Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 45
GONDABERT.
In horrid dreams and visions of the night,
That o'er me fling the torments of the damned !
RODERICK.
Pshaw ! 'tis thy fancy, Thane. Oft have I wiped
The blood of men from this keen dagger's blade ;
Yet sleep I soundly when the night-storm howls,
As the strong eagle on her mountain-perch.
GONDABERT.
Long years have passed away since the fierce Danes
Destroyed that brother, whom my soul abhorred.
The grave hath safely cradled, too, those brats.
But there is yet one act, brave Roderick, which
Thou must perform, and ever bind me fast
To thee in gratitude.
RODERICK.
Name it, my lord.
But let me say that gratitude is oft
A poor rewarder. Like gold-feathered birds,
That sit and warble while we stand aloof,
But, if approached, soar quickly on the wing,
Are most men's promises, made in their need.
A dangerous service claims a better gift
Than soft lack-money words.
GONDABERT.
What ! would this slave
Claim half my Earldom ?
(aside.) Do but this one act,
And I will heap rewards upon thy head
Beyond thine utmost wishes. Dost thou know
A female slave o' th' borders of the moor,
Much noted for her beauty ?
RODERICK.
What,
Elfilia ?
I've heard our band commend her comely looks.