DRAMATIS PERSONE.

SAXONS.

GONDABERT, Earl of Devon.

LORD EDGAR, his Son.

ALBERT, the Slave.

HAROLD, Seneschal of the Household.
OTHMAR, Captain of the Retainers and Guards.

ELFILIA, a supposed Bondmaid.

EDITHA, a Neif, or Bondwoman.

Saxon and Danish Soldiers, Peasants, Robbers, and

Attendants.

ERA-1002.

THE ENGLISH SLAVE.

ACT I.

SCENE I-The Interior of a miserable Cottage.

Enter Editha and Albert.

EDITHA.

ST. Cuthbert save us! what can ail thee, boy,
To be so testy, wayward, cross, and peevish?
Some fearful spirit of the stormy moor,
Which thou dost ever haunt, hath on thee cast
An evil eye; or the night-roaming hag,
Crossing thy path, bewitched thee!

ALBERT.

Mother, no

I love to wander when the tempest howls
O'er Dartmoor's lonely wilds, for then I seem
To breathe the mountain air of liberty:
I the fierce stag love to companion where
The herds in freedom rove, for then I seem
To be as free as they: I love to climb
The eagle's granite throne, and see him wave
His broad wings to the wind, for then I feel
As if I from my limbs had dashed the chains
Of loathsome bondage, and, like that proud bird,
Were master of myself.

EDITHA.

Now goodness keep me!

Why, Albert, should thine ever-restless mind

Indulge such vain desires?

Win thou content,

And in thy humble lot, though hard it be,

Thou 'lt find some happiness.

ALBERT.

None, never, none,

While I behold the stern usurping Thane,
In splendour clad, tread like a god the earth,(1)
And frown me into nothing! Why should he
Have all things at command, while I must wear
These sordid weeds, and toil, yoked to the plough, (*)
For food his dogs would scorn?

EDITHA.

The saints assoil thee!

Why, Albert, where hast thou picked up such treason Against thy high-born betters?

ᎪᏞᏴᎬᎡᎢ.

Why my betters ?— In what are they my betters? True, they feed From trenchers loaded with the daintiest cheer The garden, forest, flood, and harvest yield; (3) Furred robes they wear, bedizened o'er with gold (4) And dazzling pebbles, bought with blood of slaves; Curb fiery steeds, in costly trappings decked; Grasp in their hands a spear, the sign of freedom, (5) And on their ring-bound fingers bear a hawk, None daring to command them;—but are they In aught else, mother, better than myself?

EDITHA.

Why should that bosom harbour such proud thoughts, So ill-beseeming thy low state in life?

ALBERT.

Has not this bosom passions like to theirs?
Have I not speech like them? Was I not born
A man, an Englishman, and hath not God
As brightly on my forehead stamped his image,
As on the proudest Thane's? And yet for me
To touch the tuneful harp, to grasp a spear,
And in the forest with a falcon sport,

Are crimes deemed worthy stripes and banishment. (6)
O, I could curse the day that gave me birth!

Nay, good my child

EDITHA.

ALBERT.

Why didst thou bring me forth

To be a slave? Why was thy womb not barren?
Why died I not before I saw the light?

Thyself a bond-slave, thou shouldst, knowing all
The miseries of a state so vilely base,

Have strangled me, even in the porch of life;
Or, wanting strength, have bade my father dash
My brains out on his threshold. That had been
Paternal kindness to me.

EDITHA.

Blessed Virgin !

Art thou distraught with passion? O, what strange And fearful beings hast thou on the moor

Held parley with ?

ᎪᏞᏴᎬᎡᎢ,

Those, mother, who amid

Its stony caves and fairy-haunted woods

Dwell free as the wild bull, making the great ones

To their dominion crouch and if ere long