Enter HAROLD.
Canutus sends to Edmund friendly greeting.
EDMUND.
I thank his courtesy. What wills he now?
HAROLD.
Thus saith the King: Too long has surly war,
Stern foe to social ties and gentle virtues,
Enslav'd and ravag'd this once fertile land;
'Tis time, at length, to give the mourner rest. — —
EDMUND.
Ill fare the wretch, whose curs'd ambition caused
This dire distress! Repay him Heaven with blood!
Dane, tell thy Lord to leave hypocrisy,
Nor mourn the evils, that from him proceed.
HAROLD.
To the rude bands, that form the throng of war,
It nought avails, who guides the reins of power,
So he, that holds them, bear an even hand.
Thou must confess the virtues of Canutus. — —
EDMUND.
Designs your King to talk away my Crown?
Or thinks he, aliens feel for England's woes,
More deep than English Kings? I mourn her sufferings;
But will not yield her to the Lordly Dane,
Whilst vigour nerves my arm. If your Canutus
So deeply mourns this waste of Christian blood,
Let him stand forth: I'll meet him breast to breast,
And fight for Life and Empire.
HAROLD.
Hear me, Prince:
'Tis for this awful purpose I am come.
True valour triumphs in my master's soul;
He will not shade his palms with treachery.
" Ashdown, he cries, shall never give me England,
" But I will win her, as an hero ought,
" From her brave King, before I call her mine. "
The day, the place of fight, by thee appointed,
And just conditions sworn to. He proposes
By single combat to decide the chance,
What King shall reign o'er Britain.
EDMUND.
Let the time
Be now; the place, the midst of yonder plain:
Round let our adverse hosts in order stand,
And patient wait the issue. Tell your King,
I praise his worth. Say, if beneath his arm,
Lifeless, I fall, 'twill be some consolation
To think a hero will receive my Crown.
HAROLD.
Thy brave resolve, Canutus will applaud:
For much that Monarch honors kindred worth,
Nor will he yield the prize of hardihood
Without a contest fearful.
EDMUND.
It is well.
'Tis painful musing now, — 'twill soon be tumult,
And then to live a King, or die a Hero.
What if, within an hour, these active limbs,
Bath'd in the icy dews of death, shall lie
At Denmark's feet, the soul can ne'er be vanquish'd.
Impassive it defies the mortal spear,
And soars triumphant from the well-fought field,
Bequeathing peace to England. Should the Dane
Become a tyrant, — scourge her with oppression;
But the kind grave will then close up my ear:
Nor can her agonizing groans disturb
My tranquil sleep.
KENELM.
Why, my beloved Master!
Distrust thy soldiers, and refuse with them
To share the fame and danger?
EDMUND.
Not distrust,
But admiration of their oft-tried faith,
Impels me to this peril. Let me perish,
Rather than see those loyal bosoms gor'd
Again in my behalf.
Canutus sends to Edmund friendly greeting.
EDMUND.
I thank his courtesy. What wills he now?
HAROLD.
Thus saith the King: Too long has surly war,
Stern foe to social ties and gentle virtues,
Enslav'd and ravag'd this once fertile land;
'Tis time, at length, to give the mourner rest. — —
EDMUND.
Ill fare the wretch, whose curs'd ambition caused
This dire distress! Repay him Heaven with blood!
Dane, tell thy Lord to leave hypocrisy,
Nor mourn the evils, that from him proceed.
HAROLD.
To the rude bands, that form the throng of war,
It nought avails, who guides the reins of power,
So he, that holds them, bear an even hand.
Thou must confess the virtues of Canutus. — —
EDMUND.
Designs your King to talk away my Crown?
Or thinks he, aliens feel for England's woes,
More deep than English Kings? I mourn her sufferings;
But will not yield her to the Lordly Dane,
Whilst vigour nerves my arm. If your Canutus
So deeply mourns this waste of Christian blood,
Let him stand forth: I'll meet him breast to breast,
And fight for Life and Empire.
HAROLD.
Hear me, Prince:
'Tis for this awful purpose I am come.
True valour triumphs in my master's soul;
He will not shade his palms with treachery.
" Ashdown, he cries, shall never give me England,
" But I will win her, as an hero ought,
" From her brave King, before I call her mine. "
The day, the place of fight, by thee appointed,
And just conditions sworn to. He proposes
By single combat to decide the chance,
What King shall reign o'er Britain.
EDMUND.
Let the time
Be now; the place, the midst of yonder plain:
Round let our adverse hosts in order stand,
And patient wait the issue. Tell your King,
I praise his worth. Say, if beneath his arm,
Lifeless, I fall, 'twill be some consolation
To think a hero will receive my Crown.
HAROLD.
Thy brave resolve, Canutus will applaud:
For much that Monarch honors kindred worth,
Nor will he yield the prize of hardihood
Without a contest fearful.
EDMUND.
It is well.
'Tis painful musing now, — 'twill soon be tumult,
And then to live a King, or die a Hero.
What if, within an hour, these active limbs,
Bath'd in the icy dews of death, shall lie
At Denmark's feet, the soul can ne'er be vanquish'd.
Impassive it defies the mortal spear,
And soars triumphant from the well-fought field,
Bequeathing peace to England. Should the Dane
Become a tyrant, — scourge her with oppression;
But the kind grave will then close up my ear:
Nor can her agonizing groans disturb
My tranquil sleep.
KENELM.
Why, my beloved Master!
Distrust thy soldiers, and refuse with them
To share the fame and danger?
EDMUND.
Not distrust,
But admiration of their oft-tried faith,
Impels me to this peril. Let me perish,
Rather than see those loyal bosoms gor'd
Again in my behalf.