The Fairy Of The Lake

*
An Arthurian Miscellany

A Dramatic Romance In Three Acts

Characters.

Rowenna, \" Queen of Britain; a Sorceress."

Edelthred, \" and" Agga, " Her attendants"

Alwin, \" a Saxon Chief".

Seneschal.

Sewer.

A British Noble, \" attendant on the Court of Vortigern".

Saxon Nobles, Soldiers, and other attendants.

Arthur, \" the British Champion".

Tristram, \" his Esquire".

Scout, \" another Esquire".

Taliessin, \" Chief of the Bards".

Guenever, \" Daughter of Vortigern, betrothed to Arthur".

Bards, Knights of the Round Table, Nobles, Maskers, &c.

The Fairy (or Lady) of The Lake.

Several Fairies, Demons of the Frozen

Regions; Demons of the Noon, &c.

With Runic spell Each woe repel,

And dry the falling tear.

" Semi cho". Rowenna! pride of Woden's race!

With sovran power, with beauty's grace,

And magic numbers blest!

The impassive spirits of the air

Obedient round thy couch repair,

To sooth the troubled breast.

" Cho". Rowenna rise! &c.

" Semi cho". Thee, Chauntress of the Runic song!

The misty Realms of Frost among,

The shuddering ghosts obey.

" Sem"." cho". Thy power the Fatal Sisters own,

And Hela, trembling on her throne,

Admits thy potent sway.

" Cho". Rowenna, rise,

Nor Wassail bowl, nor dire dispute

The warrior chiefs employ.

" Sem. cho". While Frea, from Asgardian bowers,

No more among her votaries showers

The genial shafts of joy.

" Cho". Rowenna rise! Thy beauteous eyes

From clouds of sorrow clear:

With Runic spell Each woe repel,

And dry the falling tear.

Rowenna (" rushing forward with great emotion".)

Arthur!--Arthur!--Hence, away,

Intrusive spirits of the air;

Nor, with officious zeal, display

How impotent immortal care.

" Sem. cho". Hear, Rowenna!--Mistress hear!

" Row". Arthur!--Arthur!--In my heart

I feel--I feel the festering dart:

'Tis Arthur!--Arthur! all.

In vain Asgardia's sacred bowers,

In vain Valhalla's shield-built towers,

Asori's gods, and Hela's powers

Their mission'd daughter call.

" Sem"." cho". Hear, Rowenna!--Mistress, Hear!

" Sem"." cho". Still thy bosom. Dry the tear.

" Sem"." cho". Snatch thy wand!--

" Sem"." cho". Exert thy power!

" Sem"." cho". O'er Asgard's foes triumphant tower,

And chace the troubled tear.

" Cho". And chace the troubled tear.

" Row". Arthur!--Arthur!--Hence--away,

Intrusive spirits of the air,

Nor mock me with officious care.

In vain did Frea charms bestow,

And Schulda o'er the realms below

To rule with runic spell.

In vain with Braga I repeat,

In mystic rhyme, Asamael sweet,

And tune the immortal shell.

In vain by me the Saxon name

O'er prostrate Britain towers to fame.

Myself inglorious fall.

The conquering sword--the magic art

Are baffled by the apostate heart.

'Tis Arthur!--Arthur all.

Yes--yes--'tis fruitless. Minister no more,

Ye ever-hovering spirits! 'tis in vain,

To sooth this storm-toss'd bosom. Earth and Air,

And the deep-bosom'd waters, to this wand,

Indeed, pay homage; and the elfin train

That round the harp of Braga, echoing, throng

(Swelling his magic numbers) on my steps

Wait warbling; and with minstrelsey and voice,

Obedient to my wishes, fill the air

With choral melodies. My wiley arts

Have thrall'd the soul of Vortigern; in whom

Britain, my foe, lies prostrate; and the gods

Of Scandinavia in my witching smiles

Build their ensanguin'd altars. Cambria's sons,

And all the Brutean race, already feel

The woman victor. Even the nether world,

Seasons, and circling Elements obey

My potent biddings. Cloud-compelling Thor

Must wield his thundering Gauntlet, or controul,

With lifted Mace, the Giants of the Frost

If I but chaunt The Rhyme. Yet what avails?

Arthur disdains my charms; and o'er his heart,

My spells are powerless. Yet once more I'll try.

Once more the secret dwellings of The Fates

This ken shall pierce. These feet again shall thrid

The abodes of Hela. Rife, ye ministering maids,

Shake from your slothful lids the charmed sleep,

And do your wakeful service. [" They come forward".

Edelthred!

Hast thou heard aught of strange or terrible

Marring thy midnight slumber?

" Edelthred". Nothing, Madam.

My sleep was sweet and tranquil.

" Row". Well--and yours?

" Agga". Full of sweet visions--gentle and serene.

" Row". 'Twas as I wish'd. Oh! impotence of power!

Terrestrial, or supernal! To each eye--

All but mine own--to every wearied sense

Or Mara from some brief imperfect dream

Wakes me, delirious, on her phantom'd forms

To gaze with poweless horror. 'Tis too much.

Hell, give me more: or take the power ye gave.

Give me to triumph o'er my Arthur's heart,

And in these arms enfold him! or my spells,

Hence I forswear, this gifted wand I break,

Nor at the altars of Asgardian Gods

Chaunt hence the Runic rhyme.

Haste Edelthred;

Bring here my mystic robes: the same that erst

(While the dire Sisters join'd the fearful chaunt)

I wove in Cimbrian groves.

Air " by an invisible Spirit".

Magic Woof, in Cimbrian shade

Woven by the gifted maid,

While the Raven-voice of Fate

Croak'd of slaughters, fears, and hate,

" Sem cho". Shuddering Horror listning near.

" Row". Tis the fame. Go: bring it here.

Air " as before".

There, beneath the blasted yew,

Where reptiles lap the poisonous dew,

While the bird who shuns the day

Hooted loud, and tore his prey--

" Semi cho". There 'twas wove--a webb of fear!

" Row". Its die it drank from infant gore,

And tears of mothers blotch it o'er;

It is a mystic webb of fear.

Haste my virgins: bring it here.

" Ed". Hertha defend! What means our troubled Queen?

" Row". Again, in that terrific pall, to thrid

The maze of Hela; and with potent rhyme,

Extort a boon from Fate. Can I controul

The tempest-heaving Nocca? at my will

Brandish the Thunderer's gauntlet? rend the air

With bidden storms? and from the shades of night

Evoke the wandering spirit? yet not quench,

With its desir'd fruition, the fierce flame

That preys upon my vitals? Does the power

Of magic numbers not extend to Love?

Or are our gods fastidious, to deny

An unbelieving paramour?--save such

Whom Weakness to uxorious faith may bow:

Pageants! and Vortigerns! My Pall! My Pall!

By that dread Fiend Unutterable! whose frown

Makes Nature sterrile, I will know my doom.

The Fatal Sisters, who, in Hela's shade,

Weave the dark woof, shall tell me all they know,

And with their magic aid me. Yet--forbear!

Earth and the shuddering elements confess

The approach of feet profane.

" Edel". The bugle (hark!)

Wakening the echoes, thro the distant courts

Sounds in the hurried blast.

" Row". Some voice, assured,

Of evil omen seeks my wounded ear,

Big with a tale of horrors. Let it come.

What worse can greet Rowenna than the news

That Arthur scorns her passion?

" Enter" Alwin.

Well: how now?

Thy dark portentous brow and hurried eye

Outstrip thy tongue's intelligence, and make

Thy silence eloquent. Thou hast some tale

Of horrors and disasters. Give it breath.

I have a heart prepar'd for all the worst:

A soul that shall not falter. I forgive

Thy evil tidings, tho they should import

My father's death, the Saxon overthrow,

And Cambria's triumph.

" Alwin". Prophetess inspired!

Thy words prevent my message. Such my news.

Hengist, indeed, is fallen: The Saxon power

Crouches to Britain. To the conflict led

By fierce Ambrosius, with Armoric aids,

Sudden they burst upon us, near the towers

Of Connisburg. Arthur's enchanted sword

Gleam'd like a pestilence; and thro' our ranks

Scatter'd dismay and death. His dragon crest

Belch'd streams of living fire; and on his breath

The dread Valkyries hung; where'er he bad,

Singling their victims.

" Row". Arthur? Arthur?

" Alw". He--

Pendragon's fiercer son. In horrid grace,

Wrathful he strode the field. His glittering mail

And youthful limbs, besmear'd with Saxon blood,

Daz'd every sense. With awful wonder fill'd,

Our hearts were palsy'd: as tho Woden's self,

Fresh from Iduna's banquet, came renew'd,

To ply the work of Fate, and his own race

Whelm in one general wreck. Meantime the king,

Your royal father--

" Row". Met his arm; and died?--

By Arthur died?

" Alw". Not so--that fatal deed

Ambrosius boasts--who, hoary in his hate,

And full of guile, engorg'd with treacherous wound

The elfe-engaged Hengist: and he fell--

Fell by the Briton!--while our scatter'd ranks

Fled o'er the plain for safety--vainly sought.

" Row". Frea! I thank thee. Genial Goddess! hail!

Hail the propitious omen! 'Twas thy care

That Hengist's blood stained not the hand of Arthur.

Pursue thy tale. Some other hour, more fit,

We will select for tears. Occasions press;

And we must find prompt councils. Whether fled

The abject Vortigern?

" Alw". From bourg to bourg

(By all alike rejected) with his suit,

Westward he fled, towards his Cambrian wilds,

A hunted fugitive: till join'd, at last,

By those who 'scap'd the slaughter, he attain'd

The heights of bleak Farinioch. There he lurks,

Hem'd by Gwrtheyrnion's towers, whose giant strength

Frowns o'er the midway steep. Thither he bore

(From his incestuos passion unestrang'd)

His fair, reluctant daughter, Guenever.

" Row". She scap'd not then into the arms of Arthur?

She is secure. Revenge at least is sure:

And Love has hope! Say, hast thou aught beside

That may import my hearing?

" Alw." Sovereign! nought:

But that the exulting victor, to destroy

The Saxon hope, has purpose to depose

Our pageant Vortigern; and, in his place,

Crown the new idol, Arthur.

" Row". (" aside" ) Arthur crown'd?

And so he shall be. But not crown'd by them.

That is Rowenna's Dower: the dower confirm'd

By the three Fatal Sisters.--While I live,

Thy empire, Albion, waits my spousal love:

And Arthur, if he reigns, must reign by me.

Alwin, what else?

" Alw". Your royal will. Beside

Nought now remains untold.

" Row". Then, Alwin, thus--

Haste to Gwrtheyrnion with what scatter'd powers

Your speed may gather. See the gates secur'd

Against my soon arrival. I shall bring

Such powerful succours as may best defend

The alpine fortress, should the victors dare

To press us to a siege. Away. Begone. [" Exit Alw".

O Edelthred! O Agga! why should thus

My heart beat lighter, and the breath more free

Distend my sportive bosom? Hengist slain--

The Saxon routed!--Here is the cause of grief

For Nature and Ambition. But my soul

Is full of Love and Arthur. Frea smiles

To my best hopes propitious; and, amidst

The storms of adverse destiny, my heart

Finds anchor in her aid.

Goddess of the genial hour!

Hear, O! hear my votive sigh;

And, tho' adverse Fortune lour,

Fear and Sorrow I defy,

Goddess of the genial hour!

Grief may drop the transient tear,

Wild Ambition heave the breast;

But, if thou in smiles appear,

All is tranquil--all is blest,

Goddess of the genial hour!

Fear and Sorrow I defy,

Tho my adverse fortune lour,

Hear but thou my votive sigh,

Goddess of the genial hour!

" Edel". And she will hear it--if we aught may judge

The future by the present. Could we hope

A fairer pledge of promise? Arthur's hand

Slew not your father.--Arthur's conquering aid

Could not redeem his Guenever.

" Row". 'Tis there

My fondest hopes are fix'd--Still, still she pines

In hostile bonds--still hears with steadfast hate

(Would it were not so steadfast!) the foul suit

Of that incestuous Vortigern: or writhes,

Perchance, subjected to his foul embrace,

Calling, in vain, on Arthur. I will aid

The lawless passion of this monster king,

Goading his vile desires, and urging on

To their impell'd fruition. Haply so

(For man, with sickly appetite, abhors

Oft from the trick of Fancy) Arthur hence

Shall loath her rifled beauties: She no more

Shall seem or chaste or lovely; and his eyes

Confess superiour merit. Then shall soon

Adultrous Vortigern my vengeance feel;

And his polluted paramour: This hand

Shall lift my Arthur to an envied throne,

And our united sceptres blend the tribes

Of Cimbria and of Britain. Say I well?

" Agga". Well: if The Fates ordain.

" Row". We will enquire.

And for such purpose in The Secret Grove

Chant we the spell. My double-visag'd Fate

(Ghastly at once and jocund) goads me on

Amidst a storm of passions. To The Grove

Initiate Virgins, and the haunted cave;

There join the fearful chaunt. And ye, unseen--

Ye shapeless spirits of the impassive air,

Lend me your minstrelsey. Yet first evoke

The oafish Incubus. While yet the bat,

Beneath the ominous mantle of the night,

Follows the beetles hum, be it his talk

To scout the country round; if chance he learn

Tidings of Arthur; who, at once impell'd

By love and by ambition, will pursue

The steps of Guenever. Him should he find,

Upon the attendant train let him essay

His numbing tricks: that while they, shivering, sink

In senseless torpor, Arthur, all alone

These eyes once more may meet. Evoke the fiend.

What further I design the mystic grove

And secret cave shall witness. Join me there

Where, in my Cimbrian pall and snaky tire,

I chaunt the spell to Hertha.

Howl of wolves, and ghosts of night,

In the fearful chorus join,

While The Moon withdraws his light,

And the stars, in dim afright,

Veil their orbs, and fear to shine.

Hark!--they wait to swell the rite--

Howl of wolves and ghosts of night!

[" Exeunt" Row. Edel. there's no fear of that, I

assure you. When 'tis a woman we serve, our orders

are sure to be sufficiently audible! The frosts of Hela

cannot plug up one's ears against the " clear" tones of

the feminine organ. But pr'ythee now, leave off your

rhyming and your incantations, and blow my fingers

for me a little.--It is half a century since I have

been able to breathe any thing but sleet and hailstones

upon them myself.

" Agga". Really I have no warm breath to spare upon so

cold a subject.

" Incub". Why I suppose, indeed, I am not very engaging.

Some thousand years hence, when ice-creams are

predestined to become an article of luxury,

some lady of honour, may chance to take a liking to a joint or

two, by way of stomachic: But at present, I believe,

there is no great danger of my being devour'd by

the fair sex.

" Agga". Not if they are of my taste, at least.

" Incub". But pray, good Mrs. Journeywoman Sorceress!

have you any further instructions? Any snug little

commission for yourself?

" Agga". Good Mr. Journeyman Devil! no.--If ever

I admit any of your infernal train into my service, it

shall be a devil of better quality.

" Incub". Aye! aye! Mrs. you are for a good plump

roasting devil I suppose. This essence of snow and

icicles might melt before the blaze of your beauty.

" Agga." What, you think I have some attractions then?

" Incub". Attractions! Before I descended into the

regions of Hela, to have my blood converted into icicles,

I should have been ready to die for you any half hour

of my existience.

" Ag". Were you such a Dragon amongst us in your

life time?--Come, come; I suspect it was not for this

you were sent to The Frozen Regions

" Inc". Why, no: offences of that sort are punished

in a Hell of a very different description. In short, there

is no dissembling. You know the mysteries of our

faith; and the thing speaks for itself. Our fisticuff

Divinities and I happened not to set up our horses

together on the subject of the exquisite delight of being

hacked and hewed into a thousand pieces. Not

but that I could be valiant enough in my own way:

for my mouth was full of big oaths; and my brow

seemed as dark with danger as a thunder-cloud: till a

disastrous coincidence took the sword of my renown

out of my mouth, and placed it in my hand.

" Ag". Ha! ha! poor Incubus! And then I suppose

it was perfectly out of its element.

" Inc". In short, the signal for battle was given; when

suddenly a cold sweat coming over me, I slunk from

the ranks; hid myself in a house of conveniency; died

of apprehension, before the conflict was decided; was

conveyed immediately to the Realms of Mist and Frost,

and hung up for an icicle upon the eaves of Hela's

palace; where I might right ruefully have remained,

without remission or intermission, hope or holiday, the

whole predestinated period of my purgation.--

" Agga". Purgation? What, then, you do not expect

to await The Twilight of the Gods in your present frozen

state?

" Incub". Schulda forbid! Let me see: according to

my calculation, I have now--But if your invisible

musicians will help me out with an accompaniment, I

will describe, in a song, the year of my regeneration.

When the twelvemonth's contention of Cent'ries is done,

Whether eighteen be ended, and nineteen begun,

And Learning and Science their optics shall strain

To find some new nothing to puzzle the brain;

Then the Fates to this world shall my essence restore,

To shudder in Regions of Hela no more.

O! how different the race that my eyes shall behold!

For a soul of my kidney a true age of Gold!

Since none for his fears can be look'd on the worse,

Where they count for their fame not their fears but their purse

Then the Fates to this World,

And Miss just in her teens, from all bashfulness freed,

Shall now skip o'er the rope, and now skip o'er the tweed:

O! how gay then I'll flirt and I'll flutter around,

Where the belles of the young 19th Cent'ry are found!

Their charms so obtrusive shall kindle a flame;

Shall melt all the ice that now stiffens my frame;

And I'll think, while Love's ardour shall glow in each pore,

Of the Regions of Frost and of Hela no more.

[" Exeunt".

Scene III. The Magic Grove; with the entrance of

the Cave of Incantations--a rude and rocky chasm,

overhung with shattered yew trees, and every species

of gloomy and noxious vegetation. The darkness of

the scene is only imperfectly interruupted by the transient

glare of meteors from above, and the blue vapours,or

fen damps, that play about the Magic Circle described

at the entrance of the Cave. Shrieks and groans, and

bellowing noises, heard occasionally in the air; &c.

Rowenna is discovered, arrayed in her Pall and snaky

hair dishevelled, and intermixed with Ivy, Hemlock,

Nightshade,

Ye feel my power, and own it. Aid me then

If these mysterious Rites--or ye who rive

With Thor's own bolts the groaning earth, or ye

Who to the labouring mine's combustion'd womb

Dart the contagious spark, whence Earthquake rends,

Or pent Volcano spits his sulphurous fires,

Wide wafting! for to Hela's misty realms

I force my way, and to The Fatal Three

Who weave the Webb of Destiny. [" Enter" Agga.

How now?--

Tardy and shuddering? Hast thou in thy way

Gather'd the spume-froth'd drugs, on which, o'ertoil'd,

The Bat hath crouch'd, and the Night-Swallow drop'd

Her half-churn'd morsels?--

" Agga". Mistress, they are here:--

But, use them not! Some hostile star prevails--

Our Gods forsake us. Never, since the hour

When, with initiate feet, I first approach'd

This mystic Circle, felt my soul such horror.

At ever and anon, as, from my speed

Pausing, I stoop'd, some ominous shriek was heard,

Or deathlier groan:--the herbs, o'erconscious, shrunk

My trembling touch; the glare of fiery eyes

Peep'd from the unhallow'd turf; and up mine arm

Darts the benumbing shock--as lighning struck!--

That three-times thrice (while shook the earth beneath)

From my full apron drop'd the unwilling store--

With shuddering toil replac'd. Forbear! forbear

The ill-omen'd spell!

" Row". Mere womanish fear. Away!

My soul is all on fire, and I must seek

The quenching stream, or perish. Come: draw near.

Give me The Drugs. Thus from my bruising hands

I press the powerful dews. Now, strike again

The spheric Drum, and in the fawn's warm blood

Stoop, stoop and wash--'Tis done. Begin the chaunt.

" Chorus". Hela! hear!

" Edel". Queen of Niflheim's misty shade

" Agga". Frozen Hela! ghastly maid!

" Row". From thy Throne of Horrors--hear!

" Edel". By the Giants of the Frost!

" Agga". By Ising's fury-beaten coast!

" Row". By the Dome of Anguish--hear!

" Edel". By thy Table, Famine-spread!

" Agga". By thy lean unshelter'd Bed!

" Row". Threshold bleak and Chasm dread!

" Chorus". Hela! hear!

" Edel". Furies dread of Woden's hall!

" Agga". By whom the fated heroes fall--

" Row". Dread Valkyries!--bend and hear!

" Edel". And ye Nornies--fearful three!

Who thro Fate's dark workings see--

Weaving the Webb that mortals fear--

" Chorus". Fatal Sisters! list, and hear!

Row. bending towards the earth, with her Wand up-

lifted, as in act to strike.

Hertha! ope thy rock-rib'd side--

Ribs of Ymer's giant pride!

Ribs by Odin, Vile, and Ve--

Awful Godhead! mystic Three!

From Ymer torn, and giv'n to thee.

" Adel. and Agga". Hertha! ope thy rock-rib'd side--

Ribs of Ymer's giant pride!

" Chorus". Hertha! hear! [" A groan below."

" Edel". Hertha labours. Soon the spell

Shall her reluctant womb compel.

" Agga". Soon the once-tried depths below

Again their gates shall open throw.

" Row". Cease, ye maidens--cease your strains:

Mine the talk that yet remains.

Hertha's rock-rib'd side uncloses;

Hell its hideous womb exposes;

Groans, and shrieks, and plaints of woe

Roar in troubled floods below.

Fly ye maids! To me alone

Hertha's secret ways are known.

" Subterranean thunder". Edelthred, Agga,

thro whom Rowenna rushes, and descends. The

Phantoms form themselves into groups, some of

which join in a sort of fantastic and conflicting dance,

striking at each other, and buffetting the air; while

others join in discordant chaunt.

" Chorus". Fell enchantress! hold! forbear!

" 1. Phantom". 'Tis in vain. We beat the air.

" 2. Ph." Phantom'd Terrors glare in vain.

" 3. Ph". Nature's laws no more restrain.

" All three". Desperate Magic bursts the chain.

" Cho". Hertha groans in terrene thunder:

Ribs of Rock are burst asunder.

" 1. Ph". Sulphur! " 2. Ph". Nitre!" 3.Ph." Miner's damp,

Fatal to the vital lamp--

" All". Thro the cavern'd entrails fume:

" 2. Ph". And the Wolf-like Serpent's spume.

" Chorus" Midgard's Serpent, fierce and dread,

Lifts his all-devouring head.

" 1. Ph". Fiercely writhes his scaly zone.

" 2. Ph". Nature trembles on her throne.

" Cho". Gods and Hela join the groan.

" 1. Ph". Hark! the Hell-dog's tripple growl!

" 2. Ph". Rafaen's scream! " 3. Ph". And Fenrir's howl!

" Cho". Thrillling shriek! and deaf'ning growl!

" 1. Ph". Fell enchantress! " 2. Ph". On she goes--

" 3. Ph". Eager of impending woes.

" All". To the nine-fold realm she goes!

" Chorus".

Hertha's rock-rib'd side uncloses;

Niflheim's gloom in vain opposes;

Groans, and shrieks, and plaints of woe

Roar, in bootless floods, below.

" They rush into the chasm, and it closes."

Scene IV. The Abodes of Hela.

The stage, at first, appears involoved in darkness and mist,

so that the objects at the back part of the scene are not dis-

cernable. Thunder and occasional flashes of Lightning.

Row. (" without".) Hela!--Hela!--Hela!

" Hela". What mortal organs thus aloud proclaim,

With triple invocation, Hela's name?

" Row". (" entering" ) Regent of the nine-fold shade!

Shuddering Hela! Ghastly Maid!

Bid the mists of darkness fly

Scattering from the nether sky!

" Hela". Say who art thou who thus, with daring tread,

Invad'st the dreary mansions of the dead?

Fear! presumptuous mortal! fear!

Draw not to my threshold near.

Draw not near! Confess thy fear!

And shun my fury ere too late.

" Row". Hela! no:--I cannot fear;

Tho the Furies all appear,

Sprung from Lok's prolific hate.

" Hela". Draw not near. Learn to fear

Fenrir's howl, and Hela's hate.

" Row". Hela, no: I cannot fear

Fenrir's howl, or Niflheim's hate.

By the channels twelve that drank

Hevergelmer's vapours dank,

Where the direful rivers flow,

Streams of horror, plaint, and woe!

I have travers'd, void of fear,

To seek the Fatal Sisters here.

" Cho". Regent of the nine-fold shade!

Shuddering Hela! Ghastly Maid!

Bid the mists of darkness fly.

" Row". O'er the Bridge where Gi rolls--

Fearful pass to dastard souls!

By The Dog of hideous yell,

By the iron grate of Hell,

Ghastly Hela! I have come

To tax The Fates, and know my doom.

" Cho". Regent of the nine-fold shade!

Shuddering Hela! ghastly Maid!

Bid the mists of darkness fly.

Trio, and Chorus, by The Fatal Sisters, &c.

Urd and Who art thou who thus presume

" Schulda". To tax the Fatal Sisters o'er their loom?

" Verandi". Fly! daring mortal!

" Urd". Daring mortal! fly.

" Schulda". Fly! nor urge thy instant doom.

" Cho". Fly, daring mortal! fly: nor urge thy instant doom!

" Row". Hela! from thy nether sky

Bid the mists of darkness fly:

Soon shall to your eyes appear

One your shuddering spectres fear.

Soon The Sisters o'er the loom

The shuttled hand shall check, and tell my doom.

Hela! from thy nether sky

Bid the mists of darkness fly,

Ere the looud resistless spell

Shake the dire abodes of Hell--

Ere this wand's terrific stroke

The Unutterable Fiend evoke.

" Hela". Fly! ye mists of Nrver--fly!--

Dager claims our nether sky.

Dread Enchantress! stop the spell.

Rowenna!
Now I know thee well.

The mists dispersing, Hela is discovered; a meagre

ghastly spectre, seated on a throne of Ice, on the pre-

cipitous threshold of a palace of the same material:

the whole scene exhibiting a dreary spectacle of Rock,

and Ice, and Snow.

Her Throne is guarded by The Giants of Frost,

a race of deformed and enormous monsters, whose

heads reaching the top of the stage, are involved in

clouds and vapours. Their hair and beards formed

of icicles: their Garments of Snow: their complexions

livid, and their forms mishapen. Meteors play around

their heads; and snow and hailstones issue from their

mouths and nostrils. A throng of shuddering spectres

around; some sauntering about; others root-bound;

and all covered with snow and icicles. The Demons

of Storm and Tempest " wait behind the Chair."

On the other side, in a cave apart, are seen The Fatal

Sisters at their loom. Sculls are fixed to the beams

instead of weights; the chamber is lighted by a Lamp

and a blazing Cauldron. Rafaen, i.e. the Raven

of Schulda hovers over their heads.

Trio. Urd, Verandi, Schulda.

Weave The Webb--the webb of Fate!

Ply it early--ply it late!

Fates of falling empires weave!

Woes that suffering mortals grieve!

Spindles turn; the shuttle throw;

Treacherous joys, and lasting woe,

In the fatal texture grow.

Weave the Woof--the woof of Fate!

Ply it early--ply it late!

" Urd". Take the sample from the past.

" Verandi". Present sorrows thicken fast.

" Schulda". But the worst shall come at last,

" All". Weave The Woof--the woof of Fate!

Ply it early--ply it late!

Fates of falling empires weave!

Woes that suffering mortals grieve!

Spindles turn--the shuttle throw;

Treacherous joys and lasting woe

In the fatal texture grow.

" Chorus". Weave The Webb--the webb of Fate!

Ply it early--ply it late

" Row". Cease, fatal hags! the ill-omen'd yell forego.

Speak: for ye can. I come my fate to know.

" Schul". Sorceress, yet in early bloom!

Tax us not, but wait thy doom.

Soon enough thy woe shall come.

" Row". Whate'er the will of changeful Fortune be,

I murmur not, nor question HER decree.

Weave close the secret woof, ye baleful three.

Not for the gauds of empire now I seek:

Crowns ye may give, and settled sceptres break.

I fathom not, in this, your dire decree:

For what are crowns and sceptres now to me?

But of Arthur I must know--

Doom of joy?--or Doom of Woe?

" Urd". When first the fatal bowl you gave,

And Vortigern became your slave,

Then for sovran power you pray'd;

And Fatal Sisters lent their aid.

" All". Then for sovran power you pray'd;

And Fatal Sisters lent their aid.

" Row" Sisters thanks: but this I know.

" Veran". But now no more ambition swells:

Thy secret soul on Arthur dwells:

Arthur, who, in Lunvey's groves,

Ev'n now, in wildering anguish, roves.

" All". Arthur now, in Lunvey's groves,

In heart-consuming anguish roves.

" Row". Sisters thanks that this I know.

But yet a further boon bestow.

Past and present ye have shown:

Make, O! make the future known.

Schulda! say what you decree?

Direfull'st of the direful three!

Quick: divine: Is Arthur mine?

Schulda! say what you decree?

" Shul". Woden fits on Asgard hills;

Where Hydrassil's Ash distills

Nectar'd drafts of dew divine.

There alone, in accents clear,

My Raven whispers in His ear,

What the future Fates design.

" Row". But I in lore of mystic arts excel,

And Fate's ambiguous book with ease can spell.

Speak, Fatal Sister! speak; and I'll explain:

Tho mystery involve the strain.

" Sch". Sister--ere the memory dye,

Speak again of things gone by.

" Urd". Once, to snare a monarch's soul,

Fair Rowenna drugg'd a bowl.

" Row". I did--I did. Upon my knee,

Vortigern! I gave it thee.

" Sch". When the bowl again goes round,

And Vortigern his sleep profound

Heedless quaffs--

" Row". Hela laughs!--

Plain the drift my sense descries.

Sisters thanks.
He dies! he dies!

" Hela". Wide my iron portals throw:

Perjur'd ghosts descend below.

Open throw. To realms of woe,

Perjur'd ghosts descend below.

" Row". Plain the drift my sense descries.

Hela thanks.
He dies! He dies!

" Sch". Then shall close Thy jealous woes,

Arthur's hand shall light the fire

In which thy sorrows all expire.

" Row". Propitious Schulda! thanks. But what of her--

The Cambrian viper! hateful Guenever?

" Sch". More thy rival to confound,

Fire and Water shall surround;

Ruthless flames, and waves profound.

Arthur's hand no help shall lend,

No mortal arm the maid befriend,

Nor aid from pitying Heaven descend.

" Row". Schulda thanks. Enough of her

My hated rival Guenever.

" Hela". Wide my iron portals throw:

Perjur'd Ghosts descend below.

Open--open--open throw!

To realms of woe,

Perjur'd ghosts descend below.

" Row". Plain the drift my soul descries.

Vortigern He dies!--He dies!

Arthur's hand shall light the fire

In which my sorrows all expire.

Hela's ghosts the joy shall feel

Joining in the giddy reel!

Look for Fenrir say me nay:

'Tis Rowenna's holyday.

She waves her wand; and instantly the whole train of

frozen spectres rush to the middle of the stage, and

join in a fantastic dance; while all the vocal characters repeat in

Grand Chorus.

Wide the iron portals throw.

Perjur'd ghosts descend below.

Hela's sons the triumph feel,

Joining in the giddy reel.--

Lok nor Fenrir say us nay:

'Tis Rowenna's Holiday.

End of the First Act.

Act II. Scene I.

Lynn Savadan; or, Langorfe Pool; by Moonlight.

A Dance of Fairies.

1." Fairy". While the Moon with silver sheen

Spangles o'er Savadan's Lake,

Fairies to the margent green

Haste from grotto, bower, and brake,

And in our lunar rites partake.

" Chorus". Elves from grotto, bower, and brake,

" 1. Fa". Frisk it! " 2. Fa". Frisk it! " 3. Fa". Frisk it!

" Ch". Frisk it round the silver lake.

" 1. Fa". Nor ye who, in your golden boat,

The water lily, love to float.

Chacing oft, with merry Lay,

The beams that o'er the rippling surface play,

These our lunar rites forsake.

" Sem. cho". Elves from grotto, bower, and brake--

Fays that skim Savadan's lake--

" 1. Fa". Ever gay " 2. Fa". While ye may.

" 1. Fa". Trip it. " 2. Fa". Trip it! " 3. Fa". Trip away!

" Cho". Join the dance, and join the lay.

" 2. Fa". Flowers opprest by noontide heat

Let the breath of Fragrance cheer;

And as we brush with nimble feet,

Blights and Mildews disappear,

And all that taint the vernal year.

" Sem. cho". Disappear!--Disappear!--Disappear!--

" 1. Fa". As we whisk it! " 2. Fa". Frisk it! " 3. Fa". Whisk it!

" 1. Fa". Whisk it! frisk it! Frisk it! whisk it!

" Cho". Let the breath of Fragrance cheer

The vernal year.

The Lady of the Lake rises on a Throne of Spars

and Coral, in a car, or water chariot, drawn by

Swans.

" Lady". Enough, ye elves and fairies!--ye who ride

The lunar beam, or on the surface skim,

Buoyant, of lake or rill, or thro mid air

Bestride the gossamer; and ye who lurk

Beneath my bordering flow'rets, or the leaves

Of pensile shrubs, that from Savadan's marge

Inhale their freshness. Well have ye preform'd

Your modest funtions, from the irriguous haunts,

Chacing the Sterrile Fiend, and all the rout

That hurt with anguish spells, that neither blight,

Canker, nor smut, thro all my favourite bowers,

Insect nor worm appears, of power to mar

The buds of vernal promise. Tis enough.

Now other cares invite; and other fears

Swell in my anxious bosom. Arthur's fate

Hangs on the tremulous balance.

From coral groves and spar-encrusted dome,

Where, enthron'd in virgin pride,

O'er their secret urns preside

The sedg'd-crown'd sisters fair,

Who make the sylvan lakes their care,

I come.

For deep in that sequester'd home

The voice of Anguish pierc'd my ear,

From Lunvey's echoing groves.

There where hostile spells surrounding

(All his rising hopes confounding)

Rack his soul with pangs severe--

There--ah! there--

Mourning pining--

Every blissful thought resigning--

There bewilder'd Arthur roves.

For him I grieve,

For him my coral grots I leave,

Yoke my white swans, and breathe this terrene air.

Haste ye Fairies, haste ye then--

Search the woodland, search the glen.

For deeds of love forego your vagrant sport,

And in my secret grotto make report.

" Cho". Mistress, you shall be obey'd.

" 1. Fa". Sisters each your province take:

Mount the breeze, or skim the lake:

Thrid with care the leafy shade.

" 2.F". Frisk it! " 3.F". Whisk it! " 4.F. " Trip it! " 5.F". Flit it!

" Cho". Mistress you shall be obey'd. [" They vanish".

The Lady " returns to her Car, and the scene closes."

Scene II. A hanging Wood on the borders of a little

Stream.

Enter Incubus, shaking his fingers and rubbing

his hands.

Who-o-o-o! what a poor undone devil am I! When

I am freezing and dangling on the eves of Hela's palace,

I do nothing but sigh and pray that my nechromantic

mistress, here, or some other of my terrestrial employers

would be kind enough to stand in need on my assistance,

and give me a blind-man's holiday, in this warmer atmos-

phere; yet here have I been wandering only two or

three hours, and the frost in my joints is converted into

so horrible a hot-ache, that I begin to wish my icicle-

ship had remained undisturbed, in the pure state of sub-

terranean congelation, where the Giants of Frost had

fixed me. But the worst is, the night is almost spent,

and my task not completed. A precious cataplasm will

be clapped to my sores, I'll warrant, if I descend to

Niflheim again with an imperfect account of my mission.

A plague o'that drunken desperado, Tristam! one

by one, I have nabbed all the reft; and laid the whole

Round Table (knights, squires, and all) as quiet as

Mead and Wassail ever laid them at high festival: but

Lok himself (the father of all mischief) cannot get that

dragon-eater out of the reach of Arthur's enchanted

sword: to hazard the vengeance of which requires a

little more of the fool-valiant than belongs to any devil

of my kidney.
But behold!
A plague on all blun-

derers! How came I not to think of that before?

What sort of an angler, for a devil, must I be, when a

Welchman was to be caught, not to think of Cwrw?

Cwrw! Cwrw!
Cwrw!
But here

they come. Bo-peep's the word, and then to my last

shift. [" Exit."

" Enter " Arthur; " and " Tristram, " drunk, with a cag".

" Arthur". Distraction! furies! whether do we rove?

On what enchanted region have we trod,

Beset with hellish fiends? Mine eyes deceive--

This is not Lunvey. These are not the groves

Where once, with songs prophetic, o'er my head

The ministering fairies danc d, touching my lips

With charm of sweetest numbers, and my limbs

(Yet in their infant swathes) with iron force

Nerving resistless. Or, if such it be,

The Saxon Demons o'er the Isle prevail,

And our Good Spirits leave us.

" Tristram" (" turning up his cag".) Spirits! O, yes, your

honour's highness!--our spirits are all gone; that's certain.

Here it is, your honour's highness! Round and sleek;

just the same big belly it set out with. But it's de-

livered your honour's highness! fairly delivered; and so

there's an end to our deliverance.

Hollow! hollow! ( knocking against it with his

knuckles )--Hollow as a false friend, who preaches and

moralises when Necessity is at the door: and then he

rings, just like this--all his swelling words being nothing

but emptiness!

" Ar". Oh! Guenever! Guenever! At such a time!

They could not all desert me. Dastards all!

Chieftains renown'd for hardiest enterprise

Turn dastards on the spur?
I'll not believe it.

" Trist". No, your honour's highness! nor little Tristram

neither: any more than he'll believe his costrel is a

perpetual spring: and that it is not, there is heavy proof

in all this lightness. (" Throwing it up and catching it.)"

Light! light!--Light as a Courtier's promise--or a Court

Lady's morals.
O that a light costrel and a dark destiny

should go thus together.
( As he is tossing the Costrel

about he tumbles.) Seated your honour's highness!--

Seated!--But what signifies seating now? The round

table (" Placing the cag before him" )--ah! your honour's

highness! The round table is quite empty.

" Ar". Significant drunkard! dost thou make a scoff

And jest of my afflictions?

" Trist". O Lord! your honour's highness! quite the

contrary. Moralising, your honour--moralising. Inspi-

red!--spiritualised!--What were good liquor good for,

if it did not put good thoughts into one's head?

" Ar". It is enchantment all. Demoniac spells

Have snar'd their feet, and Hell's suborned fiends

Have with incestuous Vortigern conspir'd

To mock my high rais'd hopes. Oh! sacred wax!

(" pulling out a pair of Tablets and pressing them to his lips" )

Grav'd with the sweetest words, by fairest hands

And yet how terrible!
Dear, direful proof

Of chastest constancy!
This night this night

With such a cause to charm them to their oaths

Could they have fled, like recreants?

" Trist". Fl-e-ed! O yes, your honour's highness; flown,

I'll answer for them: but it was at second hand; as they

trot when they ride o' cockhorse. I'll swear by a full

costrel--(for it would be but an empty oath to swear by

a costrel that was not full--and would shew me, as it

were, to be but a 'squire of hollow faith) I saw the

Devil fly away with half a dozen of them. I sup-

pose if it had not been for my Guardian Spirit ( lifting

up the cag ) I should have known myself what sort of a

poney His Devilship is. And then ha! ha! ha! ha!

" Ar". Peace, babbling Jester! Art thou too possest?

" Trist". Ho! ho! ho! I beg pardon, your honour's

highness--but i'faith I can't help laughing, to think--

ha! ha! ha! if the devil had laid hold of me, what a

figure I should have made, charioteering between a pair

of sooty wings, with two great horns in my hands, by

way of reins, and a huge pair of saucer eyes before me,

for lanthorns.
Ho! ho! ho!
What a dash!

" Ar". ( still grasping The Tablets, and gazing upon them

with encreased emotion.) This night--this night--

The last permitted to the anxious calm

Of Innocence unviolate!--This Night

That, midst the curtain'd silence, still shall talk

Of its successor's horrors--of the hour

When the soul father lover (so decreed)

Flush'd from the riotous banquet--lust enflam'd!--

Inebriate to incest!
Hell is there!--

He walks, distractedly several times, to and fro; then

pauses--opens the tablets again, and reads.

"This night, this night!--all means of death remov'd,

"(The last poor respite tears and prayers could gain)

"I give to thoughts of Thee, and to those vows

"Of chastest love inviolate we pledg'd

"On Usk's remember'd banks. This night (yet pure)

"I dare to think I am Arthur's. All beyond--

"All if Gwrtheyrnion's walls But haste and save!

"Haste with thy Warrior Knights--Oh! that this breath,

"That never flows but to wing prayers to Heaven

"For thee and for thy safety--that this breath

"But worse impends Worse to " thy" heart--to " mine!"

"
To mine! Oh! persecuting Heaven! that aught

"Than Arthur's safety--Arthur's sacred life

"Can be more precious to the shuddering heart

"Of his disastrous Guenever!"

Despair!

"But haste and save! Haste with thy warrior knights!"

Alas! where are they? Ho! ye recreants, ho!

Follow me. Once again, with hopeless search,

Thro the night-thickened labyrinths let us wind,

Wakening the sullen Echoes; if perforce,

With their reverberate aid, our shouts may reach

The chance-bewilder'd straglers if but Chance,

Not Hell, or fouler Treachery, have sapt

Their faith till now undoubted.
Ho! what ho!

My Guenever!--disastrous guenever! [" Exit".

" Trist". Oh! my Costrel!
my sweet, lovely

poor, miserable, empty Costrel!

Aye Theres' the Devil! But for that, the adven-

ture would not be desperate. There would still be

three of us--the redoubtable Tristram, the pussiant Ar-

thur, and the all-conquering Cwrw: and what could stand

before us?--Caer Gwrtheyrnion?--Pho! nor all the

Cares in the universe. Why we shouldn't care for Pan-

demonium itself. We'd storm old Belzebub in his

grand keep; and make a rareeshow of all his family.

Send us, ye Guardian Angels! send us but a costrel

of Cwrw! of C-W-R-W. Fal de rol de rol, de ra ra,

lol lol! (" Sings".)

A large cask rises out of the ground, against which

Tristram runs his nose as he is reeling out.

Bawh! What have we here? Ho! ho! a cask! a

cask.--The prayers of the drunken shall be heard; for

they pray in The Spirit. But what is this?--Some magical

inscription I suppose. O thou universal lamplightress,--

thou that see'st many a thing that thy elder brother, the

Sun, never dreamt of!--lend me thy spectacles awhile,

that I may spell. C-w-r-w- Cwrw!
Spell,

indeed--What are your Runic Rhymes, your Riddles,

your Pharmaceutrias--your Cabals, your Abracadaberas,

to the magical combination of C--w--r--w? \" (Sings".

Of spells you may talk,

Writ in ink, blood, or chalk,

With which Wizzard and Witch have to do;

But each Welchman can tell

That there never was spell

Like C--w--r--w! Fal de rol.

And the world all so scurvy

I'd turn topsyturvy

With C--w--r--w. Fal de rol! &c.

Inspir'd--Inspir'd! If it be but as potent to valour as

to verse, the business is done.--And where's the doubt?

What but Cwrw was it, that produced so many famous

heroes of antiquity, from Nimrod to Jack the Giant

Killer. (" Sings".)

O, ye heroes renown'd

Who fought all the world round--

O! ye Csars, and fam'd Alexanders!

Pray how had ye thriv'd,

If of Cwrw depriv'd?

Faith you'ad been just as valiant as ganders.

Fal de rol!

Never fear to depend

On the Welchman's best friend,

On C--w--r--w. Fal de rol!

brewed by my Guardian Angel for his own private

drinking. Let me take it devoutly. (" Kneeling" ) Now,

now shall I be famous, or the devil is in it. ( Drinks.

The head of the cask flies off, out of which Incubus

" rises, and seizes him by the ears".)

" Inc". Aye, and in it he is: little as you might expect it.

(" The cask sinks down and leaves " Tristram in the

clutches of Incubus.)

" Trist". (" Shivering".) Who-o-o who are you, and be-e

hanged to you?

" Inc". A devil!

" Trist." The-e-e devil you are. Wha-a-at the devil

makes my teeth chatter so then? In such hands, I should

have expected to be frying in my own grease.

" Inc". Aye, that's because you don't know what sort of

devil you have to deal with, my little Tristram. I am

none of your bon-fire devils come to entertain you

with squibs and crackers, and birth-day rockets and illu-

minations: but a good thorough icicle devil, from the

regions of Hela: where I have been freezing, under

the North Pole, for more than half a century.

" Trist". Fre-e-e-ezing with a ve-e-e-engeance!

Zounds I am fro-o-o-o-ozen too. I-i-i-i can't

get to my sw-o-o-o-ord.

Ar-r-r r-Arthur!

" Inc". Vainly you for Arthur call:

Your very words are frozen all:

They shall never reach his ear.

" Trist". Ar-r-r-r Arthur! Arthur! co-o-o-ome away.

I am lo-o-o-o-lost if yo-u-u-u delay.

" Inc". Trust me he shall never hear.

Your words are frozen.

" Trist". So-o-o-o I fear.

" Inc". Thus upon my prey I seize.

" Trist". I freeze I freeze I freeze!

Ar-r-r Arthur!
Ar-r-r Arthur.

" Inc". 'Tis in vain Your lungs you strain.

" Trist". I-i-i-i I see it plain.

" Inc". Vassal hind! Your voice I bind--

" Trist". S o-o-o I find

" Inc". In Vindsualer's icy chain

" Trist". W-w-w-w-wind! wind swallow!

Cold and hollow!

" Inc". Grim Vindsualer! Winter's fire!

" Trist". Ar-r-r-r Arthur! Arthur! O-o-o-oh! a fire!

" Inc". 'Tis in vain; Fruitless pain; Thus to strain.

Arthur, Arthur cannot hear.

" Trist". So-o-o-o-o I fear. " Inc". It is clear.

So, little Tristram? come you here.

My potent mistress thus to please,

Upon my shivering prey I seize!

" Trist". I fre-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-eze!

" Cho. of Knights without". We fre-e-e-e-e-e-eze!

Tristram sinks down in a state of torpor; over-

powered by the benumbing influence of the Demon;

and Incubus drags him off the stage.

" Re-enter" Arthur.

Tristram! Tristram!--Art thou also gone?

Vanish'd thro air? or swallow'd by the earth?

The last of all my host! Infernal fiends!

Are there no means to reach ye? Out good sword!

Whose tenfold temper, steep'd in mystic dews

By the fair regent of Savadan's lake,

No goblin spell resists. On stocks and stones,

And each ambiguous thing my eyes shall meet,

I'll try its force. If chance some lurking fiend

Start up reveal'd; ere now this arm, unstaid,

Hath tam'd such foes, and to their hostile hell

Dismiss'd them howling. Nerve it now, ye powers

Who smile on virgin innocence. I strike

In Nature's cause; for love and Guenever! [" Exit".

" Scene Iii. Enter Fairies".

" 1.Fa". Sisters! Sisters! " 2.Fa". Whist ye! Whist!

" 1.Fa". Tell me tell me what ye list.

" 3.Fa". Things of moment hover nigh.

" 1.Fa." Who can read them. " 2.Fa." I. " 3.Fa." And I.

" Cho". Things of moment hover nigh.

" 1.Fa." Sisters! Sisters! " 2.Fa." List ye! List!

" 3.Fa." Tell me fairies what ye wist?

" 1.Fa." Tell me what ye read on high?

" 2.Fa." Fading stars, " 3.Fa." And morning nigh.

" 1.Fa." Who can see it? " 2.Fa." I. " 3.Fa." And I.

Cho. To the Grotto haste away.

4.Fa. You have seen it? " 1.F." Aye! 2.F. Aye! " 3.F." Aye!

" Cho". To the Grotto whisp away.

" 1.Fa." Frisk it! " 2.Fa." Whisk it!

" 4.Fa." Trip it! " 1.F." Whip it.

" 4.Fa." To the Grotto flit away!

" Cho". What we've witness'd there display. [Exeunt.

Scene Iv. The Lake, seen in a new aspect. The Sun

rising above the neighbouring mountains.

" Enter" Rowenna [" attended".]

The shades of night disperse, and o'er the hills

(The Eastern bound of Cambria) Balder's steed

Rushes with reinless neck, and to the winds

Gives his bright mane of orient, streaming far

Thro the illumin'd sky. The dazzling ray,

With tint reflective, over stream and lake,

Plays with the morning breeze; and leaf and flow'r,

Moist with the tears of evening, bend surcharg'd

With mimic radiance: every crystal sphere

Each with its fairy fun--a fairy world.

Pencil'd with rays minute--as tho instinct

'Tis splendour all, and gladness--All but here,

Where one lov'd object, filling every thought,

Blots out Creation. Sound nor sight can please,

But what relates to Arthur: and this hope

Of quick possession, from the Fatal maids,

With poignant expectation but enflames

The frenzy it should sooth.

In vain empassion'd Hope I feed

With promis'd boons of hovering joy:

The expected bliss, by Fate decreed,

Doubts and chilling fears annoy.

In vain the empassion'd heart to ease,

The splendid scences of morn I trace:

Whate'er the raptur'd eye should please,

Doubts and chilling fears deface.

Distracting doubts, and chilling fears

What touch of sense can charm away?

A blank the smiling dawn appears:

And mute to me the vernal lay.

Propitious Goddess! hear my pray'r!

Nor long the promis'd bliss delay:

The smiling morn shall then be fair,

And Rapture tune the vernal lay.

Near to this spot, among the bordering woods--

So sung the Fatal Sisters (and the song

But now the oafish Incubus confirm'd)

My Arthur roves, now isolate. O guide

His steps, benignant Frea! that mine eyes

May gaze to fulness, and my pleaded love

Essay his secret heart. 'Tis heard. He comes:

With what a tempest gathering on his brow!

Yet lovely in his anger. We'll observe

A while, unnoted, till the storm is spent:

Then, o'er the waves subsiding, Love shall smile;

And woo The Bird of Peace. [" They retire".

" Enter" Arthur.

" Arth." 'Tis fruitless search--

I toil myself in vain. Enchantment here

Dwells not--or dwells beyond the boasted reach

Of gifted countercharm. And, lo! the Sun,

Climbing his southering arch, with gilded smile,

Mocks at my bootless rage; while grove and vale,

Mountain, and headlong stream, and placid lake

Shine in the record of my baffled hopes,

My shame, and my distraction.

" Row". Queen of smiles!

Who blend'st consenting hearts in mutual bliss,

Be it my talk to sooth him,

" Arth". Ye twin heights

Of bleak Farinioch!--Ye whose alpine heads

Catch the first rays of Morning! I had hopes,

Ere down your sloping sides encroaching light

Had chac'd the lingering shadows, o'er your brow

(Girt with my warrior knights in firm array)

To have pour'd the shout of battle; on the walls

Of doom'd Gwrtheyrnion, like the vollying cloud,

To have burst in direful thunders; broke the chains

Of Saxon usurpation; from the rape

Of threaten'd incest snatch'd the weeping maid,

And hung the wreaths of Love on Glory's fane.

" Row". Empire, and Love, and Glory! Frea, hear--

Make them the three-fold dower, "When Authur's hand

"Shall light the flame in which my woes expire!"

I feel consenting Heav'n. Some whispered voice

Tells me the prayer is heard:--perchance the maid

Whom frequent The Propitious Goddess sends

To cheer the love-lorn votary. (" She comes forward".)

Arthur, hail!

One not to Grief unknown your grief's would heal.

" Arth". (" wrapt in soliloquy, and not observing her".)

Sweet bud of virgin innocence! shall he,

The incestuous father, blast thy opening charms,

And rifle thy pure fragrance? while mine arm

(Awful in foriegn conflict) here, at home,

Sinks palfied, and, in Love's,--in Nature's cause,

Hangs powerless by my side!
Oh Guenever!

Soul of my soul!--Oh charms, above all charm!

Trancendent in their loveliness! once deem'd

My sole sequester'd treasure!--Paradise

Of all my thoughts! and of my nightly dreams

Sole visitant--when, pure as winnow'd snows,

That from the peaky Vans, till spring matures,

Gleam on the dazzled traveller, thou cam'st,

With funny smiles of sanctity and love,

Blessing my pillow'd slumber.
Guenever!

Hope's vital fountain!--

" Row". (" aside" ) Progeny of Lok!

Does Fenrir howl this discord in mine ear?

Or charnel Grymer bark?--What sounds are these?

Where is thy promise, Frea?
Schulda, where

Thy hopes oracular?

" Arth". Oh! Sweet of Sweets!

Personified perfection!--tint! and form!

And types of inward excellence! that shines

Thro the transparent veil. Eyes! lips! and cheeks

Vermeil'd with angel modesty! and swell

Of soft ingenuous bosom, yet unsunn'd

By Love's presumptuous gaze!--all Vortigerns?--

Incestuous Vortigerns!

" Row". Can I bear this?

Furies of Hela's shades! Ye Fiends of storm!

What are your tempests to the tempest here?

Are these my hopes? Down, down, my struggling soul,

And trust The Fates. Be calm, or thou art lost.

[" She retires".

" Arth". With what a lengthen'd stride the lustful Sun

Hastens the hour of horrors; towards the couch

Of western Thetis straining, ere as yet

The blush of parting from her orient cheek

The winnowing winds have brush'd.

Check, check thy speed!

Restrain thy bridegroom haste: awhile forego

The fiery track, 'till pitying heav'n afford

Means of preventive vengeance: from the clouds

That curtain thy repose, lest Hesper thrust

His guilty lamp, to mark the fated hour,

And light the tyrant Vortigern to deeds

That make Hell tremble.

Rowenna (" re-entering, with " Edelthred, " at a"

" distance".) Passion shakes him still:

But I am calm, in confidence renew'd,

And wait predicted bliss.

" Arth". My pray'rs are vain.

I war with woman's weapons: fall'n--reduc'd

To woman's impotence: with senseless brawl

Disturbing the calm elements, that laugh

My rage to scorn. Come then, thou sullen Calm

Of concious desperation, thro my soul

Breathe thy narcotic influence--steep each nerve

In opiate dews, and o'er each maddening sense,

Bewilder'd, from their chilling urns pour forth

Thy inanescent torpors, till no more

Reflection wakes, and dull Oblivion drop

The vail by Fancy lifted.

" Row". (" aside".) Be it so,

Benignant Frea! then to other scenes,

Joyous, awake reviving Consciousness,

Made happy in the change!

" Arthur". Hear, hear them not--

Hear not the shrieks, my soul, that, thro the gloom,

Rending Gwrtheyrnion's towers, with vain appeal,

Call on the name of Arthur.
Rest thou here,

My wearied soul--rest here; even on this oak,

Which, ere matur'd, the lightning's fork hath scath'd,

Or Whirlwind's arm lopt brief:--here sit and muse

In moralising vacancy, abridg'd

Of vital virtue; like this sapless trunk,

To lift no more the flourishing head to heaven,

Or spread the arms of shelter.

" Row". Edelthred,

The storm is past.--List how to murmurs soft,

And wailings inarticulate, subsides

The roaring surge of passion. Shall I speak;

Or wait the heavings of these waves, that yet

Would lash themselves to stilness?

" Arth". You, ye Pomps

Of unavailing war--fire-plumed helm,

And burnish'd shield emblazon'd; and thou gift

Of her my sometime guardian, lie ye there,

Till the slow rust consumes; or o'er your fame

The monumental weed, with unshorn head,

Bends vailing: for no more shall Arthur's arm,

That fail'd to rescue Guenever, descend

On dint of meaner argument to try

Your charmed temper.

He throws away his helmet, his shield, and his en-

chanted sword; and, seating himself in a disconsolate

attitude, upon the shattered Oak, continues to pore upon

the ground, in vacant agony.

" Row". Past my best hopes!--

Propitious Frea! now the webb untwines

Spun by The Destinies. The magic sword

Falls from his grasp, unconcious:--now no more

From power of Runic verse, or magic spell,

Or from Rowenna's charmed wand exempt.

My Fates prevail. Agga! my rod--my rod!

[" Enter" Agga, " with the wand". Rowenna waves it

" over the head of" Arthur; " and" he " sleeps".]

Sleep on his troubled lids awhile descend,

Till we the charm of Runic numbers end.

Elves who shun the chilly moon!

Demons of the sultry noon!

" Response" Whose the voice that now ascends

" of Spirits" The abodes of Alfheim?

" Edel". Hers who rends

With spells the pitchy vail of Night--

" Agg". And blots the fetttled orbs of light.

" Row". Demons of the sultry noon!

My call attend.

" Resp." Soon we greet thee--mistress, soon.

" Row". But not in gorgon pomp descend.

" Edel". Far hence, ye haggard forms of Fear!

Horror, vail'd in mirky brow,

Rage, that scorns the Pitying tear,

Griefs, that low to Hertha bow.

Other forms than these must move

Soft content, Sweet content

Soft content and mutual love!

" Resp". Other forms than these shall move

Soft content and mutual love.

" Agg". Haste in dimpled smiles array'd

Such as sport in Frea's train,

When she tempts the blushing maid,

Half afraid, To the shade,

Sighing, dying, where the swain

Fears the promis'd bliss delay'd.

" Resp". Such the smiling forms that move

Soft content, and mutual love.

" Row". Thus, to weave the mystic chain,

Demons of the Noon repair:

But to vulgar eyes remain

Viewless as impassive air.

" A troop of " Demons rush on the stage, in the semblance

of winged boys, crowned with wreaths of flowers, and

arrayed in effeminate apparel.--Strings of roses in

their hands; with which they link themselves together,

in intricate circles, and dance round Arthur , as

he sleeps. Others play with his armour, and one, of supe-

rior size and appearance, takes possession of his sword.

" Row". The charm of Runic numbers now complete--

From Arthur's eyes ye drowsy fumes retreat.

Awake to Joy--for every joy is here

To charm the eye and sooth the listening ear.

" Cho". Joy sincere Hovers near;

Wake to see; and wake to hear.

" Arth". What antic troop are ye, whose mid-day dreams

Disturb a wretch's slumbers? Hence! Avaunt!

He endeavours to disentangle himself. They encircle him

with their fillets, twining their fillets

closer and closer: and repeating, in chorus.

Doughty hero! lay aside

Sullen looks and martial pride:

Love and Pleasure revel here.

" Arth". Distraction! Infamy! insnar'd! inthrall'd!

Bound in a fillet, like some harlot's toy!

This --only this, was wanting to complete

My sum of wretchedness.

" Row". Of rapture say:

For such I come to offer. Generous Arthur!

Too long by an unworthy flame inthrall'd

To an incestuous wanton: lo! my Charm

Shall set you free: and on a worthier choice

Empire and Love await, and deathless Fame.

In the bosom of youth say what wishes can glow

That my power cannot grant, or my favour bestow?

These beauties that monarchs have struggled to gain,

I offer unask'd.--Shall I offer in vain?

No; heart with heart meeting, and clasp'd in these arms,

Your bosom shall throb to soft passion's alarms.

Heart to heart fondly beating!

Our vows still repeating!

Reclining! Resigning To passions alarms--

Our bosoms still throbbing!--enfolding our arms!

Then the sceptre of Britain, by Schulda decreed

To await on my love, I present as thy meed.

These beauties that monarches have struggled to gain,

I offer thus dower'd.--Can I offer in vain?

While thus, with heart meeting, I stretch forth my arms,

Ambition and Beauty uniting their charms,

Can your heart coldly beating,

From Rapture retreating,

Disdaining! Refraining From passions alarms,

An Empire relinquish, and fly from these arms?

Then my magic shall aid, and my verse shall record

All the deathless exploits of your lance, and your sword;

And the glory that heroes have struggled to gain

I offer secure.--Shall I offer in vain?

No; heart to heart beating, and clasp'd in these arms

Love, Glory, and Empire shall mingle their charms.

Heart to heart fondly beating!

Our vows still repeating!

Reclining! Resigning To passions alarms

Our bosoms still throbbing!--enfolding our arms!

" Arth". Sorceress of Elb! devoted Britain's curse!

Hence with thy wanton chant. Tho thus inthrall'd--

Betray'd by Love's affliction (sentient there

Beyond a maiden's softness) in these bonds

Powerless I stand, yet can my soul disdain

Thy blandish'd witcheries. A Crown from thee?

Love, Glory, and Ambition! Are they things

Of such abhor'd conjunction as to blend

With thy pollutions?--I'd abjure them, then--

Flee to some hermit's cave--unsex myself,

And, in the mirkiest mine, drudge out, in toil

Obscene, and servile bonds, the dregs of life

Dishonour'd. For the World to Chaos runs--

The blessed Sun no more his lustrous beam

Sheds on created order, if such gifts

Depend upon such givers.

" Row". Down my heart!--

Injurious Arthur! even this from thee,

Rowenna's love can pardon.

" Arth". Love!--Thy Love?

The love of Vortigern's polluted wife?

" Row". The love of her who was, erewhile, the wife

Of the polluted Vortigern. But crimes

Like his dissolve the settled charities

Of conjugal affiance.

" Arth". O! no doubt

With Purity like thine. And he who (urg'd

By lures, by incantations, and the bowl

Spic'd with lascivious philters) made thee room

For royal spousals in a murderer's bed--

He who, seduc'd by thy idolatrous faith,

Forgot the chaste affinities that link

The social frame of Nature--

" Row".
Speak--Speak out.

Why does thy struggling soul forbear to name

What yet it dwells on most?--He whose vile lust

Makes wanton revel in a daughter's arms--

(The arms of Guenever!) deserves to pay

The destin'd forfeit of his crime, and hers.

" Arth". His crime and Hers! Makes wanton revel! Hers?

He has not sure

" Row". No sure. The diligent speed

With which she scap'd his custody, what time

(Dreadful Saxon slaughter) you pursu'd

This father lover headlong thwart the realm,

Proves with what fix'd abhorrence she regards

His lawless love, and how prepar'd she stands

To Act the virgin coyness she professes.

" Arth". Distraction! Furies!

" Row". What if now my art

Should stretch thy vision thro intruding space--

Rendering the opaque of matter to thy sight

Pervious and clear (for so by spells I can,)

And shew thee thy delusion--shew, reveal'd,

Their present act! and in what amorous folds

They wanton, shameless?

" Arth". Give me first my sword;

Touch'd by whose virtue each delusive birth

Of magic dies--abortive: elfe thy spell,

Mocking the couzen'd senses, might betray,

And damn me with illusion. Easier far

To clothe some air-drawn phantom in the form

Of her thy hate calumniates, than to pierce

With stretch of human ken (however sharpen'd)

Yon mountain's, peaky mass, that bars the fight

Towards Gwrtheyrnion.

Sorceress! dost thou blench

The late-flushed cheek, and, with abated eye,

Admit detection? Yes; thou stand'st reveal'd.

Henceforth thy arts at lower quarry fly;

Nor think to taint, with nechromantic frauds,

The fame of Guenever, whose virtue towers,

(Transcendent, like her beauty) far above

Thy foul contaminations: like the orb

That rules the tranquil night--lustrous and pure!--

That on the wolfish howl of Calumny

Smiles, and shines on, unalter'd.

" Row". Death to Hope!

This constancy appals me: and my soul

Scarce in The Fatal Sisters more confides,

Or Frea's whisper'd promise. Yet remains

One only effort. Bind him fast, ye elves,

With your enchanted braids. His eyes shall see

Within Gwrtheyrnion's walls--his ears shall hear

What distant he regards not.

Yes, by Hela! (" aside".)

Charm-bound from voice or motion, he shall view

The consummated rape; and his sick soul,

Loathing what now he dotes on, shall resign

To her predestin'd fate this hated she--

This vaunted Paragon. Then, Vortigern,

Thy Cup awaits thee; and my Arthur's hand

Shall light the flame in which my woes expire.

My Fate is in my hand.

I feel my kindling passions move,

Great with Vengeance, great with Love!

Prophetic scenes of promis'd rapture rise;

Doubts disperse, and hopes expand.

Away with suppliant sighs!

Hope returns: Dejection flies:

I feel the kindling passions rise:

My Fate is in my hand.

" As they are binding " Arthur , a symphony of soft mu-

sic is heard from the lake. The Lady rises in her

Car. The Demons drop the sword, and dispersing, are seen flying thro the

air, in their proper appearances of deformity; with a

confused and fearful clamour. Rowenna and her

Attendants run out on the opposite side.

Lady. Goblins avaunt! nor impious, thus profane

My sylvan confines and irriguous reign.

And thou, brave Prince! behold again restor'd

Thy ravish'd freedom, and thy magic sword:

For; not forgetful of my former love,

Your griefs afflict me, and your dangers move.

Your weak despair yourself will freely blame:

Go,--force your pardon in the field of fame.

Your Knights and Squires already marshall'd stand,

By me redeem'd, and wait for your command.

Refresh'd and vigorous from the genial right,

They burn impatient, and demand the fight;

Not far remote from yon embowering screen.

My instant power shall waft you to the scene.

Scene V. She waves her trident; and the SCENE instant-

ly changes to a thicket at the foot of The Beacons.

The Knights of the Round Table appear as

just rising from their repast.-- Taliessin and other

Bards --playing on their harps. Horses ranged on

each side of the stage, and the 'Squires holding them.

Flourish.

As the Knights" perceive " Arthur , they flock

around him; and Taliessin sings the following

Air--

Arthur comes, to Britain dear:

Bid the brazen trumpets blow.

Led by him, we cannot fear

Civil rage or foreign foe.

Chorus " of Bards and Knights".

Arthur hail! to Britain dear:

Loud ye brazen trumpets blow.

Led by Thee, we cannot fear

Civil rage, or foreign foe. [" Flourish".

" Arth". No thanks, my gallant comrades! 'Tis no time

For verbiage now. We'll write our courtesies

Deep on the foemen's backs. Gwrtheyrnion falls.

My sword is out. The word is--Guenever.

[" They draw". " Flourish".

" Tal". Let the streaming banner fly.

Wave your flaming falchions high.

Guenever, and Victory!

" Cho". See the streaming banner fly.

See our falchions flaming high.

Guenever, and Victory!

" Lady". Go, friends of Virtue, Honour, Justice, Love!

Confirm your glory, and your worth approve.

To higher powers I now resign my care,

Then seek my sparry Grot and coral Chair.

Thee--fire-eye'd Seraph!--thee,

That, on thy saphir throne,

Among The Spheres,

With ever-wakeful ministry,

Brac'd in adamantine zone,

Mak'st sea-girt Albion's cause thy own--

Thee, whom the Warrior Host reveres!

Thee, whom the bleeding Battle fears!

On thee I call.

As oft thy guardian care hath spread

The shield of safety o'er the Patriot's head,

Bidding the iron tempest vainly fall,

Propitious now on Arthur smile,

And guard the warrior boast of Britain's isle.

From Foes uplifted mace, and Treason's secret thrall.

" Cho". Thee! whom the warrior host reveres--

Thee! whom the bleeding Battle fears--

On thee we call!

" Tal". Spread the fervour--spread the song,

Spread the martial flame along,

Rush to fight with loud acclaim;

Warm'd by that Seraphic Power

Who, high-enthron'd in empyrean bower,

Watchful for Albion, joys to wield

The sword of flame;

And the adamantine shield,

Amid'st the direful conflict, spreads

O'er the consecrated heads

Of chiefs devote to patriot fame.

" Chorus". Spread the fervour--spread the song--

Spread the martial flame along.

" Ar". Sound drums and trumpets.--Bid the martial fife

Pierce the charm'd ear of Valour. Sound the charge.

The cause is Freedom, Love, and Guenever!

" Chorus". Wave the falchion--couch the spear--

Blow the brazen trumpet, blow.--

Arthur leads: we cannot fear

Civil rage, or foreign foe.

" The " Lady of the Lake" descends, while " The

Knights march across the stage in order of attack,

amidst a flourish of martial instruments.

End of the Second Act

Act Iii. Scene I.

The inside of the Castle Gwrtheyrnion. Several servants

cross the stage; bearing boughs and strings of flowers,

dishes, Goblets, while I, with more inebriate wis-

dom, never fee dangers, but by reflection, on the out-

side of a goblet, or at the bottom of a well polished

tankard; where the convexity of the medium diminishes

their proportions and shrinks them into insignificance.

But away to your task. There is no time to lose.

And as Providence has blest thee with a fine lying face of

thy own, honour thy creator by making the most of it.

" Scout". Never fear me. Remember but your own

part as stoutly.

" Trist". Mine. Pho! my memory is on the edge of

my sword:--keen and durable. Do you but lie and

wriggle and intrigue through the first part of the busi-

ness--if I do not fight thro the other, may I never be

drunk again with the 'Squires of the Round Table. So

away to your quirks and your quibbles, and contrive to

give the princess Guenever an item of what is in agitation.

Remember--the lone tower is the place. You will find

my Sword and me at the draw bridge, at the time ap-

pointed. [" Exit " Scout.

In the mean time, as I am no dab at intrigue, I will

endeavour to kill time, till the time of killing arrives,

with some fool's sport among these scullions. [" Exit".

Scene Ii. The Servants, and the banquet heap

To feign'd Conciliation: nor suspect

What Fate and I determine. Vortigern!

Now feed thy soul voluptuous. Haste--prepare

To revel out thy last: for, even now,

The bowl is pregnant; and the ambrosial draught

Teems with thy fate matur'd. Soon--soon he quaffs--

Quaffs his last sleep profound. Then comes the crown

Of all my feverish hopes; and Arthur's hand

Lights up the flame in which my woes expire.

But, lo! the Banquet waits. I go to greet

At once the nuptial, and funereal treat.

Yet, ere on Frea's name I dare to call,

Descend ye handmaids of the shield-roof'd hall.

Sisters three, in fearful state,

Who at Valhalla's banquet wait,

Watching the nod

Of him, supreme, The Warrior God,

Who, midst the genial rite,

While blithe the amber goblet circles round,

Thro you, inflicts the destin'd wound,

And thins the ranks of fight!--

On you, who wait by Woden's side,

(The dastard's dread, the warrior's pride)

I call--

To hover round Gwrtheyrnion's hall,

And o'er the funeral--nuptial feast preside. [" Exit".

" Scene Iii\". " Enter " Tristram, armed with sword and

Target; The Seneschal, " and a " Sewer.

" Trist". And so we are to have feasting before fighting?

master Seneschal!

" Seneschal". Aye--and good reasons there be, master

Newcomer.

" Trist". Aye--I hope the Raisins are good, master

Seneschal, or they will make an ill part of the desert.

But, for reasons less eatable, which be they?

" Sen". They be three in number, master Newcomer.

" Trist". Hem!--Three!--But three is a favourite

number, I believe, among you Scandinavians.

" Sen". True, master Newcomer--and for good reason.

It is mystical and sacred. For example--there be three

sons of Ber (Woden, Vile, and Ve) who knock'd the

giant Ymer o' the head, created the world out of his

carcase, and set his brains a flying thro the air for clouds.

" Trist". Hum!--A hum! I can smell it. (" Aside".)--

A pretty piece of flesh, at this rate, your Ymer must

have been, master Seneschal.--And yet, upon second

thoughts, he was but a moody, muddy, addle-headed

sort of a giant, either; or his brains could not have

been converted to such a use.

" Sen". Then there be three Fatal Sisters.

" Trist". Aye--three Witches, as one might say, master

Seneschal! the eldest of which, by the way, is no

Witch, i'my way of thinking; for she only fortells

what is past: carrying her eyes behind her, as it were.

Strait forward she cannot see so far as her nose. And,

as for the second, (by your account of her) she has no

more foresight than a hare: and yet, she seems more in-

debted to her eyes than her understanding for her repu-

tation in the world. Her glances go, bolt shot, in all di-

rections, thro all impediments of space and matter: like

a lance thro a battered buckler. She can see all the ble-

mishes that a maid hides with her mantle, or a batchelor

under his gabardine, as plain as a carbuncle on a nose

of four inches; but as for how long the batchelor shall re-

main a batchelor, or the maid a maid, master Seneschal!--

" Sen". Why for that, master Newcomer, she refers you

to her younger sister. And this, by the way, brings me,

pat, to three other Sisters, of a very different description,

(not but they, also, have something to do with our des-

tinies, master Newcomer!) I mean the three smirking

damsels, that wait on The Propitious Goddess, to whom

the aforesaid maids and batchelors offer up their vows,

when they wish to be maids and batchelors no longer.

And then there be three Giants of Frost; three War-

hounds, that guard the Gates of Hela; and three Valky-

ries, that wait on the banquet of Woden, in Valhalla.

" Sewer". Very true, master Seneschal: but what has

all this to do with the reasons for our banquet?

" Sen". Why much, master Sewer:--much.

" Trist". Aye, very much, master Sewer: for a Ban-

quet is a Banquet, whether in Valhalla or Gwrtheyrnion:

Is it not? master Seneschal! There's affinity, for you,

imprimus. Then, in the second place--for we can find

three affinities, or similitudes, in this case, also--Can we

not? master Seneschal!--In the second place, a full sto-

mach is better than an empty one, in Gwrtheyrnion as well

as in Valhalla--Is it not, master Seneschal? There's af-

finity for you, again, or the devil's in it. And then, in

the third place, (which brings us to our point;) there are

three reasons for the banquet, in one place, as well as the

other--videlicit--there be victuals to eat--there be people

to eat them--and there is a place in which they may be

eaten. Which, also, may in three diverse ways be

stated--to wit, Imprimus, The passivity, or the victuals

eatable--the locality, or the place of eating--and the

agency, or the persons to eat. Secundo, The prompti-

tude, or or desire of eating--the aptitude, or convenience

of a place to eat in--and the plentitude, or abundance

of things eatable. Tertio, Yearning of the bowels, or

the hungering after--temptation to the eye, or the pre-

sence of the things whereafter we hunger--and ministra-

tion copulative; or the tables and benches, in the great

hall; whereby the parties are enabled to approximate, the

come-at-ability of the desired is facilitated, and the desirers

are fundamentally accommodated.

" Sen". Right! right! master Newcomer! Truly, for

all thou beest a Welchman, and I a Saxon, I desire thy

further acquaintance; for thou seemest learned in these

matters, and of an excellent wit.

" Sew". Why now, by your leave, master Seneschal, all

these be good reasons for banqueting at all times--but

they be no reasons for banqueting before battle.

" Sen". Short--short, master Sewer. If they be good

reasons for banqueting at all times, then be they good

reasons for banqueting before, as well as after.

" Sew". Aye; but the specific, master Seneschal! the

specific.

" Trist". Why the specifics be three, also, master Sewer.

Imprimus--there is fish to be eaten; and they are best

to be eaten fresh--Secundo, fighting is hard work; and

good eating and drinking minister to strength--Tertio, it

is thought best to eat first, lest a part of the guests should

get their bellies so full of fighting, as to have no appetite

left for any thing else.

" Sen". And, if these tripple reasons satisfy not the tender

conscience, there is yet behind, a reason omnipotent,

which is one and indivisible, namely, that The Fates

would have it so.

" Trist". The Fates! How so? master Seneschal.

" Sen". Why, to tell you a secret--our mistress has been

making a journey into hell.

" Trist". (" aside".) Aye, aye, to bespeak apartments I sup-

pose.--Hum!

" Sen". And, as she reports it, The Fatal Sisters or-

dered this banquet.

" Trist". Did they so? Faith I shall have a better opi-

nion of them, for the future, than I used to have.

" Sew". Aye, and so shall I. Od zookers! I cared not

if our Mistress went to hell every day, at this rate.

" Sen". It is necessary, it seems, that the reconciliation be-

tween her and the King should be thus celebrated; and

that, in token of their re-union, she should present him

with a Cup of her own mixing; as she did at their first

meeting; and then all is to go well.

" Sew". Good! master Seneschal. And yet our priests

will have it that it is not orthodox: because, in Valhalla,

Woden and his Monoheroes always fight first, and ban-

quet afterwards.

" Trist". Aye, aye!--they want one half of us to get

a quietus before the banquet, that there may be a double

share of the baked and boiled for them. But as for

those Monoheroes, I have a song about them: and, if the

harpers and trumpeters will bear me out with an accom-

paniment, I care not if I sing it to you.

O! your joys of Valhalla to me they are all mere

Greek, Sirs,

Where you fight till you are kill'd--

[Kill'd?--well: and what of that? If it were but once,

and away, one would not mind it--(&c. and there a little scratch; just thro

the scull to the chin; and there a head off, whisp!

--(&c. and both

the loser and the winner

Are cut up just like pork, ere they set them down

to dinner.

These, these are the joys of Valhalla!

Then for knives they use their swords, and for forks

they use their lances,

And their shields are turned to platters--

[Aye, leave them alone for good spacious trenchers.

Their hacking and hewing, and cutting and thrust-

ing, get them a good appetite, I'll warrant--A

chine of beef, a goose, and a turkey, are nothing

under a Monohero's doublet--and so

Their shields are turn'd to platters; and a thousand

such like fancies,

And a Death's head, for a goblet, their drink very much

enhances.

These, these are the joys of Valhalla!

Now your eating I have some, and your drinking

much delight in;

And I've no great objection to your tilting and

your fighting

[No, it shall be seen, by-and-by, that, sword and

target, cut and thrust, hack and hew, here a

head, and there a limb, (&c.

But as to getting drunk after being kill'd,--

Why, that I think, they're not right in.

Altho 'tis the joy of Valhalla!

Then their " modus bibendi" , to me, it is mightily

droll, Sirs--

And the scull of a foe, is a very strange sort of a

wassail-bowl, Sirs--

[o, lud! I'm all in the horrors to think of it.

Who the devil could set himself soberly to work

to get drunk, with a death's head in his hand? Be-

sides how the devil do they manage it?

For the scull of a foe is such a very strange sort of a

bowl, Sirs,

That I am very sure I should spill--out at either

eye-hole, Sirs,

Ere it got to my mouth in Valhalla!

Then give me still a banquet of your mere mortal cooking--

[Nay, no cooking at all--Radishes and raw turnips;

an apple, and an onion--or a good Welch leek

(&c.

And ere ale in a scull, I'll drink Adam's ale the brooke in:

And, if there's any other heaven I can find a fly nook in,

I'll be damn'd if I'll go to Valhalla!

[" Exeunt".

Scene Iv. A confused and tumultuous noise within.

Shrieks, and a cry for help.--A deep groan is heard.

Enter several guests " and " servants, flying, to and fro,

across the stage, in terror and astonishment.

Dirgeful music, from the Harps, within.

" Enter " Rowenna, " in a great agitation. " Edelthred.

Agga, &c. " following".

" Row". 'Tis done!--'Tis done!--The charm is bound:

Vortigern his sleep profound

Has quaft. (" A groan within." )

He dies! (" a groan." ) He dies! (" a groan".) He dies!

For this below (" with half-thaw'd eyes" )

Icy Hela, shouting, laught. (" Groan again".)

He dies! He dies!

To the Nine-fold Realm he hies--

Misty region!--cold, and dark!

Hark!

Grymer leads the tripple growl.

Now they open. Now they howl. (" Barking below".)

Hark! (" Barking" ) Hark! (" Barking" ) Hark!

Loud the ravening hell-dogs bark.

Fenrir shakes his chains below:

They yell!--the Giant Sons of Woe!--

And wide the creeking portals throw.

Hark!

Clank of chains, and growl, and bark

Hideous discord! (" Clank of chains" ) Hark! ( A deep

growl ) Hark! (" barking" ) Hark!

" Ed. Ag. &c". Hideous discord! Hark! hark! hark!

Accompaniments of barking, howling, and a sudden transition to soft and me-

lancholy music; principally of Harps and Flutes.

The body of Vortigern is carried across the stage,

accompanied by Courtiers, Domestics, Sol-

diers, &c. and to that

I still am true and loyal: making way,

By this predestin'd act, for happier rule,

And a more worthy master. Arthur's hand

Shall heal thy griefs, and mine--Heav'n-favour'd Isle!

And congregated Britain bless the deed.

Join, then, the chaunt to Frea. Frea now,

Propitious Goddess! may accept the vow;

To her, and Gna, swell soft the melting strains--

For theirs what yet of destiny remains.

Queen of Pleasures! Queen of Smiles!

Goddess of resistless wiles,

And Love's extatic glow!

Thou, who, erst, the golden tear

Shed'st o'er Balder's early bier,

And felt'st the touch of tender woe--

Propitious Goddess! hear.

" Ed.Ag.&c". Queen of Love's extatic glow--

Propitious Goddess! hear.

" Row". O! send the herald of thy will,

The throbbings of the heart to still,

And whisper Peace and Love!

The imperfect work of Fate complete,

Till sigh with sigh, responsive, meet:

O! first of genial powers above!

Propitious Goddess! hear.

" Ed. Ag.

And down the steep, to this our mid-way strand,

His shouting legion pours: their banner'd vans

Chiding, with fluttering speed, the buoyant air;

Like wings of eagles, when they downward rush

To pounce their shrieking prey.

" Row". Hang out the flag

Of friendly parley. This is welcome news.

The tyrant's death makes way for gentler warfare--

More mild arbitriment than flings and darts:

And this shall first be tried.

" Enter a second " Messenger.

" Messenger". Revolt! revolt!

Treason is in our walls; a treacherous band

Of lawless Britons, headed by the twain,

Who, with their proffer'd service, late arriv'd,

Have borne the Princess to the lonely tower,

By sudden inroad seiz'd, and now maintain'd

In Arthur's hostile name.

" Row". (" eagerly".) The lonely tower?

" Mes". The same that, circled by the deep-delv'd moat,

Stands insulated: less by tactic art,

Than by the never-ceasing spring, that laves

Its circular base, defended.

" Row". Fire the bridge!--

This news is welcome too. My fates prevail!

No weapons use but fire.--Propitious powers!

Ye faithful Fatal Sisters!--Shaft and fling

Were sacrilegious here; were impotent.

Fire, fire, I say. The first that brings me word

The turrets flame (be he the meanest drudge

That ever pioneer'd before a host)

Shall rank, for wealth and power, with Woden's line.

" Exeunt " Alw. " and " Mes.

Yes!
"My rival to confound,

"Fire and water shall surround--

"Ruthless flames, and waves profound!"

Sweet Hope my heart beguiles:

My bosom swells--my pulse beat high;

And softer heaves the fluttering sigh.

Propitious Frea smiles! " Exeunt".

Scene V. The outside of the Castle, situated half way

up the Beacons; at that part now occupied by the Lake

back ground. The Keep, or round Tower, appears

detached from the rest of the fortification; and sur-

rounded by a wide moat. The drawbridge, between it

and the Castle is drawn up; and Tristram and

Guenever are seen upon the Walls. The other

parts of the Castle are, also, defended by a moat; the

drawbridge being up. A perpetual shower of fire-

brands is discharged, from the Castle, upon the Keep.

Tristram (" hurling back the brands, as they are thrown".)

Fire for your fire, ye Salamanders! if that's your game.

But here comes one will fire you prettily; I'll warrant.

" Trumpet-chorus of " Bards " and " Knights, " as " Arthur,

" and his Train are entering."

Trumpets sounding, falchions flaming!

Rush, ye chiefs to glorious fight:

Fame, the while, your worth proclaiming

" Arth". Destraction!--See upon the keep (surpris'd

By Tristram's politic valour, to secure,

During our fierce assault, from chance of war,

Or worse internal treason, the fair prize

Of all our sleepless perils) what fierce shower

Of hellish engin'ry, incessant, hails,

Threat'ning a fate of horrors. Sound the trump--

The trump of parley.
Guenever!

" Guenever". Oh! heav'n!

Arthur! my lord! my hero!--in thy fight

O! cruel destiny!

" Arth". The trumpet sound. [" A parley sounded".

If maid, or child, or matron they would save

From retributive vengeance, let them cease

This war of fire;

(Rowenna, " attended by" Alwin, " and several " Saxon

" and" British Nobles,

And these my gallant knights, horribly smear'd

With your idolatrous blood, shall, o'er the heap

Of mingled wreck and carnage, wave their swords,

And shout "Extermination!"

" Row". Angry prince!

Why to our flag of conference answer you

With such ungentle outrage? Were we bent

On hostile fury, we have means within

To battle this gay phalanx; tho renown'd,

(As frankly we admit) for warlike deeds,

Thro all the peopled earth. But, in our hears,

The touch humane of cordial sympathy

Is now more vital than revengeful wrath

And national aversions; which too long

Have thin'd our rival tribes. Therefore we arm

Our tongues with gentle courtesies, not hands

With weapons of destruction; and invite

To equal brotherhood your warrior Knights--

Yourself, to equal empire.

" Arth". Empire, shar'd

With Vortigern and thee?

" Row". That Vortigern

No more presents a barrier to the hopes

Of Anglia and of Britain; cold he lies

Beneath the fresh-laid turf; and, with his sleep,

The bleeding realm is pacified.

" Arth". How?
How?

Did I then prophecy? Most murderous fiend!

Thy husband, and thy sovereign!

" Row". Why on me

(Injurious!) charge the sure decrees of Fate?

" Arth". Fate, that would deal in murders and in crimes,

Shall never want (while thou infest'st the earth)

A ready instrument. No more. Break off

The impious parle. The martial chorus raise;

And let our battering enginery upheap,

Of these polluted stones, a monument

To Britain's murder'd King: foul tho he were,

Of these, not meriting so foul an end.

" Cho". Trumpets sounding, falchions flaming,

Rush, ye Chiefs, to glorious fight

A Briton (" from the Walls".)

A while forbear!--For what do we contend?

For what deform the enamell'd turf of peace

With our unnatural slaughters? Arthur, hear--

Rowenna, and the undisputed crown

Of Britain and the auxilliar tribes of Elb,

Are thine, without a crime.

" Arth". Without a crime,

Vile Briton!--This from thee, whose King, even now

(Your own elected King!) in death lies low

By her abhor'd contrivance!--Without crime?

Is it no crime to league with Murder, then--

Domestic Murder, Witchcraft, and the rage

Of foul adultrous Lust, and all the swarm

Of most abhor'd pollutions, that combine

In her detested nature, and infect

The very air she breathes in?--making all

That come within thy atmosphere of crimes,

As hateful as thyself--thou, World of Sins!

Guilt's fair, yet foul epitome!

" Row". Ye Gods

Of Asgard and of Niflheim! is it thus

Ye cheat my hopes?

Yet, fair! He owns me fair!

That's something. And, perchance, when yonder witch

No more with philtering charms can drug the sense,

I may seem fair alone; and, rivalry

No more obtruding, the impassion'd touch

Of Nature's strong propension may subdue

This pride of ethic reason. The loos'd eye

Of youthful appetite, that, 'mong the forms

Of soft obstrusive beauty, somewhere must

Dwell with more ardent gaze, from mine, perchance,

May catch contagious fire; and Arthur yet

Light up the flame in which my woes expire. (" Aside".)

Why cease the brands, ye tardy ministers

Of our imperial mandate? Who again,

(Command who will) till yonder turrets flame,

Does in the fiery warfare but relax,

The pains of Treason wait him.

(" The assault on the Keep is renewed".)

Arthur ( who, during the foregoing soliloquy, had

conversed with Guenever, across the moat, in

dumb show.) Quick repeal

That hideous mandate; or, by utmost hell,

Whate'er of torment human wit can frame--

Whate'er of ignominy (torturous more

To thy imperious spirit) shall avenge

The damned deed.

What? ha! No respite? Fiends!

Sound--sound the trumpet. Peal the assailing hymn,

Ye bards, and rush to combat. (" The assault begins" ).

" Chorus". Trumpets sounding, falchions flaming,

Rush, ye chiefs! to glorious fight:

Fame, the while, your worth proclaiming,

Thro the nations wings her flight.

Rush to conquest! rush to glory!

Like the brave of ancient story.

Trumpets sounding, falchions flaming,

Rush to conquest--rush to glory!

" The " Bards join in the conflict. The drawbridge of the

Castle falls; and that of the Keep, together with the

Keep itself, is fired, at the same time. Shouts and

flourish, as of triumph, from both parties.

" Arth". The drawbridge falls. Assail! assail the gates.

Distraction!--Guenever!

" Guenever". Oh, Arthur! Arthur!

They reach--they scorch me. O, the flames! the flames!

" Arth". My arm avails not. Conquest is in vain!

Distraction! vengeance!--O, some vast revenge!

Some mighty ruin!--that the world might crack,

And Universal Nature, with her wreck,

Hood yon devouring flames!

" Row". The Phoenix burns!

And, from the odorous ruin, mine the love,

With renovated wing, shall soar aloft,

Gorgeous in natal triumph.
'Tis complete. (" Aside".)

Schulda, thanks! The charm is bound.

Now, my rival to confound,

Fire and water both surround.

Arthur's arm no help shall lend,

No mortal power the Maid befriend,

Nor aid from pitying heaven descend.

Schulda thanks! My doubts retire.

Arthur soon shall light the fire

In which my sorrows all expire.

" Arth". A brand! A brand! Hell-hag--thy prophecy

(Whatever juggling demon gave it shape)

Soon I fulfil. Tristram, a brand! a brand!

Tristram " throws several brands to " Arthur and

the Knights: Rowenna starts, with a terrific

shriek, as they seize, and brandish them on high.

" Row". Furies of Hela's shades! Is this the flame?

" Arth". Oh! Guenever! thus at thy funeral pyre,

I offer up thy hecatombs. Come on,

If not for preservation, we are arm'd

At least for vengeance. Hell-hag! thus I light

The fated flame in which thy woes expire.

He fires the Gates; and presently the whole castle ap

pears to be in flames, in the midst of which Rowenna

and her partizans sink. In the mean time, the flames

make a more feeble progress in the Keep; where

Guenever " and " Tristram " stand".

Air " and" chorus " of unseen Spirts".

She shrieks!--She dies!--Our mistress dies!

Spirits--Spirits!--haste away:

Scatter thro the lurid skies.

Asi's Gods in pow'r decay.

Demon Gods confess, with fear,

Their fated twilight hovering near.

" Ar". Vengeance! thy dues are paid. But Love! O, Love!

Hast thou no interest at The Mercy Seat?--

Nor suffering Innocence?
My Guenever!

(" She disappears and " Tristram " follows".)

Oh! torment!
torment! Thus, before mine eyes!--

Not even the wretched privilege resev'd

To perish with her--in one dear embrace

Forget the searching fury of the flames,

And mix our wedded ashes! Might one not,

Of desperate resolution, make a bridge

Enough substantial for a lover's weight,

Buoy'd by such dire extremity? At least,

We'll try the hazard. Ho! for Guenever!

[ He runs towards the moat, which he is about to leap;

when suddenly the whole pile of building, Castle and

Keep together, and all the ground they occupied, sink

down. The space becomes filled by a pool of Water.

In the place where the round tower stood, The Lady

of the Lake " appears in her chariot, with " Guen-

ever " seated by her side, and " Tristram" behind".

" The Chariot and, gaze my thanks,

And, in the precious gift, the giver prize.

" Tali". Trumpet's clangors, Arms that rattle,

Dreadful thro the bleeding battle,

Now, a while,

For kindling Beauty's roseate smile--

Soothing softness! we forego.

Haste Thee, Love! the wreath bestow.

Witching smile

And sportive wile

That sense of wearied worth beguile;

And Stelth, that love's coy nectar sips;

And tilt and toy of parrying lips;

Eyes that swim; and hearts that glow;

And parly with the yielding foe;--

These, for laurels, Love! bestow;

And we again will fight thy battle.

" Bard". Haste thee, Boy! But wing thy arrows

With the dove's plume; not the sparrow's:

Turtle, that, in thickest grove,

Guards the nest of absent love.

And still, as Valour's meed, dispense

Beauty, Truth, and Innocence.

So, when storms of danger rattle,

We again will fight thy battle.

" Chorus". Beauty, Truth, and Innocence

Still, as Valour's meed dispense;

And, when storms of danger rattle,

Valour's sons shall fight thy battle.

" Lady". But see below, how from the misty vale

The day retires, and twilight shades prevail.

Soon shall those shadows up the mountain spread,

And Night involve Farinioch's peaky head.

One thing remains: to wast my chosen son

To Car Leon: then my talk is done.

There Britain's chiefs assembled, even now,

Prepare the regal fillet for thy brow.

Ye sightless agents of the charmed air!

Sustain our weight. Behold: for we are there.

Scene VI. She waves her silver Trident, and the

scene changes to Caer-Leon, in all its fabled grandeur;

splendidly illuminated, and decorated with martial

trophies, banners, wreaths, and braids of flowers,

and other sumptuous preparations for the coronation of

Arthur. Nobles, Bards, Ladies, Youths,

" and " Maidens " with baskets of Flowers, " Maskers,

Revellers, and the

Chiefs,

And cherish the Low, while you rule o'er the great;

So the bard, yet unborn, shall your triumphs proclaim,

And the nations around thus re-echo your Fame--

"Hail Britain's pride! immortal Arthur, hail!

"Your honour, name, and praise shall never fail."

" Chorus". Hail Britain's pride! and smiling Beauty,

With our laurel twines the rose.

" A Dance of Virgins who crown " Arthur and his

Knights" with chaplets."

" Chorus". Love and Glory, thus uniting,

All their mingled boons confer.

Arthur, lo! thy worth requiting,

Empire, Fame, and Guenever.

" Lady". Now, my talk perform'd, I fly

To my secret bowers, that lie

Where the Day-Star never came,

Peering Fleering,

With his searching eye of flame.

There, in virgin state, I rove

Thro' sparry dome, and coral grove,

Self-illum'd with many a Gem

Might grace a monarch's diadem.

" Response below, as the Chariot rises".

Lady! Lady! haste to rove

Thro' sparry dome and coral grove.

See your Swans their traces shake,

Regent of the silver lake!

" Lady". There, where bubbling fonts arise

And the blue-eye'd Naides

Thro the chinks, in many a rill,

Tinkling Sprinkling,

Their salubrius boons distill--

There I join the virgin throng,

Warbling oft the choral song

That brooks and echoing falls repeat,

To Fancy's ear, in numbers sweet.

" Response of Nymphs below".

Lady! Lady! haste along:

Join the Choir, and join the song;

Gurgling--tinkling,

Murmuring--sprinkling,

Sadly sweet, the rocks among.

" Lady, as she seats herself in the Chariot".

Sisters, I the call obey,

Seek the Grot, and join the lay;

Murmuring--tinkling,

Bubbing--sprinkling,

Where the chrystal fountains,

From their mountains,

Gushing--Rushing,

To their vallies haste away.

Talliessin.

May those fountains, Lady kind!

Still their wonted channels find,

Nor ever water-nymph neglect

The silent tribute of respect,

But, thro many a secret vein,

Still the purer essence strain,

And thy mystic urn supply;

Never turbid, never dry:--

Urn so pure, that Lunvey's tide,

Thro its waters doom'd to glide,

Silent, with unmingling wave,

Hastes the wooddy glen to lave,

And there, to list'ning groves, complains

Of Love o'erawed, and stifled pains;

With virgin beauties aye embrac'd

Which yet he must not hope to taste.

May ever on thy brink appear

The earliest fragrance of the year,

And lingering Autumn in thy face

Reflected see his latest grace;

While still, as circling hours prevail,

The matin Lark and Nightingale

The song of lengthen'd rapture wake

To hail the Lady of the Lake.

Chorus.

Blow the martial trump again,

Give to Fame the closing strain--

Fame, that shall her wreaths confer

On Arthur and on Guenever;

And bid her loudest clarion wake,

To hail the Lady of the Lake.

The Curtain Drops.