Britain ... - Blue-Lite

84 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act V.
I wear a brow of pride ; yet to their will
Am the most abject
slave. Remorse is vain,
For I must deeper plunge my soul in blood,
Or shame will pluck my robe of honour off,
And I in naked infamy shall stand
The scorn of Heaven and mockery of mankind !
O, Edgar, Edgar ! where art thou, my
son ?
A thousand fears for thee now rack my heart.
Enter Elfilia, her garments torn, her hair dishevelled,
and her manner altogether wild. Gondabert starts.
What fearful vision from the shades below
Art thou, that hell and night have conjured up
To fling new horrors round me ? Speak ! Who art thou ?
Elfilia.
ELFILIA.
GONDABERT.
Open earth, and hide me deep,
Deep in thy centre, from the awful sight
Of that appalling spectre.
ELFILIA.
Nay, my lord,
I am no spectre, but a wretched maid,
Who, braving every danger, dares to rush
Before thee, and on bended knees entreat
Compassion for thy son, thy noble Edgar.
GONDABERT.
Does she then live ? Oh, how have I been fooled !
ELFILIA.
Thine Edgar is a captive to the Danes,
And doomed to die on Odin^s gore-stained altar !
[Gondabert hides his face in agony with
both hands.