I'll have no slaves to till my fields, and make
Them barren with their curses.-But, loved maid,
How to secure thee from my father's wrath ?—

Ah, Harold! Thou art more my friend than servant— O, I am greatly troubled.

HAROLD.

Good my lord,

I thought you were the happiest of the happy.

EDGAR.

No, the most wretched living. Come thou near.
This is no longer any place for me;

I must depart, fly hence this very night,
To some far-distant country.

HAROLD.

Nay, my lord,

Are you beside yourself?"

EDGAR.

Well nigh, good Harold.

HAROLD.

Fly hence, when on the eve of bridal joy?

When you should wed a lady, whose fair hand
Will on her bridegroom place the starry robe
Of sovereignty and power?

EDGAR.

I'd rather wear

The savage clothing of the new-slain wolf,

And in the cavern of some desert live,
Whose sands the foot of man hath never trod,

Than in Dunheved's princely palace dwell

With Cornwall's daughter.

HAROLD.

Thou dost much amaze me.

EDGAR.

Thy truth I've proved-then aid me to escape.
I know the lofty spirit of my father,
His fierce ambition, which would sacrifice
The young affections of this ardent heart;
His stern relentless curses they will fall,
devoted head ;

When I am gone, on my

Yet I'll endure all miseries,-all but one,

The loss of her I love. Come in with me-
I'll call thee friend and brother. Farewell pomp!
To pathless wilds and deserts must I fly :
If here I tarry, madness is my doom!

[Exeunt.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

c 2

ACT II.

SCENE I.-A pleasant Valley on the borders of the Forest of Dartmoor; lofty and barren Mountains in the back ground.

Enter Elfilia.

ELFILIA.

How am I changed! Erewhile in splendid robes,
Mid bannered halls and gorgeous pomp, I moved
Gaily and proudly; while the air I breathed
Was rich with odours and harmonious sounds
Of harps and viols. Now, in these coarse weeds,
I am the slave of slaves. Yet have I pomp;
The golden skies of morn are o'er these vales
That shelter me outspread, where every grove
Is filled with melodies, and soft the winds
Breathe of the rose and violet. More than all,
Peace in yon humble cottage with me dwells,
And love makes blessed this delightful valley.
Then why should I regret my once proud home,
From which a father's sternness drove me forth
To shun the bridal bed of one I hated,

Though round his princely brows flashed ducal wreaths. [Music at a distance.

It is my Wilford's harp. Enchanting sounds!

Yet is he lowly born, while boast my veins.
The noblest blood in England; but with him,
Caverns would be to me as kingly halls.

Thou art not what thou seem'st. No peasant slave Dares with toil-roughened hand the harp-strings sweep; Or if he dared, could with thy skill and fire

Master the gentle craft.

EDGAR.

My birth have I,

To prove her love, concealed, and must not yet
Disclose the truth-(aside). Thy Wilford is no slave.
My father to the house of Gondabert

Was a retainer, and held lands in fee; (16)

To whom a cuirass, helm, and sword were given

As a reward for valour. But I loved,

From childhood loved the poet's heaven-born art ;
I panted for immortal fame, and strove,
Despite all scorn, reproof, and cold neglect,

To win the bard's high honours.-E'en my dreams (17)
Were wild imaginings of sweet romance,
And visions bright of genius triumphing
O'er envy and oppression; till at length.
My harp won Gondabert's indulgent ear,
And I became his minstrel.

ELFILIA.

Canst thou, then,

With the green laurels of thy genius crowned,
Stoop from thy height to love a wretched slave?

EDGAR.

O, cast not on thy beauty such a cloud;

"Tis darkness on the sun. Earth's mightiest throne!

Thou wouldst adorn
Away, then, all sad thoughts,

For ere to-morrow's eve-clouds dim the west,
Thou shalt be free, and in these arms a bride.

Enter Albert.

ALBERT.

So, my young harper, thou art here again!
I've marked thy frequent visits to our valley;
And now I learn thine errand. Hie thee hence,
And leave this maid to me.

EDGAR.

To thee, base slave!

ALBERT.

Hah! how that word falls on me with a curse,
And to my heart-core burns like glowing iron!
I am no slave!—at least I shall not be,
Proud youth, ere long. I will be free as thou,
Or e'en the haughtiest lord that treads the soil;
And though desertless now, I'll bravely wrest
From Gondabert my liberty, or fling

This carcass to the eagles of the moor.

ELFILIA.

Nay, Albert, thou to me hast still been kind,
And gentle as a brother. What hath stirred
These stormy feelings in thy bosom thus ?
And why that brow of wrath?

ALBERT.

My wrongs, my sufferings ! Long have I borne them, and in secret long Brooded o'er my despair, as on the mountain The heavy tempest lours, till came thy beauty