Britain ... - Blue-Lite

360 THE VARANGIAN. [Act III.
Enter Hereward in splendid armour. Shouts and
cries of Hereward ! Hereward !
HEREWARD.
Fill me a fill it !
goblet, higher yet
My soul outflows with joy to meet you here,
All friends and brothers, though of different blood.
England to thee prosperity ! but death,
Death to thy proudest foes ! [Drinks.
WALTHEOF (aside.)
Why
what are these
Who here have met together ? I begin
To doubt some hidden treason. No ; the wine,
The wine hath heated these proud Norman lords,
And now they utter what in cooler hours
They deep would blush to own. Or is it all
A plot, the unwary Saxons to ?
destroy
ABBOT.
Welcome, brave Hereward, to our banquet-halls.
Star of our Saxon chivalry, that comest
In all thy brightness from the eastern climes,
To shed the glory of thy wide renown
O'er these dark isles o 1
Thrice and again we hail thee !
th' West, thy native land,
lifting high
Our ruddy wine-cup to thine honoured fame.
Ne'er yet hath he, the self-styled Conqueror, made
Thee bow in homage to his sceptre-sword ;
And therefore thy untarnished lustre shines
Amid our darkness, like a track of glory
Lingering among pale twilight's sullen clouds.
HEREWARD.
Good my Lord Abbot, give me leave to hope
A splendid dawn of glory draweth nigh,