Britain ... - Blue-Lite

z THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V.
CATHIMAE.
Wouldst thou stir up the princely lion's rage
With thy whelp-bayings ? Hence ! ere I put forth
My foot and trample thee, earth-crawling vermin.
ALBERT.
Thou shag-eared wolfs-cub of the north thou Dane !
Ill make thee howl for mercy. This good sword.
Now girt upon my thigh, shall prove my manhood.
ELFILIA.
[ They fight,
brave Albert's brand
Angel of victory ! guide
Home to the ruffian's heart. Alas ! he falls.
and exeunt.
Now, now he rises with redoubled strength ;
His sword hath cleft the Danesman's crashing helm.
Oh, what a sight ! I cannot look again.
Yet, now I do bethink me, Albert may
Retard my eager feet. I dare not tarry
To thank him for deliverance. [Going.
Enter Albert, wounded, with Cathimar's sword bloody.
ALBERT.
Stay, Elfilia,
Let me the pirate's sword lay at thy feet
Red with my blood the first, and ah ! the last
Proud trophy of my arm.
Art wounded e'en to death.
ELFILIA.
Dear Albert, thou
ALBERT.
And am I dear
To thee, Elfilia ? Oh, that one kind word
Soothes my departing spirit.
Sweet Elfilia,
Forgive, forgive the past, and let my blood