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42 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act III.
By that tremendous oath do I now swear,
The hour thou wedd'st a slave shall see this sword
Plunged in thy father's heart ! and on thy head
His reeking blood shall rest.
EDGAR.
O, horror ! horror !
[Edgar staggers back, and leans against a pillar
speechless. A pause.
GONDABERT.
Come, Edgar come, my gallant, noble son,
Take courage to thine aid : like a true hero,
Stir up a manly spirit to quell thyself.
Thy spring-tide virtues have borne richest flowers ;
Let not this spell-wrought passion blast their promise,
And they shall ripen into glorious fruit,
That time will make immortal. Let my prayers
Win back thy soul to honour, and the blessing
Of a fond parent rest upon thy head.
EDGAR.
O, what a struggle duty and affection
Wage
in this troubled heart !
Shall I prove faithless to my gentle maid ?
My life, Elfilia, is bound up in thine.
GONDABERT.
And dost thou still
prefer
that low-born slave
To fame, to honour, and thy father's life ?
Hence from my sight, thou bastard to my blood !
once my son,
I sicken to behold thee ;
Now mine no more for ever ! [Exit.
EDGAR.
They
No, Elfilia,
shall not tear thee from these faithful arms !
And yet to steep my bridal bed in blood,