Fairy of the Lake, The - Scene 5
Scene V .
Fire for your fire, ye Salamanders! if that's your game.
But here comes one will fire you prettily; I'll warrant.
Trumpets sounding, falchions flaming!
Rush, ye chiefs to glorious fight:
Fame, the while, your worth proclaiming — —
Arth. Destraction! — See upon the keep (surpris'd
By Tristram's politic valour, to secure,
During our fierce assault, from chance of war,
Or worse internal treason, the fair prize
Of all our sleepless perils) what fierce shower
Of hellish engin'ry, incessant, hails,
Threat'ning a fate of horrors. Sound the trump —
The trump of parley. — Guenever!
Guenever . Oh! heav'n!
Arthur! my lord! my hero! — in thy sight — —
O! cruel destiny!
Arth. The trumpet sound.
If maid, or child, or matron they would save
From retributive vengeance, let them cease
This war of fire;
or, by the Eternal Truth,
Whom my soul worships! soon Gwrtheyrnion's walls,
Prostrate on earth, shall form one common tomb
For every Saxon thing that breathes within;
And these my gallant knights, horribly smear'd
With your idolatrous blood, shall, o'er the heap
Of mingled wreck and earnage, wave their swords,
And shout " Extermination! "
Row . Angry prince!
Why to our flag of conference answer you
With such ungentle outrage? Were we bent
On hostile fury, we have means within
To baffle this gay phalanx; tho renown'd,
(As frankly we admit) for warlike deeds,
Thro all the peopled earth. But, in our hearts,
The touch humane of cordial sympathy
Is now more vital than revengeful wrath
And national aversions; which too long
Have thin'd our rival tribes. Therefore we arm
Our tongues with gentle courtesies, not hands
With weapons of destruction; and invite
To equal brotherhood your warrior Knights —
Yourself, to equal empire.
Arth . Empire, shar'd
With Vortigern and thee?
Row . That Vortigerr
No more presents a barrier to the hopes
Of Anglia and of Britain: cold he lies
Beneath the fresh-laid turf; and, with his sleep,
The bleeding realm is pacified.
Arth . How? — How? —
Did I then prophecy? Most murderous fiend!
Thy husband, and thy sovereign!
Row . Why on me
(Injurious!) charge the sure decrees of Fate?
Arth . Fate, that would deal in murders and in crimes,
Shall never want (while thou infest'st the earth)
A ready instrument. No more. Break off
The impious parle. The martial chorus raise;
And let our battering enginery upheap,
Of these polluted stones, a monument
To Britain's murder'd King; foul tho he were,
Of these, not meriting so foul and end.
Cho . Trumpets sounding, falchions flaming,
Rush, ye Chiefs, to glorious fight — —
A B RITON (from the Walls.)
A while forbear! — For what do we contend?
For what deform the enamell'd turf of peace
With our unnatural slaughters? Arthur, hear —
Rowenna, and the undisputed crown
Of Britain and the auxilliar tribes of Elb,
Are thine, without a crime.
Arth . Without a crime,
Vile Briton! — This from thee, whose King, even now
(Your own elected King!) in death lies low
By her abhor'd contrivance! — Without crime?
Is it no crime to league with Murder, then —
Domestic Murder, Witchcraft, and the rage
Of foul adultrous Lust, and all the swarm
Of most abhor'd pollutions, that combine
In her detested nature, and infect
The very air she breathes in? — making all
That come within thy atmosphere of crimes,
As hateful as thyself — thou, World of Sins!
Guilt's fair, yet foul epitome!
Row . Ye Gods
Of Asgard and of Niflheim! is it thus
Ye cheat my hopes?
Yet, fair! He owns me fair!
That's something. And, perchance, when yonder witch
No more with philtering charms can drug the sense,
I may seem fair alone; and, rivalry
No more obtruding, the impassion'd touch
Of Nature's strong propension may subdue
This pride of ethic reason. The loos'd eye
Of youthful appetite, that, 'mong the forms
Of soft obtrusive beauty, somewhere must
Dwell with more ardent gaze, from mine, perchance,
May catch contagious fire; and Arthur yet
Light up the flame in which my woes expire. (Aside.)
Why cease the brands, ye tardy ministers
Of our imperial mandate? Who again,
(Command who will) till yonder turrets flame,
Does in the fiery warfare but relax,
The pains of Treason wait him.
Quick — repeal
That hideous mandate; or, by utmost hell,
Air and C HORUS of unseen Spirits.
She shrieks! — She dies! — Our mistress dies!
Spirits — Spirits! — haste away:
Scatter thro the lurid skies.
Asi's Gods in pow'r decay.
Demon Gods confess, with fear,
Their fated twilight hovering near.
Ar. Vengeance! thy dues are paid. But Love! O, Love!
Hast thou no interest at The Mercy Seat? — —
Nor suffering Innocence? — — — My Guenever!
Oh! torment! — torment! Thus, before mine eyes! —
Not even the wretched privilege reserv'd
To perish with her — in one dear embrace
Forget the searching fury of the flames,
And mix our wedded ashes! Might one not,
Of desperate resolution, make a bridge
Enough substantial for a lover's weight,
Buoy'd by such dire extremity? At least,
We'll try the hazard. Ho! for Guenever!
Arth. All-gracious powers!
Guen. My hero!
Arth. O! My Love!
Trist. ( springing upon land ). Huzza! Huzza! Didn't I tell you little Tristram would fight his way thro it. If there was no help from Heaven above, or the Earth beneath, there was some in the Waters that are under the earth, my blinking prophetess!
Why, how now, Scout? — What, my amphibious! my water-spaniel! You've had enough of the draught of temperance, I hope. This comes of your fears and precautions. If you had drank valiant Cwrw, as I do, and stood, to the last, at the post of danger — why you had arrived on Terra Firma, with dry breeches, my boy.
Arth. And is it realis'd? — And art thou safe? —
Safe and unhurt, from those devouring flames
That threaten'd thy chaste beauties?
Guen. Free! Unhurt! —
Save in thy frantic terrors! — There I bleed — —
Here — in this storm-rent bosom. ( Laying her hand upon his heart .) Arth. 'Tis at rest:
If blessedness be rest. — — O, sacred power
Of flame-defying Chastity! — And thou!
Lady. See, Arthur, see! to crown your matchless worth,
Nature relents, and miracles have birth.
The tribute spring that wont its course to take,
Thro secret veins, to feed my broader Lake,
A lake itself now spreads at my command,
And long, an emblem of your Fame, shall stand,
An alpine wonder in the Cambrian land.
Meantime accept, from two-fold dangers freed,
This beauteous maid, your Valour's noblest meed.
Beauty, Truth, and Innocence,
Sweetly blending all their charms,
Valour's guerdon, I dispense:
Take them, Hero, to thy arms.
Virtue with such Graces blending,
'Twas a prize well worth contending:
Worth thy perils, toils, alarms:
Take her, hero, to thy arms: —
Feast of Reason! feast of Sense!
Beauty, Truth, and Innocence. Chorus .
Valour true to Virtue's side,
Worth, by sharp affliction tried,
Merit well the blooming bride
On whom propitious Fates dispense
Beauty, Truth, and Innocence. Arth .
O! sacred Guardian! — But all words are weak:
I can but sigh my raptures; gaze my thanks,
And, in the precious gift, the giver prize. Tali .
Trumpet's clangors, Arms that rattle,
Dreadful thro the bleeding battle,
Now, a while,
For kindling Beauty's roseate smile —
Soothing softness! we forego.
Haste Thee, Love! the wreath bestow.
Witching smile
And sportive wile
That sense of wearied worth beguile;
And Stealth, that love's coy nectar sips;
And tilt and toy of parrying lips;
Eyes that swim; and hearts that glow;
And parly with the yielding foe; —
These, for laurels, Love! bestow;
And we again will fight thy battle. Bard .
Haste thee, Boy! But wing thy arrows
With the dove's plume; not the sparrow's:
Turtle, that, in thickest grove,
Guards the nest of absent love.
And still, as Valour's meed, dispense
Beauty, Truth, and Innocence.
So, when storms of danger rattle,
We again will fight thy battle. Chorus .
Beauty, Truth, and Innocence
Still, as Valour's meed dispense;
And, when storms of danger rattle,
Valour's sons shall fight thy battle. Lady .
But see below, how from the misty vale
The day retires, and twilight shades prevail.
Soon shall those shadows up the mountain spread,
And Night involve Farinioch's peaky head.
One thing remains: to wast my chosen son
To Cair Leon: then my task is done.
There Britain's chiefs assembled, even now,
Prepare the regal fillet for thy brow.
Ye sightless agents of the charmed air!
Sustain our weight. 'Behold: for we are there.
Fire for your fire, ye Salamanders! if that's your game.
But here comes one will fire you prettily; I'll warrant.
Trumpets sounding, falchions flaming!
Rush, ye chiefs to glorious fight:
Fame, the while, your worth proclaiming — —
Arth. Destraction! — See upon the keep (surpris'd
By Tristram's politic valour, to secure,
During our fierce assault, from chance of war,
Or worse internal treason, the fair prize
Of all our sleepless perils) what fierce shower
Of hellish engin'ry, incessant, hails,
Threat'ning a fate of horrors. Sound the trump —
The trump of parley. — Guenever!
Guenever . Oh! heav'n!
Arthur! my lord! my hero! — in thy sight — —
O! cruel destiny!
Arth. The trumpet sound.
If maid, or child, or matron they would save
From retributive vengeance, let them cease
This war of fire;
or, by the Eternal Truth,
Whom my soul worships! soon Gwrtheyrnion's walls,
Prostrate on earth, shall form one common tomb
For every Saxon thing that breathes within;
And these my gallant knights, horribly smear'd
With your idolatrous blood, shall, o'er the heap
Of mingled wreck and earnage, wave their swords,
And shout " Extermination! "
Row . Angry prince!
Why to our flag of conference answer you
With such ungentle outrage? Were we bent
On hostile fury, we have means within
To baffle this gay phalanx; tho renown'd,
(As frankly we admit) for warlike deeds,
Thro all the peopled earth. But, in our hearts,
The touch humane of cordial sympathy
Is now more vital than revengeful wrath
And national aversions; which too long
Have thin'd our rival tribes. Therefore we arm
Our tongues with gentle courtesies, not hands
With weapons of destruction; and invite
To equal brotherhood your warrior Knights —
Yourself, to equal empire.
Arth . Empire, shar'd
With Vortigern and thee?
Row . That Vortigerr
No more presents a barrier to the hopes
Of Anglia and of Britain: cold he lies
Beneath the fresh-laid turf; and, with his sleep,
The bleeding realm is pacified.
Arth . How? — How? —
Did I then prophecy? Most murderous fiend!
Thy husband, and thy sovereign!
Row . Why on me
(Injurious!) charge the sure decrees of Fate?
Arth . Fate, that would deal in murders and in crimes,
Shall never want (while thou infest'st the earth)
A ready instrument. No more. Break off
The impious parle. The martial chorus raise;
And let our battering enginery upheap,
Of these polluted stones, a monument
To Britain's murder'd King; foul tho he were,
Of these, not meriting so foul and end.
Cho . Trumpets sounding, falchions flaming,
Rush, ye Chiefs, to glorious fight — —
A B RITON (from the Walls.)
A while forbear! — For what do we contend?
For what deform the enamell'd turf of peace
With our unnatural slaughters? Arthur, hear —
Rowenna, and the undisputed crown
Of Britain and the auxilliar tribes of Elb,
Are thine, without a crime.
Arth . Without a crime,
Vile Briton! — This from thee, whose King, even now
(Your own elected King!) in death lies low
By her abhor'd contrivance! — Without crime?
Is it no crime to league with Murder, then —
Domestic Murder, Witchcraft, and the rage
Of foul adultrous Lust, and all the swarm
Of most abhor'd pollutions, that combine
In her detested nature, and infect
The very air she breathes in? — making all
That come within thy atmosphere of crimes,
As hateful as thyself — thou, World of Sins!
Guilt's fair, yet foul epitome!
Row . Ye Gods
Of Asgard and of Niflheim! is it thus
Ye cheat my hopes?
Yet, fair! He owns me fair!
That's something. And, perchance, when yonder witch
No more with philtering charms can drug the sense,
I may seem fair alone; and, rivalry
No more obtruding, the impassion'd touch
Of Nature's strong propension may subdue
This pride of ethic reason. The loos'd eye
Of youthful appetite, that, 'mong the forms
Of soft obtrusive beauty, somewhere must
Dwell with more ardent gaze, from mine, perchance,
May catch contagious fire; and Arthur yet
Light up the flame in which my woes expire. (Aside.)
Why cease the brands, ye tardy ministers
Of our imperial mandate? Who again,
(Command who will) till yonder turrets flame,
Does in the fiery warfare but relax,
The pains of Treason wait him.
Quick — repeal
That hideous mandate; or, by utmost hell,
Air and C HORUS of unseen Spirits.
She shrieks! — She dies! — Our mistress dies!
Spirits — Spirits! — haste away:
Scatter thro the lurid skies.
Asi's Gods in pow'r decay.
Demon Gods confess, with fear,
Their fated twilight hovering near.
Ar. Vengeance! thy dues are paid. But Love! O, Love!
Hast thou no interest at The Mercy Seat? — —
Nor suffering Innocence? — — — My Guenever!
Oh! torment! — torment! Thus, before mine eyes! —
Not even the wretched privilege reserv'd
To perish with her — in one dear embrace
Forget the searching fury of the flames,
And mix our wedded ashes! Might one not,
Of desperate resolution, make a bridge
Enough substantial for a lover's weight,
Buoy'd by such dire extremity? At least,
We'll try the hazard. Ho! for Guenever!
Arth. All-gracious powers!
Guen. My hero!
Arth. O! My Love!
Trist. ( springing upon land ). Huzza! Huzza! Didn't I tell you little Tristram would fight his way thro it. If there was no help from Heaven above, or the Earth beneath, there was some in the Waters that are under the earth, my blinking prophetess!
Why, how now, Scout? — What, my amphibious! my water-spaniel! You've had enough of the draught of temperance, I hope. This comes of your fears and precautions. If you had drank valiant Cwrw, as I do, and stood, to the last, at the post of danger — why you had arrived on Terra Firma, with dry breeches, my boy.
Arth. And is it realis'd? — And art thou safe? —
Safe and unhurt, from those devouring flames
That threaten'd thy chaste beauties?
Guen. Free! Unhurt! —
Save in thy frantic terrors! — There I bleed — —
Here — in this storm-rent bosom. ( Laying her hand upon his heart .) Arth. 'Tis at rest:
If blessedness be rest. — — O, sacred power
Of flame-defying Chastity! — And thou!
Lady. See, Arthur, see! to crown your matchless worth,
Nature relents, and miracles have birth.
The tribute spring that wont its course to take,
Thro secret veins, to feed my broader Lake,
A lake itself now spreads at my command,
And long, an emblem of your Fame, shall stand,
An alpine wonder in the Cambrian land.
Meantime accept, from two-fold dangers freed,
This beauteous maid, your Valour's noblest meed.
Beauty, Truth, and Innocence,
Sweetly blending all their charms,
Valour's guerdon, I dispense:
Take them, Hero, to thy arms.
Virtue with such Graces blending,
'Twas a prize well worth contending:
Worth thy perils, toils, alarms:
Take her, hero, to thy arms: —
Feast of Reason! feast of Sense!
Beauty, Truth, and Innocence. Chorus .
Valour true to Virtue's side,
Worth, by sharp affliction tried,
Merit well the blooming bride
On whom propitious Fates dispense
Beauty, Truth, and Innocence. Arth .
O! sacred Guardian! — But all words are weak:
I can but sigh my raptures; gaze my thanks,
And, in the precious gift, the giver prize. Tali .
Trumpet's clangors, Arms that rattle,
Dreadful thro the bleeding battle,
Now, a while,
For kindling Beauty's roseate smile —
Soothing softness! we forego.
Haste Thee, Love! the wreath bestow.
Witching smile
And sportive wile
That sense of wearied worth beguile;
And Stealth, that love's coy nectar sips;
And tilt and toy of parrying lips;
Eyes that swim; and hearts that glow;
And parly with the yielding foe; —
These, for laurels, Love! bestow;
And we again will fight thy battle. Bard .
Haste thee, Boy! But wing thy arrows
With the dove's plume; not the sparrow's:
Turtle, that, in thickest grove,
Guards the nest of absent love.
And still, as Valour's meed, dispense
Beauty, Truth, and Innocence.
So, when storms of danger rattle,
We again will fight thy battle. Chorus .
Beauty, Truth, and Innocence
Still, as Valour's meed dispense;
And, when storms of danger rattle,
Valour's sons shall fight thy battle. Lady .
But see below, how from the misty vale
The day retires, and twilight shades prevail.
Soon shall those shadows up the mountain spread,
And Night involve Farinioch's peaky head.
One thing remains: to wast my chosen son
To Cair Leon: then my task is done.
There Britain's chiefs assembled, even now,
Prepare the regal fillet for thy brow.
Ye sightless agents of the charmed air!
Sustain our weight. 'Behold: for we are there.
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