Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene III.]
THE ENGLISH SLAVE.
The fairest rose of Denmark. 'Tis not meet
That sadness o'er thy brow of sunny beauty
Should fling one passing cloud, when I, returned
Triumphant to these towers, with eager hope
Claim the glad spousal rites. What cause for grief ?
EVANDA.
Canst thou, proud victor, question me the cause
Of this deep sadness ? Know, then, 'tis thyself !
Thou art the cause of all this heart endures,
And must endure long as thou keep'st me here.
I am a woman, and the sacred laws
13 Of honour and of knighthood bid thee yield ( )
Evanda to her country, home, and friends.
Think of my sufferings, and from hence permit
Thy captive to go free. Saxon renowned,
Act still the hero, still be nobly great
In mercy as in arms, and thou shalt win
A brighter wreath than garlands dyed in blood.
GONDABERT.
That night which on Devonians southern coast
The Saxon arms with glorious conquest crowned,
I waded deep in streams of Danish blood,
And hewed a passage through the pagan ranks
To where thou mid the war's harsh thunder stood'st,
Like a bright sunbeam on the stormy sea.
And shall I yield my sword-won captive up,
When love imperiously demands her stay ?
No, this strong arm, which thro' that death-strewed field
Unfearingly o'er chiefs and ocean-kings,
Rolled in their blood, did bear thee, shall ere long,
Beloved Evanda, lead thee to the altar.
Saxon, forbear ! Though
EVANDA.
now on fortune's sea