Britain ... - Blue-Lite

190 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act III,
ERMINGILD.
Blasphemer, silence ! I a mother am,
And glory in my vow. He hath the streams
Of being from this bosom drank, and in
These arms reposed, while o'er his slumbers I
Have watched the midnight hours with all the love
That fondest mothers feel. I proudly nursed
The rose-lipped boy to manhood, till he grew
An offering worthy of the gods ;
and now,
Without a sigh, I yield the loved one up.
ELGITHA.
Heaven will crush thee !
Pagan, the ban of angry
Come, Waldimar, leave thou this impious woman,
Whose vow, like a dark incubus, hath hung
On thy young days, and made life thy a curse.
Awake !
and fling the hideous demon off;
The night is past, and a new morning dawns.
ERMINGILD.
Come with thy mother, come, and be a god !
O stay, my Waldimar, go
ELGITHA.
not from hence !
Save me, O save me from the last despair,
From maniac frenzy ! save thyself, or smite,
Smite thy Elgitha dead !
Here let me fall,
Fall at thy feet, bathed in my gushing blood, *
That I may not behold thy fearful doom.
ERMINGILD.
Now, Waldimar, list to my awful charge :
A mother, by her blessing and her curse ;
By that dread Being whose thou art, and who
Waits for thee on dim Vodalv's stormy rock ;
By the deep thunder of that voice which calls