Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene I.]
THE ENGLISH SLAVE.
In sweet forgetfulness, than here to dwell
Hopeless of every joy.
Think'st thou that I, in whose veins flow the blood
Of Denmark's bravest sea-kings,
I who oft
Undaunted at the elm have stood, when all
The deep its mountains hurled against the heavens,
That thundered back their wrath, who on the deck
Have fought unfearingly, and seen that deep
Red with the life-stream of the battle-slain,
That I will shrink from death ?
GONDABERT.
Bright ocean-queen,
That sounds like spirit, and it charms me more
Than all the softness which the softest maid
Could breathe in my fond ear. Yet think how dreadful
To meet cold-blooded Murder in thy path,
And see his poniard, gleaming to the moon,
Against thy shieldless bosom. Scorn me not.
Already doth the stern Avenger whet
His two-edged sword to go forth and destroy :
One wild, dread shriek o'er all the land will rise,
Piercing the clouds that hang upon the night,
And every threshold shall be steeped in blood !
EVANDA.
Thy words have a dark meaning
GONDABERT.
Death on St. Brice's Eve to every Dane !
They breathe death,
There's not an Englishman but is prepared
To do the King's command. Wilt thou refuse
To fly to the protection of these arms ?
No power but love can stay thy threatened doom.