I yield to the strict sentence of the church.
Let it be known, I pray, to all the world
With what humility I kiss the rod.

Dunstan. You must fast, too; nor may you slack your hand
In bounty to the church; thus shall you show

To all mankind example eminent

Of penitential sorrow.

Edgar.

I will fill

All England with right noble edifices,
Churches and monasteries. I will fast-
Fast publicly, devoutly, till the appetite
O'errule the better purpose. Let no priest
Forget to name this in his homilies."

*

In the second act the characters, both of Dunstan and Athelwold, are made to reveal themselves in a dialogue they sustain together. The saint endeavours to gain over to the church the young nobleman, whose talents and elevation of character mark him out as a worthy champion of her cause, and in whom, whilst a layman, Dunstan sees an obstacle to his own

influence at the court of Edgar. He
endeavours to persuade the young thane
that the studies to which he is partial
may be pursued with more advantage
in the church; while, if he continues
separate from the ecclesiastical body,
his learning will expose him to suspi-
cion-amongst the clergy, of heresy,
amongst the people, of magic and un-
lawful studies.

"Dunstan. You are a scholar, have been bred at Rome,
The seat of scholarship; can civil life
Present a scene of labour, or of ease,
Like that a Benedictine monastery
Holds out to such as you?

Athelwold. I am a scholar,

At least have spent some hours in solitude

With books and meditation.-Pleasant hours!

Take whoso will the pomp of happiness,

Wealth, and dominion, give me quiet thoughts
And studious labours, and I rest content
With the pale heritage. I balance not
Ev'n woman's love, and all its dear results,
Of home so populous with sprightly joys,
With the rapt leisure of the student's cell.
But 'tis because I have some scholarship,
Have somewhat ponder'd upon God and man,
I could not join with Holy Church. Start not!
I am no busy heretic. If man,

In his worst madness, bid me expiate

With pangs of martyrdom my quest of truth,
Lo, I am ready-bear me to the stake!

I have no fear-I would not live in fear

I would not hold existence on the bond,

That, like a coward, I must lie for life.
This for myself; but for mankind at large,
I leave them where I found them-it may be

With errors of some service, in a state

So full of errors-nor would teach a truth
Might work like falsehood on perverted minds.
The toiling world, in mazy movement-vast
Beyond all reach of vision-complicate
Beyond all skill of mine to tamper with-
Moves, or revolves, as God ordains. My task
Is with my single heart, and its own truth.
I cannot struggle with mankind in arms,
Nor find out truth for all.

You speak you know not what. Thrice happy they
Who thus are ruled! who, reasoning not at all,

And not responsible for true or false,

Obey in their belief; at peace, they feel

The sense of duty in an act of faith.

Would I were one the humblest of a flock

By others led, by others train'd to thought!—
One of that simple subject multitude
The monarch-priest by his bold government
Protects from doubt and anarchy of mind!

A cheap and safe felicity is his

Whose faith, unsought for, lives within his heart
Like blood within his veins, and warms and thrills
Unquestion'd by what title. He who towers
Above his kind, nor can be taught of them,
Who strains his ears for accents from the skies,
Or tasks the solitary oracle

Of a vex'd spirit, task'd beyond its strength,
Shall feed on heavenly whispers, few, and faint,
And dying oft to stillness terrible."

Athelwold replies that he holds in little estimation this government of superstition. He says

"Ye sow fears thick as grass upon the earth,

And call it comfort to the race of man." And, proceeding to criticize this spiritual government which Dunstan

values so highly, he glances, amongst other topics, at the gross inequality in the punishment which he, as the organ of the church, thought proper to inflict on the good Edwin and Elgiva, and that penance which he had just imposed on the licentious Edgar. Dunstan answers

"Dunstan. What is the nice adjustment, moralist,
Of one man's punishment with one man's sin,
Laid in the balance with my care to save
That sovereignty of Holy Church whereon

The fate of millions hangs? This pompous man
Finds his own interest in our sacred cause,

And being, as he is, a creature spoil'd,
Caress'd and tempted more than man can bear,
We humour him, indulge, and lead along
Our path with gentleness. His brother braved
Our high authority and supreme rule,
And him we conquer'd, him we tamed with blows
-How could we else ?-and broke upon the wheel
The stubborn rebel. The dread charge is mine
To conquer guilt and doubt in other men ;

Nor may I quit dominion.

Ye children of the earth who feel, at worst,
Simply your own sin and its punishment,
Whose heart is rapt in its dividual care,
Who-having to the priest told forth the tale,
With sighs and wailing, of repented crime,
And heard his pardon, authorized by God-
Go straightway to the busy world again,
To daily labour and to social mirth,
Unburden'd save with better purposes
-A load, alas! but little cumbersome-
How might I envy you! With me ye leave

The past transgression-mine the grief,
The constant sorrow of this wilful world;
And I must render to a watchful God
Account of all my stewardship."

The

sufficiently gay to please. Here they They are worth, we think, saving from the flames.

are.

SONG.

"Go, gather jasmine, gather rose,
Go, weave and wear thy pleasure-
wreath!

See how the dancing garland glows

On the smooth happy brow beneath!
Still o'er those eyes, with laughter bright,
May never time presume to set
More pressing charge-a load less light-
Than such loose festive coronet!
Ah me! that festive coronet

Too light the beauteous wearer finds:—
The fluttering wreath is known to fret
The brow it but too loosely binds."

The next scene is one of a very different description. Edgar gives a banquet to his courtiers. Here the beauty of Elfrida is lauded in very gallant terms by one of the guests; and the king's curiosity being raised, Athelwold is pitched upon, as combining, by consent of all, an excellent taste with the clearest honour, to go to her residence in Devonshire, and bring back a faithful report of her charms. The third act transfers us to the castle of Olgar, the father of Elfrida, where Athelwold-with all his honour and all his philosophy, and in spite of scholarship and meditation -is taken captive by that beauty which he has come to survey. young thane assumes, at first, the habit of a minstrel, and carrying his harp slung across his shoulder, he wanders through the grounds of Olgar's residence, in hopes to meet with the fair lady, and in this manner accomplish his mission. He is fortu◄ nate enough to encounter Elfrida, sitting in an open parterre, amidst a bevy of damsels. They are full of mirth, and engaged in preparing some festive ornament-some decorations or other in which the fair of those days bedecked themselves. He has an opportunity of looking at Elfrida some minutes before he is observed. On being detected, his harp and minstrel habit obtain for him a speedy introduction, and he is invited to give them a specimen of his minstrelsy. Athelwold still retains something of his own reflective character in the verses that he sings; but they are Athelwold at first considers himself out of all danger, because, although fascinated by the beauty of Elfrida, he has no hope and no thought of obtaining her. Some kindness, we suppose, on the part of the lady, took from him the ground of safety, and we found him, apparently with a clear consciousness of his folly, yielding his honour to his passion. Here are some of his reflections under both these predicaments.

Whether on account of the song or the singer, the music or the sentiment, which seems covertly to advise an exchange of the careless gaiety of the maiden for the happy cares of the wife, the minstrel was much applauded, and he was invited to enter the mansion. Athelwold had convinced himself, without a shadow of a doubt, of the surpassing beauty of Elfrida; his task, therefore, was accomplished; his page was waiting with his steed, he had but to mount and return to Edgar. Instead of which, however, we learn that he gave his harp to the page, resumed his sword, and making some other slight alteration in his equipments, introduced himself to Olgar in his own person, a royal thane and a well-known favourite of the king.

"If on the eye the light of beauty fall,

I needs must see; if soft melodious speech
Thrill on the ear, I must be sensible
To the sweet summons; if insidious thought
Of that embrace the happy lover wins
Enter the heart, I cannot make it stone,
And it must tremble with the strong conceit.
But whilst I feel, I yield not. Love to me
Is but a pain, an exquisite endurance,

Where reason, listening to the beating heart,
And hanging o'er its sorrows, gazes down,
Like sage physician o'er the restless sick :
Tortured I am, not subjugated.

*

It has been said, or sung in gentle verse,
That nature's beauty calms the heart of man,
Suffusing its own peace. They find it so
Who bring the peace they wisely love so well
To the mute vision. I have wander'd forth
To this fair solitude: -the placid world
Of trees and waters, hill and verdant plain,
Is all on fire with love; the liquid lake
Glows with a beauty warmer than its own;
In the soft air the breath of woman burns
Upon my blushing cheek. Here do I stand
With head depress'd, in languid attitude,
Faint, motionless, and nothing lives within
But one consuming passion.

*

津

A bride-a loving wife-grant it a good,

Of all earth holds the thing most excellent

And grant that beauty, wit, and happy smiles,

Are in a wife most commendable gifts

Why, in the name of reason, why alone

This woman's beauty, and why her smiles alone?
Could never love from other eyes than hers
Look forth upon me?

Can no other hand

Give that soft pressure felt upon the heart?
Can she smile only? Is all womanhood
Summ'd in Elfrida, that I must pursue
Her only at the hazard of my life,
And certain loss of honour?-So it seems.
Oh madness! madness!-but incurable!
I am destroy'd, lost, blotted from the list
Of reasonable beings. Hour after hour,

Day after day, I sit like any stone,

Musing one endless thought, if thought it be,

Which is a medley not composed at all

Of any jot of reason, a mere maze

Of pain, and pleasure, and delirium."

Athelwold's page, talking of his master, as was and is the custom of all pages, lets us know that his courtship was not carried on altogether by sitting still he gives us this insight into the wooing.

"Love! you may call it love-'tis the old phrase,

And many are the wild things answer to it,

And this the wildest. 'Tis an ecstasy;

The man's enchanted, sir. Now mark you this:
The other day my happy pair rode forth;
Their very horses, ambling side by side,
Moved in admired accordance, and their heads
Were, like their riders, lovingly inclined
Each to the other. Well, the path they took
Led through a steep defile wall'd on each side
By this red rock, which here in Devonshire
Glows 'midst the verdure like an ornament
Green nature wears, nor looks like barrenness.
High overhead, perch'd on the precipice,
My pretty mistress spies a little flower,
A solitary rose, against the sky
Blooming aloft and to the circling heavens,
And the great sun holding its beauty up,
Ethereal charm beyond all mortal touch.
She draws her rein a moment to admire

The little dauntless covetable flower:
My gallant knight, whose eye still follows hers,
Caught at the half-form'd fancy; setting spurs
To his astonish'd horse, mad up the height
Where way was none, as if the beast had wings,
He tears his desperate course-and plucks the toy.
My lady shrieks, but ere the blood has time
To quit the cheek it plays in, by her side
He brings his panting steed, and gives the rose.
She blush'd, and chid, and was all rose herself;
Upon her temples, 'midst her silken hair,
She placed the flutter'd blossom; then, I own,
It seem'd worth all the hazard."

Athelwold returns to Edgar's court, and tells that falsehood which was almost as repugnant to the lover, as it was to the man of honour. Many excuses readily occur to cheat his conscience; but chiefly this, that his own love was so much more pure, and would be so much more constant, than that of the roving Edgar. He contrives to describe Elfrida as an ordinary dame, whose renown was owing to her secluded position. He adds, that she is amiable, her father wealthy, and that the match might suit a thane not so devoted to beauty as his sovereign. He obtains permission to pursue his own courtship.

On his second return to court, Athelwold begins to betray signs of repentance and of a troubled spirit. Dunstan, who was desirous that the king should marry, had been disappointed in the failure of the late project, and who beheld in Athelwold an enemy to the Church, is not slow in framing suspicions adverse to the thane. He goes himself to Olgar's castle where the bride was kept immured much against her will-he sees at once the treachery that had been practised, and does not fail to sow some seeds of discord in the mind of Elfrida. He returns, divulges his discovery to Edgar, and then follows the well-known catastrophe. She who

had been loved for beauty only, now displays an ungovernable vanity. The manner in which she contrives to quarrel with her husband, and justify the full permission she gives her beauty to captivate the king, is managed by the writer not without art; the remorse, too, of the noble thane, for the breach of honour he had committed, mingled as it is with many reflections of a philosophical as well as moral nature, is portrayed with some spirit. But we are not tempted to rescue either of these portions of the play from the flames. They must burn. We shall extend our generosity to one more extract only. In the fourth act, while Athelwold has again left the court, and is completing his courtship of Elfrida, we are brought into closer acquaintance with Dun

stan.

We see him not in the moving world, but in his solitude. He is sitting by the side of that most miserable of all abodes which ascetic ever constructed a kind of open grave which he had dug with his own hands for his painful habitation. He here reveals to us a combination, which, in men of such excitable nature and such dubious morality as Dunstan, has probably often existed; the visions of enthusiasm alternating with religious doubts, and these, coupled with remorse, leading to renewed severities of penance.

"Dunstan. (alone-midnight.)
Encircle me, ye angels, and ye saints
That once like me were mortal! Lo, I rise,
And, borne upon the wafture of your wings,
I mount-I climb the air-I enter heaven!
Ha! gone! all gone! Deserted here, I rest
On the bare earth, beneath the vacant moon;
Alone with God and nature. Terrible

Is this unseen Omnipotence !

Come back, ye shapes that talk'd with me erewhile!

Oh, stand betwixt this Nature-God and me,

This dread Invisible! Let devils come,
And let me struggle with their grinning spite;
Their hideous rage were comfortable here,