Britain ... - Blue-Lite

THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act IV.
CATHIMAR.
Ha, Saxons ! Ay, and beauty, too !
That is my prize. Part them, they meet no more.
Thou art of noble birth (to Edgar). To-morrow is
Great Odin's festival, and thou shalt be
A sacrifice meet for our battle-god ;
An offering of revenge to the brave spirit
Of every Dane that falls by Saxon guile.
ELFILIA.
O, Edgar, Edgar !
EDGAR.
Till we shall meet in heaven.
Farewell, dear Elfilia,
[Exeunt Edgar and Elfilia, hurried off separately.
SCENE IV. A Hall in the Castle of Lydford, with a
lofty window, reaching nearly to the ground, and
partly open.
Enter Gondabert.
GONDABERT.
Vile shame be on thee, Edgar ! I'm disgraced
For ever with the haughty Duke of Cornwall.
But thou, though fled, that bondmaid ne'er on earth
shalt meet.
Again
The storms are
past, and from the parted clouds,
Wooed by the nightingale, comes forth the moon,
Shedding her soft light o'er the quiet world.
Hide thee, sweet star : how ill thy presence suits
The dark scene swift approaching. Hark ! I hear
The sharpening of the instruments of slaughter :
It makes my blood flow cold ! [Looks out of the window.
Lydford, thy streets