Britain ... - Blue-Lite

282 THE VARANGIAN. [Act I.
Slaves, cut-throats, vagabonds, and arrant thieves,
In numbers to him flock.
KING.
Thou, Lanfranc, hear'st
How these thy faithful Saxons merit grace.
LANFRAXC.
O, heed thou not, it only claims thy scorn ;
For on the red plain
lies Rebellion low,
And these are but the last faint, feeble throbs
Of its death-wounded heart, the murmuring swell
And heavings of the surge when dark the storm
Hath passed away, and all is hushed above.
Restore the exile to his soul-loved home,
And those fierce spirits of despair no more
Shall wander forth for vengeance ;
but repose
In grateful peace, and all their future deeds
The blessed fruits of sweet obedience yield ;
As the deep-roaring cataracts many streams,
When past their barrier rocks, forget to chafe,
And onward in united calmness flow,
Sweetly and silently reflecting heaven,
Like the pure heart of virtue.
ivo.
I have yet
Great news, which must be to your Highness told.
Brief be thou, then.
KING.
ivo.
Ay, good my royal sire.
I hate the ways of many, who will load
A tale, that should be uttered in a breath,
With countless words, with pauses and loud hems,
And repetitions endless. Tales should be