!
If, as 1 now most fondly would surmise, By noble sufferance I
may avert
Evil
impending o’er my father’s head,
I
will not shrink, howe’er stern fate may try me: But with that
filial love, which still has been The ruling passion of my
ardent soul, Exult to suffer for so dear a purpose.
ACT II.
SCENE
I.
A
ruined Abbey by Moonlight with a subterraneous Passage to a
sepulchral vault.
LLANDORVIN,
[rising from the sepulchre.]
The
bloodhounds, that have tracked me to this ruin,
Are
foiled, and have rushed forward: Blest be you,
Ye
sainted tenants of these sepulchres!
Who
grant my injured age that kind protection,
The
living dare not give; since mv oppressors
Proclaim
it death to screen their flying victim.
O my
lost friends I dear brothers of my art!
You
dying have ennobled basest death:
Arm
me with courage for my harder task,
To
bear the wretchedness of outcast life
In
scenes, that wake regret at every step!
O
Gwendylen ’ my clear angelic daughter!
Low
painful is the proof of love I give thee
To
live at thy entreaty! yet sweet angel
Thy
dictates are divine. I feel, as thou dost.
It is
Llandorvin’s duty still to cherish
Existence,
tho’ debased, while he can hope
His
lips may breathe into the fainting frame
Of
our racked country, that suspended spirit
Of
manly freedom, which the ruthless Edward
Dreams,
in his pride, to have suppressed forever.
But
hark! the friendly stillness of the night,
Enabling
me to hear a foot approaching,
Bids
me again within my sacred covert
Elude
my keen pursuers.
[He
descends into the sepulchre.]
SCENE
II.
CLYFFORD.
I
have misled the saguinary troop,
That
with a sportive rancour, hunt as prey
An
injured, brave old man; and if this ruin,
As I
surmise, conceals him-—Ha! what form
Glides,
like a shadowy phantom of the night
Beneath
yon open grove, seeming, with steps
Quick
and irregular to fear, and shun me?
But
that I know her obstinately held
In
such severe captivity, that love
And
pity could not force her prison door,
I
should believe, sweet Gwendylen herself
Had
braved the perils of the night, to aid
Her
wand’ring sire. Perhaps some kindred fair one
Assumes
that angel’s office. Hallowed shades!
Make
me invisible! and let me learn
Why,
at a time to freeze the female heart,
A
woman wanders round these mould’ring tombs
[Clyfford
conceals himself.]
SCENE
III.
After
a short pause, GWENDYLEN enters with circumspection.
’Twas
but the dark illusion of my fears:
O
guilt! what terror and dismay must haunt
Each
step of thine, if I, sustained and guided
By
filial piety, yet start at shadows,
And
halt in my good purpose! but at last
I’ve
reached the sacred sepulchre, that if
My
bold and kind informer may be trusted,
Shall
at my voice unfold its doors of darkness,
And
give my living father to my arms.
Here
is the subterraneous pass, by which
I am
directed to descend: its gloom,
And
icy dampness chill my trembling bosom:
Base
terrors hence! I will descend! not all
The
powers of darkness should by terror tempt me
To
leave a father, so revered and loved,
To
die unsuccoured in these dreary charnels.
Dear
duty, be my guide!
SCENE
IV.
GWENDYLEN,
CLYFFORD.
CLYFFORD.
.
Stay
’ Gwendylen,
A
moment stay thou noblest, loveliest being,
That
Heaven e’er formed, in the benignant purpose
To
shew how pow’rful are the blended charms
Of
peerless beauty, and consummate virtue.
GWENDYLEN.
Courage
my soul! that surely is the voice
Of
gentle Clyfford. He will not betray
The
wretched, whom his virtue wished to save.
CLYFFORD.
Betray
thee! rather to a thousand perils
Would
I expose my baser life, than bring
The
least increase of danger upon thee,
Or
the dear object of thy duteous care;
Whom
at this secret hour, as I believed thee
Kept
from him by vile bonds, I sought to comfort
With
aid unlooked for from an English hand.
GWENDYLEN.
My
heart would say, how much it is thy debtor,
But
feels its obligations far outweigh
My
little store of words. Let me then lead thee.
To
where with nobler voice, just gratitude
May
duly thank thee in my father’s form.
CLYFFORD.
Yet
stay, dear Gwendylen! O pray thee tell me
What
power celestial burst thy prison doors,
Where
I in vain have sued to gain admittance,
Enabling
thee in this heart-trying service
To
prove thy matchless fortitude and love.
GWENDYLEN.
I
will not shun thy converse, when I know
My
father is secure. But till I gain
Assurance
of his safety, every pause
That
keeps me from him, puts my soul to torture.
If he
yet lives, this passage will conduct us
Within
his earthy refuge. Follow me!
CLYFFORD.
Dear
heroine of tenderness! ’tis mine
To be
thy leader here. In these damp caverns,
These
mould’ring passes to forgotten dust;
Some
ravenous beast, that preys upon the dead,
Or
poisonous reptile in its dark recess,
May
lurk to wound thy foot; by whose pure touch
The
consecrated earth would feel more hallowed,
Had
it my awful sense of thy perfections.
I’ll
first explore the darkness, and return
To be
thy guide.
GWENDYLEN.
No! I
have no such fears,
Thy
King’s barbarity has made us suffer
To
such excess, that to a Cambrian mind
All
other pests of earth have lost their terror,
Forgive
me generous Clyfford! that I cannot
Forget
the cruel spirit of thy sovereign!
Come,
English as thou art! my father’s soul
Has
oft exulted with magnanimous praise
To
celebrate the virtues of a foe,
And
turn base enmity to noble friendship.
CLYFFORD.
I am
no son of England, if to be so
Must
make me hateful in his sight, or yours:
But
leading such a daughter to his bosom
My
proud heart tells me, I may share his blessing.
The
vault is utter darkness: I conjure you
Lean
on my arm.
GWENDYLEN.
'O!
if this hallowed shelter
Gives
my safe father to my longing arms;
This
will indeed be passing thro’ the grave,
To
reach the blessed light of heavenly joy.
[They
descend.]
SCENE
V.
THE
INSIDE OF AN ANCIENT SEPULCHRE.
LLANDORVIN.
[reclining
against a broken Monument with a lamp.]
When
the soul sickens at the bloody scenes
Of
barbarous outrage, that deform the world,
How sweetly peaceful is the
silent tomb ’
Yet such is the base fury
of our foes,
That senseless havoc even
here has raged
Against the honoured dead.
Ye shattered forms
Of warriors, who of old for
freedom fought,
How gladly would my injured
age become
Insensible as you to savage
wrongs,
But that my darling
child—again my fancy
Would mock me with the
sound of her approach.
It is the hour! but she
perchance -- Again
The
crumbling earth tells me some foot is near.
How
fondly eager are my lips to hail
The
expected daughter; and yet dare not call her
Till
I can catch her voice. O righteous Heaven!
Delude
not my fond senses, that persuade me
I may
distinguish in some distant sounds
The
utterance of my child.
GWENDYLEN,
[behind the scene/]
Have
I a father?
'Tis
Gwendylen who calls
LLANDORVIN.
My
child! my child!
SCENE
VI.
LLANDORVIN,
GWENDYLEN,
CLYFFORD.
GWENDYLEN.
He
lives! he lives to bless me for his life!
LLANDORVIN.
The
exulting angel, who shall call to glory
The
spirits of the just, can never prove
A
visitant more clear to raptured saints,
Awakened
from the slumber of the grave,
Than
thou art to thy father.
CLYFFORD.
Thou
blest sire,
Allow
a stranger, whose unhardened heart
Bled
for thy wrongs, to share at this dear moment
Thy
tears of hallowed extacy!
LLANDORVIN.
Thy
accent,
Ingenuous
youth, informs me thou art English:
A
name to wake hostility, and hate
In
every Cambrian heart! but gracious nature
On
thy fair brow has written characters,
That
lead to confidence, if not to friendship.
If,
as my mind conjectures, generous pity
Has
prompted thee to guard this damsel, passing
Thro’
nightly perils to relieve her father,
Thou
wilt not deem that father’s benediction,
(All
his base foes have left him to bestow)
A
worthless recompense of care so noble.
CLYFFORD.
My
heart will prize it as a richer treasure,
Than
royalty can give. But, my kind father,
O let
me ever hail by that dear name,
The
man I venerate with filial ardour!
Tho’
I confess I covet thy esteem
Beyond
the praise of princes, let me not
Meanly
attempt to win it by a semblance
Of
merit, not my own! I came not hither
Guarding
your lovely daughter: to herself,
To
the firm virtues of her tender heart
Solely
you owe this interview of transport.
LLANDORVIN.
Tell me, my child! --
GWENDYLEN.
O
graceful modesty!
How
sweet thou shewest in a princely patron,
Who,
giving all, believes he nothing gives!
But
for the caution of this noble youth,
Thy
Gwendylen, my father, might again
Have
put thy rescued life within the power
Of
the remorseless Edward.
CLYFFORD.
Hate
me not,
Thou
injured veteran of purest glory!
In
hearing, I am bound by strongest ties
To
thy detested foe, the mighty Edward!
Trained
by his bounty, partial to his virtues,
Yet
by the radiance of his power unblinded,
I
wish that high imperial spirit tempered
With
all the mildness of my gentle sire,
His
more pacific brother.
LLANDORVIN.
Gracious
Heaven!
Art
thou, engaging youth, art thou the son
Of
that loved prince, that real king uncrowned,
Who,
scorning the vile vassalage of fear,
Reigns
by beneficence o’er grateful hearts.
CLYFFORD.
Had
not the proffer of Sicilia’s sceptre
Detained
him far from this devoted land,
In
his humanity we should have found
The
strongest earthly advocate against
The
hasty rigor of th’ offended King.
But
the invisible angelic host
Are
surely your protectors; could I else
Behold
this fair one, whom I left a captive
In
hopeless bondage, freely here fulfilling
This
arduous duty of undaunted love?
GWENDYLEN.
A
simple incident I have to tell
Will
clear that mystery: it was my chance,
(So
Heaven ordained to bless an anxious daughter)
To
see the humble guard, who watched my prison,
Nursing
his sickly infant: by the pity
I
shewed his child, I led the honest soldier
To
sympathize in all my filial sufferings,
Till,
at the peril of his life, he gave me
The
power to pay my nightly visit here:
But
on my plighted word, that by the dawn
I
will return his voluntary prisoner.
CLYFFORD.
Blest
be his generous pity! if I live,
Such
brave compassion shall be well rewarded,
LLANDORVIN.
Excellent
youth! thou almost mak’st my heart
Enamoured
of adversity: for that,
That
only gives, what I this moment feel,
Exquisite
joy in such consummate friendship,
As
wanting not progressive aid from time,
Springs,
like creation, perfect from the breath
Of
pure beneficence.
CLYFFORD.
To
prove thy friend,
And
change the colour of thy destiny,
Shall
be the darling study of my soul.
LLANDORVIN.
I
know it will: but O beware, dear youth,
Lest
on thyself thou draw the perilous wrath
Of
thy inexorable sovereign! fate
Could
curse me with no misery more bitter,
Than
to behold thy blooming life become
The
victim of thy zeal to snatch from death
An
old man weary of embittered age.
GWENDYLEN.
My
honored father! Nature has exempted
Thy
generous bosom from all selfish terror;
But
thy kind heart is quick, as woman’s fancy,
To
catch an anxious fond inquietude
For
every object of thy just affection.
Be
not alarmed for this our noble friend!
Should
he incense the King, by now promoting
Thy
absolute escape, he will not suffer:
A
lovely pow’rful angel of protection,
The
gentle Eleanor! will be his guard, ,
And
save the princely youth, whom she has fostered.
From
her offended lord.
CLYFFORD.
O!
she has virtues,
More
than the warm impassioned eloquence
Of
gratitude could speak: and she, I doubt not,
She
will, in time, win, from the softened Edward,
All
the atonement to your injured age,
That
power can make for past indignities:
But,
in this season of his recent anger,
You
must not trust his mercy.
GWENDYLEN.
Haste,
my father!
O
haste to profit of the friendly night!
And
speed in darkness to some distant refuge,
Less
desolate than this!
CLYFFORD.
Dear
Gwendylen!
Forgive
me, that I thwart your eager prayer!
But
at this time of peril, when our soldiers,
Lured
by that watchful demon, avarice,
Are
prowling for their prey, I wish your father
To
rest, some days, in this dark sanctuary,
That
death appears to consecrate, forbidding
The
superstitious vulgar to approach.
Myself,
as constant as the night returns,
Will
visit him with sustenance and comfort.
LLANDORVIN.
Brave
youth! I like thy counsel: this calm mansion
Tempers
my troubled spirit: here my mind
Catches
an hallowed energy, superior
To
what the glittering scenes of life can give
To
proud prosperity. Friend of distress!
My
confidence in thee is my support;
For I
confide to thee a charge, dear Clyfford!
More
precious to my heart, than life or freedom,
The
honor of my child! whate’er my fate,
Be
thou her guardian! yes! 1 know thou wilt;
For
in thy features I distinctly read
Truth
incorruptible, and virtuous friendship.
But
come, my children, honor bids us part:
The
night’s half wasted: come! I'll lead you forth
By
paths more intricate: I have discovered
A
winding cavity, that leads to light:
Take
each of you my arm! — This way affords
A
better chance of passing unobserved.
GWENDYLEN.
Dear
father, ever vigilant for others!
Be
careful of thy safety ’ and remember,
The
life of Gwendylen depends on thine!
[Exeunt.]
SCENE
VII.
A
ruined Abbey with the front of the sepulchral vault.
A
PARTY OF SOLDIERS.
FIRST
SOLDIER.
Would
we could light upon this lurking rebel!
Courage,
my friends! he’ll prove a golden prize,
And
pay the toil of our pursuit. You, Neville,
You,
and your comrade pass yon mould’ring wall,
Search
thro’ each ruined cell of this old abbey,
While
we remain in front, prepared to seize
The
traitor, started from his secret haunt.
[Exeunt
two Soldiers.]
SECOND
SOLDIER.
Heard
you no noise?
FIRST
SOLDIER.
No,
nothing but their steps.
SECOND
SOLDIER.
Hark!
they have just descried some nightly rover.
SOLDIER,
[behind the scene.]
Come
forth! base runnagate! nay, if thou dost not,
We
shall pursue, and drag thee from thy den.
FIRST SOLDIER.
,
My
life on’t he is found: stand firm, brave comrades
If he
is armed, fear not to strike him down!
Dead,
or alive, our prize will be the same.
[The
door of the Sepulchre opens, and Llandorvin rushes forth with
a Sword.]
FIRST
SOLDIER.
Yield,
rebel, or thou diest.
LLANDORVIN.
No!
ye poor slaves!
Enfeebled
as I am, with age and wo,
Yet
my good sword can make for me a passage
Thro'
twice your opposition; I have seen
Your
tyrant, in my day, glad to retreat
From
the keen lightning of this radiant blade.
I
pray ye, force me not to stain its lustre
With
your ignoble blood!
FIRST
SOLDIER.
Proud
Cambrian, die!
LLANDORVIN.
Nay!
then thou draw’st perdition on thyself:
[Llandorvin
strikes, but after his first blow, the two Soldiers who
pursued him, issue from the Sepulchre and seize him.]
Fate
is against me! but exult in silence,
Ye
prosperous servants of oppressive power!
And,
while ye haste to claim the gold, ye covet,
Still
reverence your captive! still my soul
Gives
me to exercise the nobler courage,
To
triumph over wrongs by brave endurance.
ACT III.
SCENE
I.—A PRISON
GWENDYLEN,
and a SOLDIER.
SOLDIER.
Fair
prisoner, thou art free.
GWENDYLEN.
Transporting
sounds!
Our
princely advocate has then prevailed;
And
Gwendylen, restored to all the sweets
Of
dear domestic duty, shall in peace
Cherish
the parent, whom her love preserved.
My
honest friend, for these thy blissful tidings
And
all thy pity past, may every saint,
Who
smiles upon the merciful, protect
Thee,
and thy children! Why dost thou receive
My
benediction with an air of sadness?
SOLDIER.
To
think thy virtuous joy must turn to anguish,
When
thou art told, as soon, alas! thou must be,
Thou
only art released, because thy father
Is
fallen again into captivity.
GWENDYLEN.
O! do
not say so I rather let me hear
Eternal
bondage is ordained my portion,
So he
may ’scape with freedom! art thou sure?
My
foolish heart, that vainly would attempt
To
disbelieve thy tidings, now receives
The
fatal full conviction.
SCENE
II.
GWENDYLEN,
LLANDORVIN, brought in by GUARDS.
GWENDYLEN.
My
dear father!
To
meet thee, never was a grief till now:
What cruel chance, or what
base treachery -----
LLANDORVIN.
’Tis
rigid destiny, my child, that thwarts
Thy
pious aim. Thus far 1 have indulged
Thy
fond entreaty, by an abject care
To
lengthen worthless life: now, since the Heavens
Frown
on thy filial wish, I charge thee try
To
reconcile thy mind to my dark fate!
It
must be now my only thought to die,
As
the dear brothers of my art have died,
Smiling
contempt on proud iniquity.
GWENDYLEN.
We
are not yet so lost, nor shall thy daughter
E’er
quit a virtuous purpose of her heart,
For
that the sudden bolt of accident
Shakes
her imperfect work. No! to the last
My
soul shall labour with increasing ardour,
To
prove its fondness, and preserve my father.
LLANDORVIN.
Dear
child! no more delude thyself with hopes,
That
are but raised to fall; and in their ruin
O’erwhelm
thy tender heart with tenfold anguish.
GWENDYLEN.
Heaven
yet inspires, and gives me blest occasion
To
act in thy dear service: our oppressor,
Mixing
some mildness with barbarity,
Now terminates my
bondage: and my freedom,
That
I should hate, if not employed for thee,
May
work thy preservation, I will now
With
Clyfford supplicate the Queen to make
Thy
life, once rescued by thy daughter’s love,
Th’
immediate care of her angelic mind.
LLANDORVIN,
'T
were better my sweet child, renouncing hope,
To
strengthen thy fond spirit, by embracing
The
tranquil resolution of despair.
GWENDYLEN.
No,
best of fathers.! our disastrous lot
Has
changed the cast, and colour of our duties.
Mild
sufF rance now, that woman’s part is thine,
And
to thy daughter, Heaven itself enjoins
Every
exertion anxious love can prompt.
Should
I still fail, thou yet shalt see, my father,
Thy
undegenerate child possesses courage
To
suffer, and to share thy darkest fate.
[Exit.]
SCENE
III.
LLANDORVIN,
and the SOLDIER.
LLANDORVIN.
Great
giver, and supporter of our being!
Howe’er
thy deep, inscrutable decree
Dispose
of my poor residue of life,
Be
bounteous to my child! when she has lost me,
As
soon she must, by violence, or nature,
Let
not her youth in desolation want
Objects
of care, that may endear existence!
Still
may she.find in life friendship and love,
Sweet
as her charms, and perfect as her virtue.
SOLDIER.
Forgive
me, brave old man! but ’tis my order
To
bear thee hence to more secure confinement,
Within
the castle, where the King resides.
LLANDORVIN.
Good
friend! 'tis I should pardon ask of thee,
That
I am slow to thank thee, as I ought,
For a
most signal act of generous pity
And
kindness to my child: Give up thy hand!
Humanity,
that shines in rigor’s office,
Has
double grace, and wins redoubled love.
Come!
teach me how to shew thee I am grateful
If
fate allows me nothing more to give,
My
dying benediction rest upon thee!
[Exeunt.]
SCENE
IV—THE CASTLE.
QUEEN,
CLYFFORD.
CLYFFORD.
My
royal patroness, in whose indulgence
My
youth has found, what destiny denied me,
A
mother, and a sister’s soothing kindness I
By
all the purer glory thou hast won
In
deeds of love, and mercy to thy people,
Who
bless thy gentle sway, and worship thee
As
sent to them by Heaven; ordained to temper
Thy
lord’s austerity! assist a daughter,
Who
merits not to lose the bliss of saving
An
honored sire from ignominious death.
QUEEN.
Clyfford!
thou knowst, how gladly I would soften
The
anger of the King: but here I doubt
My
influence can profit thee but little;
For
never have I seen his indignation
So
vehement against this land! I pray thee,
Be
cautious not to wake his dread displeasure,
By
seeming partial to his enemies!
Perhaps
thy young, and artless mind is blinded
By
perilous passion, to thyself unknown;
A
daughter’s charms may varnish to thy sight
Th’
offences of her sire, do not mistake
Ill-omened love for
honorable pity.
CLYFFORD.
Kindest
of beings my ingenuous spirit
Has
not a trouble, it would hide from thee.
The
charms of Gwendylen, I own, have sunk
So
deeply in my bosom, death alone,
Or
frenzy could efface them from my heart.
But
shame on him, who could allow his mind
To
rove at love’s suggestion, while the cries
Of
suffering humanity demand
His
better thoughts! altho’ the damsel’s beauty
Enchants
me, and is dearer to my sight
Than
wealth to avarice, or fame to valor,
I
would pass life in exile from her charms,
If
that alone could end her filial fears,
And
ratify the safety of her father.
QUEEN.
Fond
youth! I know, and love the generous ardor
Of
all thy strong attachments: yet I tremble
Sometimes
in thinking to what keen excess
Thy
sensibility is apt to feel.
Thy
nature, Clyfford! has in it the seeds
Of
loftiest virtue, or most daring guilt.
Heaven
keep thy spirit in blest ignorance
Of
warring passions, and discordant duties!
If I
can serve the object of thy pity,
By
intercession with the King, I will:
And
if, from dire necessities of state,
This
death-devoted sire must die, I yet
Will
take this hapless orphan to my care.
CLYFFORD.
Blest
be the voice, that to my lightened heart
Utters
so dear a promise! but conducted
By
innocence and gratitude, she comes
To
pay her instant homage to your goodness.
SCENE
V.
QUEEN,
CLYFFORD, GWENDYLEN.
-
CLYFFORD.
Rejoice,
sweet paragon of anxious duty!
That
Heaven has raised thee an angelic friend,
Worthy
to be its delegate, in shielding
Virtue
like thine from undeserved distress!
Our
bounteous Queen anticipates thy prayer,
And
with the fond alacrity of pity,
Alarmed
for innocence, will lend her aid
To
save thy honored father.
GWENDYLEN.
My
full heart
"Would
thank thee, gracious lady! as it ought;
But
finds that gratitude, in souls made tender
By
wrongs, is far more powerful than fear,
And
drowns that voice, which terror could not stifle.
QUEEN.
Fair
stranger! there’s attraction in thy youth,
Thy
artless charms, and filial piety,
That
binds thee to my bosom: and I feel
An
anxious impulse, with maternal care,
To
guard thy opening life from all that’s evil.
Allow
me then a parent’s privilege
To be
thy monitor!
GWENDYLEN.
Thou
gentle sovereign!
Our
foes, no doubt, who long have injured us
Beyond
endurance, tell thee we are savage;
It is
not so: the children of wild nature
Have
hearts like a rich soil, where kind affections
Rise
to the noblest height, and lavishly
Reward
the liberal care, that bids them flourish.
QUEEN.
Unguarded
warmth, pure virtue’s quick companion,
Is
oft her secret foe: I would inform you
How
you incensed, and how you best may soften
The
offended King. But he approaches: go!
Leave
me my friends, that I without restraint
May
plead your cause, and win him to forgiveness!
[Exeunt
Clyfford and Gwendylen.]
SCENE
VI.
KING
EDWARD, QUEEN, OFFICERS, etc.
KING
EDWARD, [speaking to an Officer as he enters.]
Tell
our unwary guards, that if their prisoner
Now
ordered to this castle’s safer keep,
Escape
a second time, ’twill be their doom
To
perish in his place.
[Exit
Officer.]
O
Eleanor!
My
weary soul, sick of its fruitless toil,
To
tranquillise this stubborn, stormy nation,
Turns
with delight to thee, in whom well pleased
I
ever find the tenderness of duty,
And
ready, sweet, intelligent obedience.
QUEEN.
Reflect,
my generous lord, in praising me,
To
whom thy praise is transport; O! reflect,
Why I
possess the qualities, that please thee!
'Tis
thy kind favor makes me, what I am:
Submissive
gratitude’s
the smiling child
Of
bountiful protection. Gracious Edward!
Be
but as mild a guardian to this land,
As
thou hast been to me, and its glad people
Will
bless, as I do, thy indulgent sway.
KING
EDWARD.
No!
my good Eleanor, thou little knowst
What
iron rule this savage realm requires.
QUEEN.
Your
pardon! I have recently been speaking
To a
young Cambrian. Dear, considerate Edward!
So
kindly sensible of weakest merit
In
thy obedient wife! wilt thou not feel
The
higher claims of an heroic daughter!
And
grant to Gwendylen her father’s life?
I
know thou wilt: I ask it on my knees.
KING
EDWARD.
Arise,
thou dearest of petitioners!
I
mean to have a speedy conference
With
this retaken fugitive, and if
His conduct merits mercy,
he shall find it --
[To one of the Guard.]
Haste
to the captive minstrel, and conduct him
Strait
to our presence!—Haste!
[Exit
one of the Guard.]
QUEEN.
Believe
me, Edward!
I
have a woman’s heart, fondly ambitious,
And
proud to triumph in a husband’s glory
But sated with thy military fame,
I
long to see the enterprising warrior
Nobly
eclipsed by the pacific king.
Effulgent
valour well becomes thy crown;
But
gems of milder radiance, peace and mercy,
Will
give thy diadem its dearest charm.
KING
EDWARD.
Pure
minds, untutored by calamity,
Can
rightly judge of peace; not so the savage:
They
with harsh lessons from instructive rigor
Must
toil, thro’ pain and blood, to know her value.
There
is a hot intemperance of spirit
In
these wild mountaineers, that almost foils
The
soundest discipline. -- Authority,
And
benefits, alike have failed to bend
The
stubbornness of these tumultuous tribes,
Rude as their
mountains, where rebellion sits,
Like
a maimed vulture, waiting only time
To
heal her wings, that ache with eagerness
To
spurn confinement, and renew her ravage.
QUEEN.
No!
happy Victor, thy resistless arms
Have
made this country thine: and soon, I hope
To
hear thee in the best of triumphs own,
The
bliss to humanise, surpasses far
The
joy of conquering: but thy captive comes.;
I
will not with solicitude too curious
Intrude
upon your converse: yet remember,
Thy
Eleanor commends him to thy mercy!
[Exit.]
SCENE
VII.
KING
EDWARD, LLANDORVIN, GUARDS.
KING
EDWARD.
Stranger!
the fondness of thy daughter saved
Thy
forfeit life; and still inspires our Queen,
Whose
mildness is affliction's sanctuary,
With
wishes for thy freedom: this we grant thee,
If
thy discretion merits her regard.
LLANDORVIN.
That
the rare virtues of my child endear her
To
minds so qualified to judge of virtue
As
far-famed Eleanor, still to my heart,
Chilled
as it is with age, and patriot anguish,
Gives
the quick ardour of parental pride:
For
had I not, in all their fond excess,
The
feelings of a father, trust me, Edward!
I
could not now endure the life, thou offer’st:
To
languish, as I must, in dark existence:
My
spirit troubled with distressful visions
Of
noblest friends, calamitously lost!
Or
worse, the slavery of my native land!
KING
EDWARD.
Thou
shalt forget this land, in wisely passing
To
happier scenes, my bounty shall provide thee
An
English settlement.
LLANDORVIN.
I
know thou’rt mighty:
The
fav’rite of prosperity, and power!
But
trust me, Edward! ’tis beyond thy empire
To
mould anew the habits of the heart;
And
thro’ the breast of injured age diffuse
The
native energy of young attachment.
If
’tis thy purpose to befriend two beings,
Who
in domestic tenderness alone
May
find a balm, to soothe their public sorrow,
Leave
us in peace upon the rocks, that reared us!
KING
EDWARD.
But
wilt thou rest in peace? should I assign thee
A
portion of this land, thy darling seat!
Wouldst
thou engage, never to sound again
Notes
of sedition, on thy daring harp?
But
in a wiser strain, instruct the people
To
look up to our salutary sway
With
tranquil reverence?
LLANDORVIN.
No!
not for half
Thy
richer kingdom, added to this realm,
Would
I debase a voice, that long has uttered
The
purest dictates of impassioned freedom.
Imagination,
under virtue’s guidance,
I
deem the rarest, richest gift of heaven,
And
shall I stain the little I possess
By
teaching injured slaves to bless their bondage,
And
worship their oppressor?
KING
EDWARD.
Dost
thou brave me,.
Audacious
Rhapsodist?—now,
in beholding
Rebellious
fire illuminate thy visage,
My
memory claims acquaintance with thy features.
Where
have I seen thee?
LLANDORVIN.
Spare,
insulting tyrant!
Spare
to thyself a bitter recollection!
Yes!
thou hast seen me, in my happier life,
Ere
age and sorrow made it weak, and worthless;
When
by Llewellyn’s side, our patriot prince!
I
fought for liberty: when thou, then young,
And
tho’ thy father’s delegate, a novice
In
the curst art to weaken and oppress,
Wert
glad to make percipitate retreat
Before
us, and the lightning of our swords
Flashed
on the flying
KING
EDWARD.
Insolent
enthusiast!
LLANDORVIN.
I
knew the scene, thou bad’st me recollect,
Would
gall thee, Edward! ’twas the early source
Of
all thy ruthless rancor to my country.
Thou
never couldst forgive the brave Llewellyn
For
that bright triumph: hence thy enmity,
Disgracing
manhood, kept his lovely bride
For
years thy captive; lured by abject arts
A
brother to desert him; and at last,
By
the mean vantage of unequal power,
Spoiled
him of life.
KING
EDWARD.
He
was a faithless vassal;
And
justly suffered for repeated failures
Of
his allegiance.
LLANDORVIN.
O
belie him not!
Tho’
thou hast stript him of his crown and life!
Fate
cannot blast his fame: he was a prince
Munificent
as nature, just as Heaven!
Fall’n
as he is, his unsuspected praise
Shall
live for ever in our grateful songs.
.
KING EDWARD.
It
shall not live in thine, presumptuous minstrel!
Away
with him to death!
LLANDORVIN.
Thou
fierce destroyer!
Death
is the only gift from thee, that I
Would
willingly embrace; and for that gift,
Take
thou this lesson from my parting spirit!
Thou
saw’st, in Palestine, a curious Arab
Imprison
water, in an orb of gold,
Till,
by compression urged, the forceful fluid
Amazed
thine eye in starting thro’ the metal.
So
genius, prest by tyranny, exerts
An
energy, beyond the common laws
Of
quiet nature. Here thou wouldst extinguish
Freedom
and poetry: they mock thy wishes;
For
they are woven in our frame of being;
And
cannot perish but with human life.
My
frail existence is thy easy victim;
But
dying I shall triumph—e’en in thy kingdom,
Where
thou art worshipped now by fear and int’rest,
A day
shall rise, when the enlightened people
Shall
hail the art, which thou wouldst crush for ever,
As
the bright guardian of immortal virtue:
When
kindred genius, in a lyric strain
Of
rapturous excellence, shall teach the world
To
mourn my fall, and execrate thy crimes.
KING
EDWARD.
Away!
vain prophet, to thy speedy death!
No!
it shall be suspended: but till time
Allows
us to bestow on thy presumption
Pre-eminence
of punishment. Thy fate
Shall
be no common spectacle; but, high
On
Snowdon's rocks, in death thou shalt exhibit
An
awful lesson to rebellious pride.
LLANDORVIN.
I am
prepared to die —o'er
ruling Heaven
Is
righteous still; since it assigns us now
The
different lot, our different souls deserve;
For
know, proud monarch! by your own award
You
haste to infamy, and I to glory.
SCENE
I.
A
PRIVATE APARTMENT IN THE CASTLE.
GWENDYLEN,
CLYFFORD.
GWENDYLEN.
Remorseless
homicide! is this his mercy?
Insulting
whom he murders! strike him, Heaven!
Strike
and remove from earth this curse of nature,
This
base deformer of her dearest scenes,
Who
calls his outrage justice!
CLYFF0RD.
Gwendylen!
Hear
me, dear Gwendylen!
GWENDYLEN.
I had
a brother!
That
he were living now! or that I could
Unsex
me, and become the man he was.
CLYFEORD.
Thou
hast a brother still! O thou hast more,
Dear
Gwendylen in me; for all my soul,
lts
hopes, its fears, its faculties are thine.
GWENDYLEN.
No!
no! thy arm is fettered by thy station:
Else,
generous youth! I could indeed believe
That
thou hast pity to feel all our wrongs,
And
courage to avenge them.
CLYFFORD.
Lovely
victim!
My
sense of what thou sufferest is so keen,
Thy
honored father seems to me my own.
Inflamed
by Edward's cruelty towards him,
My
alienated heart at times forgets
The
love and duty, that 1 owe my king.
GWENDYLEN.
Thou
matchless friend of misery! how my heart
Reveres
thee for thy sympathy!
CLYFFORD.
Believe
me,
Never
did man more feel another’s wrongs,
(To
noble minds more piercing than their own)
Than
my indignant spirit feels thy father’s.
If
nought remained to save his injured virtue,
Perchance
my hand—but hence! detested image!
Still,
lovely Gwendylen, with better thoughts
I can
revive thy hope.
GWENDYLEN.
Kind
comforter!
Inform
me, now the charm of thy compassion
Has
given my troubled soul a transient calm,
To
hear thee as I ought.
CLYFFORD.
The
sudden order,
To
fix conspicuous on the mountain’s brow
Thy
father’s barbarous doom, is known abroad;
And
as blind cruelty exasperates
Those,
it intends to awe, a gallant band
Of
new insurgents, at this very moment,
Form
a brave ambuscade, in hopes to rescue
The
victim, idolised by dauntless friendship.
GWENDYLEN.
Our
Cambrian valour is not yet extinguished:
Ye
powers of liberty, and justice prosper
These
generous men! O spirit of my brother,
Thou
wilt forsake thy Heaven for this dear purpose,
And
hover with a shield angelical
O’er
the heroic band, who aim to rescue
Our
virtuous parent from imperial murder.
These
are blest tidings: yet I wish to learn,
My
kind consoler, how they flew to thee.
CLYFFORD.
A
countryman of thine, to whom my power
Had
rendered service, and who knows how keenly
My
soul is anxious for thy father’s safety,
Gave
me quick notice, with an added prayer
That
I—but see, the Queen!—-Thou best of daughters
Console
thy father in his gloomy prison,
While
I, with ceaseless importunity,
Solicit
her pure mind again to aid me.
SCENE
II.
CLYFFORD,
QUEEN.
QUEEN.
What
loitering here! O shame to soldiership!
Never
till now was ardent Clyfford seen
Reckless
of arms, when his heroic king
Had
issued for the field.
CLYFFORD.
Can
it be so?
Has
new commotion called his vigilant spirit
Forth
on the sudden?
QUEEN.
Yes!
with eyes that flashed
Indignant
fire, prepared for fierce assault,
With
that dread weapon, which his powerful arm
Alone
can wield, he sallied to chastise
Such
opposition, as I trust will fly,
E’en
at the distant gleam of his high crest.
His
anger kindled at the fresh report,
That
a wild troop is lurking in the mountain
To
intercept Llandorvin.
CLYFFORD.
Hapless
father!
Then
Heaven forsakes thee.
QUEEN.
What!
is thy young heart.
Once
the warm seat of gratitude and duty,
Now
touched with pity only for the foes
Of
thy kind sovereign? at the very time,
When
he, who fondly trained thy youth to arms,
Ought
to behold thee anxious at his side,
To
ward off peril from his sacred person?
CLYFFORD.
Noblest, and justly most
adored of women!
Adored by me in every
character,
That can excite the fondest
veneration!
A charge of base
ingratitude from thee
Strikes me, as would a
seraph’s keen rebuke.
Freely to thee, as to the
power who made it,
I shew my tortured heart,
and all its feelings.
That I have loved the king,
as much as child
E’er loved a parent, my
past life has proved;
But while he thus oppresses
virtuous age.
With unrelenting, useless
--
.
QUEEN.
Clyfford!
Clyfford!
Beware
of this blind passion, which deludes thee!
It is
not ours to judge the king’s decree.
CLYFFORD.
Fair
excellence forgive me, if I say
The
blindness is your own: but it becomes you.
In
your soft sex ’tis virtue, ’tis perfection
Not
to behold the failings of a lord,
In
wedded love so peerless as your Edward.
I am
of rougher mold: unyielding man:
Man,
the proud owner of imperial reason!
Were
I the king’s true son, as I have been
The
child of his protection; I should then,
Feel
that his cruelty, on my just heart
Implanted
hate, eradicating nature.
Yet
hating his barbarity,—believe inc,
I
love his virtues with such gratitude,
Nothing
in life could so delight my soul
As to
die nobly on some bright occasion,
Where
my brave service might promote his glory,
And
to each royal heart endear my name.
QUEEN.
Clyfford,
thou feelst too keenly; but thy truth,
And
thy frank nature have endeared thee to us;
Haste,
I entreat thee, with unclouded duty
Arm,
and attend thy sovereign!
As I
trust He will return triumphant without conflict;
In
that best season for my mild entreaties,
I yet
may gently lead his generous nature
Freely
to grant, what force could not extort.
Yet
may I save our venerable prisoner,
Whom
in thy absence I will kindly visit.
CLYFFORD.
Angel
of life! thou giv’st me new existence
In
that blest promise. Monarchs of the world!
Learn
from this model of imperial goodness,
That
pure beneficence alone possesses
Perfect
dominion! Learn of Eleanor
To
rule enlightened minds, nor fear to lose
An
empire founded upon fond esteem.
[Exeunt]
SCENE
III.—A DUNGEON
The
sound of a Harp is heard from a concealed recess in the
prison.
GWENDYLEN,
[entering.]
What
sounds of melancholy charm arrest me?
It is
my father: let me not intrude
On
this most hallowed harmony! for thus
Enraptured
he prepares his soul for Heaven,
By
this most solemn spirit-soothing air,
Which,
in his dying hour, an ancient bard
Gave
to his wondering audience, death-inspired!
Again
it sounds.—Here let me fondly pause
In
reverential silence, till his hand
Relinquish
the loved harp, that may so soon
Lose,
and confirm his loss in mute dejection!
[Here
a celebrated Air is played on the Harp behind the Scenes, from
Jones’s relicks of the Welsh Bards]
SCENE
IV.
GWENDYLEN,
LLANDORVIN.
LLANDORVIN.
What!
my sweet child! art thou within my prison.
And
couldst thou suffer me to rest unconscious
Of
thy dear presence?
GWENDYLEN.
Pardon
me! I felt
My
step suspended, and my soul absorbed
In
those pathetic tones, that spoke of death.
Yet,
mv dear father, I am now elated
With
the blest hope of your approaching freedom:
Freedom,
not clouded with a base alloy,
As
the precarious gift of lawless power,
But
the bright present of endearing courage,
To
fate superior in the cause of friendship!
LLANDORVIN.
What
visionary hope has fond affection
Raised
in thy sanguine fancy?
GWENDYLEN.
'Tis
no vision:
But a
momentous mystery; and now
Just
whispered to me; yet by such a voice,
As
gives a sanction to credulity.
O
justly honored by thy grateful country!
There
are brave Cambrians busy now, my father,
In
nobly planning for that signal spot,
Which
cruelty has fixt to close thy life,
A
glorious scene of rescue, and of triumph.
LLANDORVIN.
Generous,
but fruitless, and intemperate valour!
Haste!
I conjure thee, my dear child, prevent
Their
fatal purpose! fatal it must be,
If
but suspected: haste! give them to know
It is
my fervent wish, they would preserve
Their
valued lives for hours of happier prospect;
And
not embitter death to me, by making
My
settled fate a prelude to their own.
GWENDYLEN.
Yes!
I will haste, where haply I may learn
Yet
more of this bold project: not prevent it;
Then
only be thou disobeyed, my father,
When
thou enjoinest, what our hearts abjure,
A
fearful shrinking from thy dearest service!
Know,
should our firm compatriots fail, thy wrongs
Would
yet inspire a generous English hand
To
pierce the tyrant’s heart, ere his false breath
Could
terminate thy being! O I pray thee,
Banish
thy cruel thoughts of calm despair,
And
in the friendship of the brave confide.
[Exit.]
SCENE
V
LLANDORVIN,
(alone.)
This
sudden spring-tide of returning hope
Amazes
me: and more her dark suggestion:
A
generous English hand,” she points to Clyfford:
The
horrible surmise, with dread conviction,
Wakes
my worst fears: such horrors must not be.
But
how may I, in bondage, yet restrain
The
fervent spirit of precipitate youth,
Hurried
to guilt by virtuous indignation?
Could
1 converse a moment with the Queen?
She
is intelligent, and has-a soul
That
may be trusted for so pure a purpose
With
dire imaginings.—What ho! attend me
Kind
guardian of my prison!
SCENE
VI.
LLANDORVIN,
and the SOLDIER.
LLANDORVIN.
Canst
thou, friend,
Convey
a prayer to thy angelic Queen?
Haste
and inform her, that an aged captive,
Not
basely anxious for his worthless life,
But
wishing to impart to her alone
Things
of high moment to her heart, implores
A
minute’s audience.
SOLDIER.
Her
attentive goodness
Anticipates
your wish—behold the Queen!
SCENE
VII.
LLANDORVIN,
QUEEN.
QUEEN.
Brave,
aged stranger, thy engaging daughter
Has
taught my heart to take deep interest
In
what concerns thee; and I come, with hopes
To
lead thy manly mind to such mild conduct,
As
may appease the king.
LLANDORVIN.
O
sovereign lady!
To
whose acknowledged virtue my proud spirit
Pays
willing homage, 'twas my ardent wish
To
hold with thee important conference;
Not
from a mean solicitude to save
The
slighted remnant of my days; a care
Of
keener influence absorbs my thoughts,
And
tortures me with unexampled terror,
That
I could utter to no ear but thine.
QUEEN.
Speak
all thy fears, for I am much thy friend!
LLANDORVIN.
Did I
not think thee, gracious Queen, endowed
With
all the rarest qualities, that render
Friendship
of high, and sacred estimation,
I
could not to thy gentle bosom trust
What
I would say: it will require from thee
Steady
exertion of what purest friendship
Inspires,
indulgence, courage, secrecy.
QUEEN.
Thy
words amaze me, and this preparation
Fills
me with all the dread of blind conjecture/
LLANDORVIN.
I
trespass on thy gentleness; perchance
My
apprehension is a vague surmise:
A
gloomy vision of distempered age!
Should
it have more foundation, still thou mayst
By
the mild influence of guardian virtue
Annihilate
the apprehended evil.
QUEEN.
Trust me, thy daughter-------
LLANDORVIN.
No!
my present fear
Points
to an object that demands from thee
Much
higher care.
QUEEN.
O
Heaven! thou art apprised
Of
some dark peril menacing the King;
Yet
if—I am bewildered; for alas!
His
life endangered might to thee suggest
Matter
of hope, and joy, but not of terror.
LLANDORVTN.
I
scorn hypocrisy; and thou fair Queen,
Thou
knowst, I must deem the death of Edward
A
blessing to my country, yet believe me
I
from his cruelty would undergo
An
age of torture, rather than permit
A
virtuous youth, long fostered by his bounty,
In a
dark moment of distracted love,
With murderous frenzy-------
QUEEN.
Ah! my boding heart!
Thou speak’st of Clyfford:
tell me, I conjure thee,
How far the passions of
this fiery youth.
Have lead him to forget------
LLANDORVIN.
Be
comforted!
His
quick, and ardent mind, though strongly troubled
Is
not as yet estranged from filial duty,
That
binds him to you both: thou gentle sovereign,
Watch
I conjure thee all his starts of passion!
And
with thy speedy salutary counsel,
With
the fond privacy, which mothers use,
To
screen the errors of a darling son,
Fix
his bright soul within the sphere of truth,
Lest
wand’ring now, like an eccentric star,
Its
bursting fury scatter hideous death!
QUEEN.
Noblest
of foes! I read thy heart aright;
And
gratefully revere thee for thy caution:
This
generous effort --
LLANDORVIN.
O! it
merits not
Your
heart-affecting praise: I but obey
The
native impulse of humanity.
When
genuine nature guides the feeling soul,
’Tis
the prime pleasure of experienced age
To
watch o’er ardent youth, and fondly snatch it
From
those attractive gulfs of splendid guilt,
Where
a bright syren, under virtue’s mask,
Lures
the brave mind to unperceived dishonor.
QUEEN.
Farewell!
kind stranger! thy exalted conduct
Endears
thee to my soul: Heaven grant me powers,
Soon
with glad steps revisiting thy dungeon,
To
bring thee life, and liberty, and honor!
SCENE
I.
A
view of Snowdon with tents at a distance.
QUEEN,
and MORTIMER, meeting.
QUEEN.
I joy
to meet thee, Mortimer! Thy spirit
Will
not, in weak compassion to a woman,
Lull
me with false reports: Say! I conjure thee,
Is
the King wounded?
MORTIMER.
No!
on my life, not wounded!
QUEEN.
Why
then, forgetting his accustomed care
To
quiet my quick fears, why came he not
Back
to my anxious arms, when victory
Restored
him from this hot tumultuous conflict?
Where,
as his hasty messenger avowed,
Danger,
in many a new and hideous shape,
Made
e’en the sternest soldiers stand aghast,
And
deem their sovereign lost.
MORTIMER.
My
royal mistress!
Who
reignest o’er the hearts of youth and age,
Trust
a rough veteran’s word! my voice, unpractised
In
uttering falsehood, should I wish to speak it,
Still
to thy piercing spirit must betray
The
evil it would hide.
QUEEN.
Dost
thou assure me
Not
one of all those vengeful mountaineers,
Whose
rage was pointed at my Edward’s life,
Had
power to wound the too impetuous hero?
MORTIMER.
No!
for he bears an amulet, whose power
Turns
peril to security: that courage,
Which
on the pressure of occasion, springs
To
such exertion, as to common souls
Appeared
impossible. Excess of toil
Has
tempted him to rest on Snowdon’s brow:
As he
retired, exhausted to his tent,
He
issued orders, that the captive bard
Should
to the mountain’s open front be led,
And
by our archers suffer speedy death.
QUEEN.
Good
Heaven! the mandate is not yet fulfilled?
MORTIMER.
Not
yet! but guards are passing, to conduct
The
hoary traitor to the lofty spot,
Chosen
to give his doom conspicuous terror.
QUEEN.
O
Mortimer! this order was the dictate
Of an
o'er-heated mind: When cooled by slumber,
The
generous temper of the King will surely
Incline
to pardon; canst thou not suspend——
MORTIMER.
Forgive
me, gentle sovereign, if I own
I have no power, nor
will, I must avow,
To
stop the rebel’s death: and I must haste,
According
to the King’s most anxious bidding,
To
watch impassioned Clyfford, lest that youth,
Entangled
in the snares of Cambrian beauty,
Should
madden at the sufferings of the fair one,
And
in his frenzy strive to snatch once more,
Her
guilty father, from the stroke of justice.
QUEEN.
I, on
my knees, will creep to Edward’s couch,
And
in the name of that protecting Heaven,
Who
has delivered him from signal hazard,
Wake,
and inspire his spirit to exert
Its
best prerogative, the power to save!
[Exeunt]
SCENE
II.—A ROYAL TENT.
KING
EDWARD, [Sleeping on a Couch with his armour by the side of
it.]
CLYFFORD,
[entering.]
Why
shakes my frame, in this tempestuous conflict
Of
warring thoughts? The minute past I seemed
Led
hither by an angel’s hand, to rescue
Virtue
from wrongs, and nature from oppression.
Now,
clouds of horror blot my heavenly vision ,
And I
feel dragged by demons to this spot,
To
execute the task of hell.— Avaunt!
Ye
tempters of my soul! ye shall not force me
To
stab the royal patron of my youth:
No! I
will kneel, beside his quiet pillow,
Invoking
Heaven to quicken, in his mind,
The
only virtue, his high spirit wants,
Heart-winning
clemency!
sleep on, secure!
Majestic,
glorious Edward I only wake
To
mercy, and munificence!
KING
EDWARD, (in troubled sleep starting.)
Away!
And
lead him to his death!
CLYFFORD.
Inhuman
sounds!
Implacable
oppressor!
Cruelty
Infects
thy dreams: thy sanguinary soul
Glares
thro’ the trembling veil of milled sleep,
Betraying
thy resolves!—Barbarity
So
absolute must cancel every bond:
Humanity
inspires me: injured nature
Bids
me destroy the merciless destroyer.
SCENE
III.
KING
EDWARD, CLYFFORD, QUEEN.
[While
Clyfford raises his dagger, the Queen enters and seizes his
arm.]
QUEEN.
Hold!
frantic Clyfford! hold! can mad affection
Urge
thy young heart to worse than parricide?
Has
not the bounteous King cherished thy youth,
With
care surpassing e’en a father’s fondness?
CLYFFORD.
He
has, angelic Eleanor! and I
Prepared
to stab him sleeping: but these tears,
That
burst perforce from my o’er-burthened heart,
Tell
thee, I feel how curst a wretch I am.
QUEEN.
Be
comforted! for timely penitence
Makes
solid virtue of ideal guilt.
CLYFFORD.
Guide
of my life! and guardian of my soul!
Thou
art too good: I have not merited,
Thus
on thy pure and heavenly form to rest
A
brain, that burns with complicated anguish.
KING
EDWARD, (starting
up.)
Give
me my battle-axe! I will pursue
Those
trait’rous fugitives: ’twas but a dream.
Ha!
my sweet love! art thou within my tent?
Say!
what mischance has given our youthful Clyfford
That
pallid air of anguish, and dismay?
QUEEN.
O my
too fearless Edward! who that live,
As we
do in thy life, could be informed
Of
thy undaunted eagerness to court
Extremes
of danger, with thy dread escape
From
toils so full of terror, and retain
The
native quiet of untroubled features?
CLYFFORD.
No!
thou benignant angel, think not thus
With
tenderness unmerited, to hide
The
wild atrocity of one, whose heart
Was
never formed for guilt, or for disguise.
Ingratitude,
hypocrisy
are fiends,
That,
frantic as I am, I still abjure.
KING
EDWARD.
Thy
looks, and language equally exceed
The
reach of my conjecture.
CLYFFORD.
Royal
Edward!
Relentless
as thou art, thy soul is noble;
Thou
never wilt surmise, thy fostered Clyfford
Could
lift against thee an assassin’s dagger;
But
to a heart like mine the worst of tortures
Would
be concealment of intended crimes.
Had
not this lovely seraph been thy guard,
I had
destroyed my King, my friend, my father!
My
guilt is manifest: my misery
Beyond
endurance: I conjure thee, now
Let
both thy justice, and thy pity grant me
The
death I have deserved!
KING
EDWARD.
Unhappy
youth!
Thy
hasty passion for the Cambrian fair,
Whose
stubborn father scorned our terms of pardon,
Has
harrassed thee to madness.
QUEEN.
Let
his sufferings.
His
duty, his remorse, and my fond prayers
Now
plead for each offender!
[A
Dead March is heard.]
Gracious
Heaven!
What
mean these notes of death?
KING
EDWARD.
Those
sounds announce,
What
even thy entreaty, best beloved!
Must
not avert; the bard’s approaching fate!
See!
the guards lead him from the vale below.
CLYFFORD.
Inhuman
ministers of death I suspend
Your
fatal march, for ye mistake your victim.
Glory
and life should be Llandorvin’s portion;
Disgrace
and death belong to me alone;
I fly
to save him by the just exchange.
[Rushes
madly out.]
KING
EDWARD.
Stay!
thou rash youth!—His madness will not hear me.
QUEEN.
Lord
of my heart!—If, by a life of duty,
I yet
may plead against thy settled purpose—
KING
EDWARD.
No!
Eleanor, ’tis fixt: I must not cancel
The
firm decree of policy and justice,
To
soothe the amorous frenzy of a boy,
Tho’
dear to me, as if he were my child.
But
let me lead thee to yon neighbouring tent,
To
save thee better from this mournful scene,
And
seek an active guardian, who may watch
O’er
the wild steps of this distracted stripling!
[Exeunt.]
SCENE
IV.
[Snother
part of the Mountain with a distant prospect of a more
elevated spot, on which may be discovered an attendant crowd,
and preparations for execution:]
LLANDORVIN,
GUARDS.
LLANDORVIN.
Unhappy
agents of injurious power!
I
pardon your base taunts: alas! ye know not
To
what depravity you sink your nature,
When
you insult a guiltless, wronged old man,
Who
unreluctant hastes to join the spirits
Of
dear companions lost, bards! warriors! princes!
Whose
fortitude and genius could not save
This
dear devoted land from desolation,
Or
shield their bright existence from the stroke
Of
tyrannous extinction.
GUARD.
You
forget,
Loquacious
traitor! we have yet to mount
The
steepest of these craggs.
LLANDORVIN.
Rude
monitor?
I am
not now to learn, that your stern King,
I
thank his unmeant kindness, has appointed
My
death on yonder heights: I could not
wish
A nobler scene, to shew
how willingly
I seal, with blood, the
bond of my attachment
To wounded freedom, and my
ruined country.
Martyrs of liberty, like
those of faith,
By public sufferings, with
a soul unshaken,
Become the source of
blessings infinite
To unborn ages, and my
soaring spirit
Pierces thro’ distant time
to hail those blessings.
A
father’s feelings still, to this dread instant,
Recall
my heart, and on this spot I pause,—
But
to bestow, what tyranny itself
Must
grant a parent, leave to give his child,
A
dying benediction
GUARD.
Then
in vain
You
halt; for see! where wiser friends are busy
To
draw the damsel hence.
LLANDORVIN.
Tormenting
slaves!
Wound
me not there! O glorious Gwendylen!
Lo’
her indignant spirit has eluded
Their
vile constraint: like an impassive seraph,
That
mortal limitation cannot stop,
She
flies, I leaven-warranted! to give her father
All
he demands on earth.
SCENE V.
GWENDYLEN,
[rushes Into the arms of her Father.]
LLANDORVIN.
Child
of my heart!
One
only wish disturbed my parting soul;
And
thou, most perfect in all filial virtues!
The
loveliest daughter, that e’er blest a parent!
With
tenderness unwearied, thou art come
To
hear my latest counsel: thou wilt make it
The
treasure of thy fond, thy faithful bosom,
And I
shall die, exulting to have saved thee
From
perils, worse than ignominous death.
GWENDYLEN.
Here,
thou dear source and glory of my life!
Here
would I grow: and be but as a leaf
Upon
its parent tree, that severed thence,
Must
quickly perish: for since Heaven denies me
The
bliss I hoped, to have preserved thy being,
My
sole ambition is to share thy doom.
LLANDORVIN.
No!
my brave child! I have a task to give thee
Much
harder than to die.
GWENDYLEN.
O
haste to name it!
And
be the task more arduous, than ever
Mortal
received, that I may shew the world
With
what impassioned truth I love my father.
LLANDORVIN.
Exquisite
girl! see! our good angels send
The
only friend now left me upon earth,
To
whom, as to thyself, my dying counsel
Deeply
imports.
SCENE
VI.
LLANDORVIN,
GWENDYLEN,
CLYFFORD, GUARDS.
CLYFFORD,
[entering
wildly.]
Thou
honoured sire! whom genius, virtue, age
Have
sanctified: I come, a guilty youth,
To
die, as I have merited, for thee.
LLANDORVIN.
What
means my generous friend?
CLYFFORD.
Full
of thy wrongs,
And
madd’ning at thy lovely daughter’s anguish,
My
soul forgot how much I owed my King;
And
as a murderer --
LLANDORVIN.
Ah!
my prophetic fears!
Thou
hast not killed the patron of thy youth?
CLYFFORD.
No!
his angelic Eleanor defeated
My
frantic aim.
LI.ANDORVIN.
Then
hear me, noble Clyfford,
And
since her beauties, and my injured age
Inflame
thy heart to such a fond excess,
Hear
and obey a dying friend’s injunction!
Dear
youth! to thy most perilous age, and temper
Crimes,
and enormities of deepest die,
From
the false light of passion, catch the semblance
Of
splendid enterprise. Thou lov’st my daughter,
And
she is worthy of a prince’s heart:
But
never shall the wrongs, I suffer, tempt me
To
make the illusive ardor of thy love
My
instrument of vengeance, as I might,
Against
my deadliest foe.
CLYFFORD.
Thou
godlike sufferer!
Canst
thou, thus dying by a stern oppressor,
Spare,
and forgive the tyrant, who destroys thee?
LLANDORVIN.
There
was a time, brave Clyfford when my blood
Grew
hot like thine, at thoughts of tyranny;
When my impassioned harp was ever ready
To
vibrate, at the sound of Edward’s name,
With
notes of execration, and defiance:
The
hallowed quiet of approaching death
Gives
me serener force, and purer courage;
The
oppressor I abhorred I now can pity;
And
with a mind unheated own the good,
Mixed
with his dire defects: from this wronged country
He
merits detestation; but from thee,
Trained
as thou art by his domestic kindness,
He
justly claims the obedience of a child:
Atone
then for one start of guilty passion
By
future duty! and, I charge thee, never
Wake
his paternal wrath by a rash union
With
this poor orphan, lovely as she is!
CLYFFORD.
I am
a wretch not meriting such bliss:
And
only would redeem my darkened spirit
From
self-abhorrence by most freely giving
My
life for yours.
LLANDORVIN.
No!
dear ingenuous youth,
Live!
and protect, I charge thee, from all outrage
This
dear, and friendless darling of my heart!
I
have but thee, to whom I can bequeath her,
But
that your pure attachment may be free
From
guilt and misery ('tis my dying counsel:)
Unless
my death should soften your stern king,
Protect
her only with fraternal love!
I
pause too long: my children! one embrace!
And
we must part: may all the wrongs, I suffer,
Be
recompensed in blessings upon you!
That
fond idea gilds the gloom of death,
Endearing
all its pangs! farewell for ever!
[Exit
with Guards.]
SCENE
VII.
GWENDYLEN,
CLYFFORD.
GWENDYLEN.
I
lose him, and the world’s a stony desert,
That
seems to petrify my heart within me.
O
that kind Heaven would, in the very moment,
When
his freed spirit flies from this base earth,
Release
me from a life, that now affords me
No
hope to form, no duty to fulfill.
CLYFFORD.
Dear
victim of barbarity, my soul
Still
in fond unison with thine, partakes
Thy
filial wish, regarding life with scorn.
GWENDYLEN.
O
generous Clyfford, grant me one request;
While
yet my father breathes, O grant me still
To
gaze upon him; and forbid, I pray thee,
Forbid
officious care to force my weakness
From
the attractive scene of death! I hear,
Surely
I hear a pitying angel’s voice,
That
kindly tells my sympathetic heart
That,
in beholding, I may share his fate.
CLYFFORD.
An
heavenly impulse seems against my reason
To
force me to obey thee.
GWENDYLEN.
Haste,
my friend!
CLYFFORD,
I
will conceal me in a peasant’s garb;
And
thou shalt choose the spot, where we will stand
In
mutual awe and agony to catch
The
latest accents of thy sacred sire!
[Exeunt.]
SCENE
VIII.-TIIE KING’S TENT.
KING
EDWARD, QUEEN.
QUEEN.
Yet,
my dear lord, by all your perils past,
By
all your ardent hopes of future honor,
Yet,
while the pressing minutes urge my voice
To
most important prayer, while time allows
My
fearless conqueror to make sweet mercy
The
blest confirmer of his perfect glory,
Yet,
yet recall from death this brave old man!
O
save like Heaven, in the distressful moment,
When
safety’s vanished from the eyes of hope.
KING
EDWARD.
Dearest
of supplicants it pains me ever
To
thwart the wishes of thy gentle spirit;
But
it is royalty’s severest duty,
To
keep the sword of punishment unbiassed
By
the quick outcries of too tender pity.
QUEEN.
No!
my mistaken lord! it is not pity
For
those, who suffer by thy fatal wrath,
Tho’
I acknowledge my heart bleeds for them;
'Tis
love for thee: ’tis passion for thy glory,
That
gives thy Eleanor the strength to plead
Against
this stern decree: O gracious Edward!
I
wish thy noble nature prized and loved
By
every subject, as it is by me:
I
know, in seeming cruel to this land,
It is
thy aim, by sage austerity,
To
fill the savage mind with useful terror:
But
has not gentleness the blessed power
To
rule the willing heart, while overstrained rigor
Gains
but the fearful semblance of dominion
O’er
the forced acts of alienated souls?
KING
EDWARD.
Sweet
advocate of mercy! were all hearts
Pure
as thy own, thy pleading should prevail,
But
for the government of baser beings,
Obedience
must be founded upon fear.
QUEEN.
Fear
leads to hate: and hate to strife, and frenzy:
Think
of young Clyfford! O! if he, who felt
Thy
fostering care, and idolized thy virtues,
If he
was driven to momentary madness
By
one harsh mandate of the King he loved,
What
may thy people, who ne’er view like him,
Thy
private scene, that blissful sanctuary
Of
true domestic tenderness! O Edward!
Pride
of my soul! I plead for thy renown:
Dearer
to me than empire! while thou canst,
Save
I conjure thee, save this aged bard!
To
let him perish would obscure thy glory
With
the base sin of black ingratitude;
For
he with pure disinterested spirit,
Professing
enmity to thy dominion,
Yet
wished to shield thy life from hideous peril.
He
with a father’s gentleness to me
Spoke
all his just surmises, and suggested
Means
to restore to reason and to duty
The
fascinated mind of frantic Clyfford.
KING
EDWARD.
I can
no more withstand, dear Eleanor,
Thy
tender eloquence: thy prayer is granted:
One
of the guard shall bring the rescued victim
To
bless thee for that life, for which thy sweetness
Pleads
irresistibly.
QUEEN.
Let
me, let me,
My
gracious lord, the happiest of thy servants!
O let
me fly the herald of thy grace!
Mercy
will lend me her auspicious wings;
And
joy inspire me with his piercing voice,
To
spread from rock to rock my welcome tidings
"THE
PARDON OF LLANDORVIN.”
SCENE
IX.
KING
EDWARD, QUEEN, GWENDYLEN.
GWENDYLEN.
[entering,
and almost expiring.[
His
in vain,
Too
lovely consort of a crowned assassin!
In
vain thy active tenderness attempts
To
cancel his barbarity: My father,
With
firm triumphant fortitude, has past
To
those blest realms, whence not the voice of Kings,
Nor
the more sacred breath of spotless virtue,
Can
now recal his earth-contemning spirit.
KING
EDWARD.
Unhappy
daughter! hast thou seen him perish!
Where
then was Clyfford, whose impetuous pity
Flew
hence unwarranted to save thy sire.
GWENDYLEN.
Relentless
Edward! hear his fate, and feel
How
cruelty, in its blind rage, recoils,
And
like a madd’ning serpent, stings itself!
That
generous youth, whom I shall soon rejoin,
Suffers
no longer in a world, which thou,
Inhuman
monster! by thy savage sway,
Hast
made a residence, unfit for beings,
Who
with a heart like his embrace the injured.
Hark!
I am called: their free, ascending spirits
Wait
yet for me: I come: The generous Clyfford
At my
request conducted me to view
The
horrid scene, that my prophetic soul
Felt
by anticipation a release
From all thy tyranny------ yes, I beheld
Thy
murderous archers pierce my father’s breast—
That
shaft to me was like the friendly lightning,
That
makes convulsive anguish sink to peace.
Lifeless
I fell, and, as I since have learnt,
Kind
Clyfford deemed me dead, and nobly flew
To
bless my dying father, and to tell him
That
death’s kind angel had conveyed his daughter
To
wait for him in Heaven!
QUEEN.
What
fatal chance
Destroyed
my Clyfford?
GWENDYLEN.
[In a
peasant’s garb]
He rushed upon the weapons
of the soldiers
That sought to bar him from
my sire’s embrace--------
They did not know their
prince, till his life-blood
Stained their accursed
steel ----He spurned their aid
Embraced
my sire then dying, and retired
To
die near her, whom he had left as dead.
His honored voice recalled
my parting soul
Only to bless him in his
death, and bring
His benediction to his
heart’s pure queen
His guardian Eleanor --
this duty done
To my
loved Clyfford, to that glorious youth,
Who
gave me proof how pleasing 'tis to die,
Kind
nature now is rapidly dissolving
The
mortal ties, that yet withhold my spirit
From him, and from my sire:
now earth receive
This poor incumbrance, that
my willing soul
Exults to quit --
[She falls.]
QUEEN.
O yet abjure not life,
Dear Gwendylen! thou shalt
be as my child,
And join with me to grace
thy Clyfford’s grave.
GWENDYLEN.
No!
thou mild angel, wedded to a fiend!
Rather
would I, to recompense thy goodness,
Share
with thee a blest death, that terminates
Unmerited
affliction: but thy doom
Is to
live long, and live a wounded witness
Of
mad ambition, which thou canst not temper.
My
parting soul, rapt in prophetic vision,
Sees
all the future reign of thy fierce Edward;
Another
realm, like injured Cambria, waits
To
crouch beneath his desolating sway,
And
curse the proud invader: His stern soul,
Unsoftened
by thy tenderness, shall lose thee;
But
thou, sweet Eleanor! Thou shalt be mourned.
With
honors, such as never Queen before thee
Won
from imperial sorrow.
KING
EDWARD.
Pray!
be silent,
Thou
poor distracted girl, and let us try
If
salutary care may still!
GWENDYLEN.
Stand
off, rash tyrant! yet respect the dying!
And
hear thy destiny. Thy joy is conquest,
And
conquest shall be thine: iniquity
Draws,
as its curse from fortune, all it wishes.
Power
shall not sate thee, nor affliction soften:
E’en
death itself, whose visible approach
Can
bend ambition to new thoughts of peace,
Shall
fail from thy infuriate soul to banish
Thy
savage thirst of empire and of carnage.
Thy
dying voice shall bid thy very bones
Be
borne to battle in thy army’s front,
Tho’
dead still proving the accurst oppressor!
But
mark the fruit of all thy victories!
Thy
child, so basely made the lord of Cambria,
Shall
die the vilest death: hurled from a throne
Stained
by thy guilt, and his ignobler vices!
Ages
shall rise, when thy enlightened country,
No
longer dazzled by thy martial triumph,
Shall
see thy crimes, as my just father saw them,
And
English bards shall execrate thy name.
I
faint: ye friendly spirits hovering round me,
Receive
me to your fellowship!—My father!
[Dies.]
KING
EDWARD.
O
Eleanor! the ravings of this damsel
Have
struck an icy tremor thro’ my breast,
Ne’er
felt before! See thou her corse be honored,
And
laid with our lost Clyfford as his bride!
Had
I, thou mild remebrancer of mercy!
Had I
but listened to the first entreaty,
Of
thy benignant heart, we had escaped
This
hour of vain regret, and deep remorse.