Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene I.] THE VARANGIAN. 393
EDGAIl.
We come, stern Duke of Normandy, to claim
Our regal birthright, which full well know'st thou
Descends to us from an illustrious line
Of England's warlike kings. Too long have we
Of our imperial honours been deprived
By thy overmastering power. There is our gage
To prove thy proud gainstanding we defy,
And God defend our right !
KING.
Warriors of England !
Sons of the shield and spear ! backed with a host
That doubles your amount, encompassed round
With gallant Barons each himself a host,
Ye cannot count that I do fear to make
The sword the arbiter of Edgar's claims.
We therefore, ere that bright decider flash
In lightning from its scabbard, proffer peace
To all who will yon rebel standard quit.
[Shouts of defiancefrom the Saxon Soldiers.
A moment's pause. Ours are no idle words.
Soldiers, behold your leader ! Gentle boy,
Whose form, and bearing, and mild manners well
Become the love-bower of some amorous maid,
But ill befit the battle's bloody strife,
Whose brows with more beseeming grace would wear
The cowl of monk than England's helmet crown.
Is he, unworshipped boy, a chief to lead
Brave Saxons to the field, who ever from
The red right hand of War receive the wreath
Of victory,
or an honourable death ?
Is he a King to sit on England's throne,
And guard her from the legions of the North,