ACT I. SCENE I.
A Stately Appartment in one of the Palaces of V ORTIGERN .
R OWENNA reclining in a disconsolate attitude.
E DELTHRED , A GGA , and other Attendants sleeping.
CHORUS OF INVISIBLE SPIRITS .
R OWENNA rise! Thy beauteous eyes
From clouds of sorrow clear;
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, &c. Sem. cho.
For thee Valhalla's halls are mute;
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 Runnic spell. Each woe repel,
And dry the falling tear.
R OWENNA ( 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 same.
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 shali pierce. These feet again shall thrid
The abodes of Hela. Rise, ye ministering maids,
Shake from your slothful lids the charmed sleep,
And do your wakeful service.
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
My spells can give sweet slumber; from my lids
While restless Anguish drives the balmy Sylph,
Or Mara from some brief imperfect dream
Wakes me, delirious, on her phantom'd forms
To gaze with powerless 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 ensold 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 same. 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;
Groans from its rustling folds resound,
And hissing serpents fringe it round.
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 third
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 A LWIN .
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, engor'd with treacherous wound
The else-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 stain'd 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 incestuous 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.
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 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 superior 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 of ordain.
Row. We will enquire.
And for such purpose in The Secret Grove
Chaunt 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 task
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!
A Stately Appartment in one of the Palaces of V ORTIGERN .
R OWENNA reclining in a disconsolate attitude.
E DELTHRED , A GGA , and other Attendants sleeping.
CHORUS OF INVISIBLE SPIRITS .
R OWENNA rise! Thy beauteous eyes
From clouds of sorrow clear;
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, &c. Sem. cho.
For thee Valhalla's halls are mute;
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 Runnic spell. Each woe repel,
And dry the falling tear.
R OWENNA ( 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 same.
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 shali pierce. These feet again shall thrid
The abodes of Hela. Rise, ye ministering maids,
Shake from your slothful lids the charmed sleep,
And do your wakeful service.
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
My spells can give sweet slumber; from my lids
While restless Anguish drives the balmy Sylph,
Or Mara from some brief imperfect dream
Wakes me, delirious, on her phantom'd forms
To gaze with powerless 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 ensold 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 same. 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;
Groans from its rustling folds resound,
And hissing serpents fringe it round.
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 third
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 A LWIN .
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, engor'd with treacherous wound
The else-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 stain'd 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 incestuous 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.
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 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 superior 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 of ordain.
Row. We will enquire.
And for such purpose in The Secret Grove
Chaunt 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 task
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!