Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 57
I am.
ALBERT.
ROGVALLA.
Why, Christian fool, art thou life-wearied grown ?
And is thy lot so dark, that not one gleam
Of hope beams on thee ?
ALBERT.
No ; though dark it be,
Yet through the storm a straggling beam of glory
Breaks brightly on me.
ROGVALLA.
Soon will it be quenched
In total darkness. We no mercy show
To a vile Saxon, who bows not to earth
And cries, Hail ! my
lord Dane. 33
( )
ALBERT.
I will not bow
To earth before the proudest of you here,
Nor lick the blood-stained dust from off your feet.
[Cathimar and Ivor half unsheathe their swords.
I laugh your swords to scorn Give me a lance,
And I will make the stoutest warman here,
Who dares this iron-sinewed arm to meet
In equal combat, humbly kiss the ground
Beneath my feet.
ROGVALLA.
Thou vaunfst right boldly, slave.
ALBERT.
Slave in thy teeth ! I am as free as thou,
A sea-king born, to wander where I list.
As boldly as my tongue hath dared to speak,
This arm, doubt not, shall act.