Britain ... - Blue-Lite

204 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act IV
O, who would live, that hath one spark of honour,
A few short years, and, like an ill-told tale,
Perish from all men's memories ! Or like some,
Who waste in foamy wrath their little hour
Without one noble act, and are at last
But as a wintry torrent, mountain-born,
Which swells in thunder o'er its barrier rocks,
And when the summer comes is heard no more,
Leaving its naked channel dry and dusty !
Such shall not be my course, for I will do
Imperial actions, which the tuneful Scalds
Who throng my court shall to the end of time
Transmit with 27
glory. ( ) [Exeunt.
SCENE II. A Hall in the House of Zandagast.
Enter Zandagast, Ermingild, and Waldimar.
ZANDAGAST.
The hour is come, my son, that we must part.
These tears gush forth so fast, they misbeseem
A true Sclavonian soldier. Thou hast been,
Through thy few years, all dutiful and good ;
Yet now, wert thou to die a warlike death,
Die by the sword of man upon thy foe,
I would not with a tear thy grave bedew.
But to behold thee, with that noble form,
Led forth to be a victim, self-destroyed,
Tempts me to curse thy mother's fatal vow.
ERMINGILD.
Speak not like an apostate from thy faith.
With all a mother's fond, unbounded love,
With all the reverence of deep worship paid