Britain ... - Blue-Lite

28 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act II.
Which to the Earl, though I know not its language,
Will silently confirm, past doubt, my tale.
'Tis Wilford's Edgar's
ELFILIA.
letter ! Lost for ever !
O Albert, with compassion hear my prayers ;
And if indeed thou know'st what 'tis to love,
In pity to a maiden's weakness hide
Our hapless passion from the haughty Earl.
Prostrate I fall before thee. O, respect
My tears, my agonies. Restore that letter.
ALBERT.
Swear, then, on bended knee, to be my wife ;
Swear by all holy things
Eternal powers !
ELFILIA.
To be thy wife ?
where shall I turn for hope ?
Woe comes on woe, the surges of despair
Rush o'er my sinking soul, and I must perish
If thou refuse to save. Albert, my fate
Is in thy hands ; on thee I call for mercy,
Mercy from him who has declared he loves me.
Canst thou behold these tears thy feet bedew,
Yet not relent ? Is there no spark of pity
In thy stern soul ? Wouldst thou accept the hand
Of her, whose breaking heart is far estranged
From all thy joys and cares ?
Though
ALBERT.
Then let revenge,
it should in this bosom wake a hell
Of after anguish, yield a transient joy
Thy wilfulness denies. (Horns and hunters very near.)
They come, proud maid,
Famed Cornwall's Duke, and Devon's imperious lord !