The melancholy hour. Confusion raged
On every side, and desolation spread
Its terrors round us. How didst thou escape?
Mat. A crew of desperate ruffians seized upon

me,

A helpless prey: For, O! he was not there,
Who best could have defended his Matilda.
Then had I fallen a wretched sacrifice
To brutal rage, and lawless violence,
Had not the generous Morcar interposed

To save me: Though he joined the guilty cause
Of foul rebellion, yet his soul abhorred
Such violation. At his awful voice,
The surly ruffians left me, and retired.
He bore me, half expiring, in his arms,
Back to his tent; with every kind attention

There strove to sooth my griefs, and promised,

soon

As fit occasion offered, to restore me

To my afflicted father.

Ber. Something, sure,

Was due to generous Morcar for his aid,
So timely given.

Mat. No doubt: But mark what followed.
In my deliverer, too soon I found

An ardent lover, sighing at my feet.

Ber. And what is there the proudest of our sex Could wish for more? To be the envied bride Of noble Morcar, first of England's peers In fame and fortune.

Mat. Never trust, my Bertha,

To outward shew. 'Tis not the smiles of fortune,
The pomp of wealth, or splendour of a court,
Can make us happy. In the mind alone
Rests solid joy, and true felicity,
Which I can never taste: For, oh, my friend!
A secret sorrow weighs upon my heart.
Ber. Then pour it in the bosom of thy friend;
Let me partake it with thee.

Mat. Generous maid!

Know, then, for nought will I conceal from thee,
I honour Mercia's earl, revere his virtues,
And wish I could repay him with myself:
But, blushing, I acknowledge it, the heart
His vows solicit, is not mine to give.

Ber. Has, then, some happier youth-
Mat. Another time

I'll tell thee all the story of our loves.

But, oh, my Bertha! didst thou know to whom
My virgin faith is plighted, thou wouldst say
I am, indeed, unhappy.

Ber. Could Matilda

Bestow the treasure of her heart on one Unworthy of her choice?

Mat. Unworthy! No.

I glory in my passion for the best,

The loveliest of his sex.

Oh! he was all

That bounteous nature, prodigal of charms,
Did on her choicest favourite e'er bestow.
His graceful form, and sweet deportment, spoke
The fairer beauties of his kindred soul,
Where every grace and every virtue shone.
But thou wilt tremble, Berthia, when I tell thee,
He is earl Morcar's brother,

Ber. Ha! his brother!

VOL. II.

The noble Edwin! Often have I heard My father

Mat. Did lord Edrick know him, then? Ber. He knew his virtues, and his fame in arms, And often would lament the dire effects Of civil discord, that could thus dissolve The ties of nature, and of brethren make The bitterest foes. If right I learn, lord Edwin Is William's firmest friend, and still supports His royal master.

Mat. Yes, my Bertha, there

I still find comfort: Edwin ne'er was stained,
As Morcar is, with foul disloyalty,

But stands betwixt his sovereign and the rage
Of rebel multitudes, to guard his throne.
If, nobly fighting in his country's cause,
My hero falls, I shall not weep alone;
The king, he loved and honoured, will lament
him,

And grateful England mix her tears with mine. Ber. And doth carl Morcar know of Edwin's love?

Mat. Oh, no! I would not, for a thousand
worlds,

He should suspect it, lest his fiery soul
Should catch the alarm, and kindle to a flame,
That might destroy us all.

Ber. I know his warmth

And vehemence of temper; unrestrained
By laws, and spurning at the royal power,
Which he contemns, he rules despotic here.

Mat. Alas! how man from man, and brother
oft

From brother, differs! Edwin's tender passion Is soft and gentle, as the balmy breath Of vernal zephyrs; whilst the savage north, That curls the angry ocean into storms, | Is a faint image of earl Morcar's love: 'Tis rage, 'tis fury all. When last we met, He knit his angry brow, and frowned severe Upon me; then, with wild distracted look, Bade me beware of trifling with his passion, He would not brook it-trembling I retired, And bathed my couch in tears.

Ber. Unhappy maid!

But time, that softens every human woe,
Will bring some blest event, and lighten thine.
Mat. Alas! thou know'st not what it is to

love.

Haply thy tender heart hath never felt
The tortures of that soul-bewitching passion.
Its joys are sweet and poignant; but its pangs
Are exquisite, as I have known too well:
For, oh, my Bertha ! since the fatal hour
When Edwin left me, never hath sweet peace,
That used to dwell, with all its comforts, here,
E'er deigned to visit this afflicted breast.

Ber. Too plain, alas! I read thy sorrows; grief
Sits in sad triumph on thy faded cheek,
And half obscures the lustre of thy beauties.

Mat. Talk not of beauty, 'tis our sex'an, And leads but to destruction. I abhor The fatal gift. Oh! would it had pleased Heaven To brand my homely features with the mark Of foul deformity, or let me pass

Unknown, and undistinguished from the herd
Of vulgar forms, save by the partial eye
Of my loved Edwin; then had I been blest
With charms unenvied, and a guiltless love.
Ber. Where is thy Edwin now?
Mat. Alas! I know not.

'Tis now three years, since last these eyes beheld Their dearest object. In that humble vale, Whence, as I told thee, Malcolm's fury drove me, There first we met. Oh! how I cherish still The fond remembrance! There we first exchanged

Our mutual vows; the day of happiness
Was fixt; it came, and in a few short hours
He had been made indissolubly mine,
When fortune, envious of our happiness,
And William's danger, called him to the field.
Ber. And since that parting have ye never
met?

Mat. O never, Bertha, never but in thought. Imagination, kind anticipator

Of love's pleasures, brings us oft together.
Oft as I sit within my lonely tent,

And cast my wishful eyes o'er yonder plain,
In every passing traveller I strive

To trace his image, hear his lovely voice
In every sound, and fain would flatter me
Edwin still lives, still loves his lost Matilda.

Ber. Who knows but fate, propitious to thy
love,

May guide him hither?

Mut. Gracious heaven forbid !
Consider, Bertha, if the chance of war
Should this way lead him, he must come in arms
Against his brother: Oh! 'tis horrible

To think on. Should they meet, and Edwin fall,
What shall support me? And if victory smiles
Upon my love, how dear will be the purchase
By Morcar's blood! Then must I lose my friend,
My guardian, my protector-every way
Matilda must be wretched.

Ber. Is there aught

In Bertha's

power?

?

Mat. Wilt thou dispatch, my friend, Some trusty messenger with these?-Away.

[Gives her letters.

I'll meet thee in my tent-Farewell.

[Erit BERTHA.

Mean time,
One hope remains, the generous Siward-he
Might save me still. His sympathetic heart
Can feel for the afflicted.-I have heard,
(Such is the magic power of sacred friendship)
When the impetuous Morcar scatters fear
And terror round him, he, and he alone,
Can stem the rapid torrent of his passion,
And bend him, though reluctant, to his will-
And see, in happy hour, he comes this way.
Now fortune, be propitious! if there be,
As I have heard, an eloquence in grief,
And those can most persuade, who are most
wretched,

I shall not pass unpitied.]

Enter SIWARD.

Siw. Ha! in tears,

Matilda! What new grief, what cruel for
To innocence and beauty, thus could vex
Thy gentle spirit!

Mat. Canst thou ask the cause,
When thou behold'st me still in shameful bonds,
A wretched captive, friendless and forlorn,
Without one ray of hope to sooth my sorrows?
Siw. Can she, whose beauteous form and fair
demeanour

Charm every eye, and conquer every heart,
Can she be wretched? can she want a friend,
Whom Siward honours, and whom Morcar loves!
Oh! if thou knew'st with what unceasing ardour,
What unexampled tenderness and truth,
He doats upon thee, sure thou might'st be wrought
At least to pity.

Mat. Urge no more, my lord,

The ungrateful subject; but too well I know
How much thy friend deserves, how much, alas,
I owe him!-If it be earl Morcar's wish
To make me happy, why am I detained
A prisoner here; spite of his solemn promise
He would restore me to my royal master,
Or send me back to the desiring arms
Of the afflicted Ranulph, who, in tears
Of bitterest anguish, mourns his long-lost daugh
ter?

Surely, my lord, it ill becomes a soldier
To forfeit thus his honour and his word.

Siw. I own it; yet the cause pleads strongly

for him.

If, by thy own too powerful charms misled,
He deviates from the paths of rigid honour,
Matilda might forgive. Thou know'st he lives
But in thy smiles; his love-enchanted soul
Hangs on those beauties, he would wish to keep
For ever in his sight.

Mat. Indulgent Heaven

Keep me for ever from it! Oh, my lord!
If e'er thy heart with generous pity glowed
For the distressed; if e'er thy honest zeal
Could boast an influence o'er the man you love:
Oh! now exert thy power, assist, direct,
And save thy friend from ruin and Matilda.
There are, my lord, who most offend, where most
They wish to please. Such often is the fate
Of thy unhappy friend, when he pours forth
His ardent soul in vows of tenderest passion;
'Tis with such rude and boisterous violence,
As suits but ill the hero or the lover.

Siw. I know his weakness, know his follies all, And feel them but too well: He loves with tran

With such a sweet contrition, as would melt
The hardest heart to pity and forgiveness.
Oh! he has virtues that may well atone
For all his venial rashness, that deserve
A sovereign's love, and claim a nation's praise;
Virtues, that merit happiness and thee.
Why wilt thou thus despise my noble friend?
His birth and fortune, with the rank he bears
Among the first of England's peers, will raise thee
As far above thy sex, in wealth and power,
As now thou art in beauty.
Mat. Oh, my lord!

'Tis not the pride, the luxury of life,
The splendid robe and glittering gem, that knits
The lasting bonds of mutual happiness:
Where manners differ, where affections jar,
And will not kindly mix together, where
The sweet harmonious concord of the mind
Is wanting, all is misery and woe.

Sia. By Heaven! thou plead'st thy own and virtue's cause,

With such bewitching eloquence, the more
Thy heart, alarmed by diffidence, still urges
Against this union with my friend, the more
I wish to see him blest with worth like thine.
Mut. My lord, it must not be; for grant him all
The fair perfections you already see,
And I could wish to find, there is a bar
That must for ever disunite us-Born
Of Norman race, and from my earliest years
Attached to William's cause, I love my king,
And wish my country's peace: That king, my
lord,

Whom Morcar wishes to dethrone; that peace,
Which he destroys: Had he an angel's form,
With all the virtues that adorn his sex,
With all the riches fortune can bestow,
I would rot wed a traitor.

Siw. Call not his errors by so harsh a name; He has been deeply wronged, and souls, like his, Must feel the wounds of honour, and resent them.

Alas! with thee I weep my country's fate,
Nay wish, perhaps, as well to William's cause,
And England's peace, as can the loyal daughter
Of gallant Ranulph; and would, therefore, joy
To see Matilda lend a gracious ear

To Morcar's suit. Thy reconciling charms
Might sooth his troubled soul, might heal the

wounds

Of bleeding England, and unite us all

In one bright chain of harmony and love. The gallant Edwin too

Mat. Ha! what of him?

Know'st thou that noble youth?

Siw. So many years

Have past since last we met, by different views

And our

unhappy feuds so long divided,

I should not recollect him; but report

Speaks loudly of his virtues. He, no doubt,
If yet he lives-

Mut. Yet lives! why, what, my lord?
Siw. You seem much moved.

Mat. Forgive me, but whene'er

This sad idea rises to my mind,

Of brother against brother armed, my soul Recoils with horror.

Siw. 'Tis a dreadful thought:

Would I could heal that cruel breach! but then, Thou might'st do much; the task is left for thee. Mat. For me? Alas! it is not in my power. Siw. In thine, and thine alone. O think, Matilda!

How great thy glory, and how great thy praise, To be the blessed instrument of peace;

The band of union 'twixt contending brothers.
Thou see'st them, now, like two descending floods,
Whose rapid torrents meeting, half o'erwhelm
The neighbouring plains: thy gentle voice might
still

The angry waves, and bid their waters flow,
In one united stream, to bless the land.

Mat. That flattering thought beams comfort
on my soul

Amidst my sorrows; bear me witness, Heaven!
Could poor Matilda be the happy means
Of reconcilement; could these eyes behold
The noble youths embracing and embraced
In the firm cords of amity and love,
Oh! it would make me ample recompense
For all my griefs, nor would I more complain,
But rest me in the silent grave, well pleased
To think, at last, I had not lived in vain.

Siw. Cherish that virtuous thought, illustrious maid!

And let me hope my friend may still be happy. Mat. I wish it from my soul: but see, my

lord,

Earl Morcar comes this way, with hasty steps, Across the lawn. I must retire: farewell! You'll not forget my humble suit.

Siw. Oh! no.

I will do all that loveliest innocence
And worth, like thine, deserve. Farewell: mean

time,

Remember, Siward's every wish, the bliss
Of Morcar, Edwin's life, the public peace,
And England's welfare, all depend on thee.
[Exit MATILDA.

There's no alternative but this; my friend
Must quit Matilda, or desert the cause
We have lavishly promised to support-perhaps
The last were best- -both shall be tried-he

comes.

Enter MORCar.

Mor. O Siward! was not that

The fair Matilda, whom you parted from?
Siw. It was.

Mor. What says she! the dear, cruel maid Is she still deaf? incxorable still?

Siw. You must not think of her. Mor. What say'st thou, Siward? Not think of her!

Siw. No. Root her from thy heart, And gaze no more. I blush to see my friend So lost to honour: Is it for a man

On whom the fate of England may depend,

To quit the dangerous post, where duty calls,
And all the business of the war, to sigh
And whine in corners for a captive woman?
Resume the hero, Morcar, and subdue
This idle passion.

Mor. Talk not thus of love,

The great refiner of the human heart,

The source of all that's great, of all that's good;
Of joy, of pleasure if it be a weakness,
It is a weakness, which the best have felt.
I would not wish to be a stranger to it.

Did I for this desert my sovereign's cause,
My peaceful home, and all its joys, to serve
Ungrateful Morcar? Why did I rebel?
The haughty William never injured me.
For thee alone I fought, for thee I conquered;
And, but for thee, long since I had employed
My gallant soldiers to a nobler purpose,
Than loitering, thus, in idle camp, to hear
A love-sick tale, and sooth a madman's phrenzy.
Mor. You could? Away, and leave me, then:
withdraw

Mor. Yes;

I thank you for your counsel. 'Tis the advice
Of cold unfeeling wisdom, kindly meant
To make me prudent, and to leave me wretched:
But thus it is, that proud exulting health
Is ever ready to prescribe a cure

For pain and sickness, which it never knew.
Sizo. There, too, thou err'st; for I have known
its joys

And sorrows too. In early life, I lost
The partner of my soul. E'er since that hour,
I bade adieu to love, and taught my soul
To offer her devotions at the shrine
Of sacred friendship; there my vows are paid :
Morcar best knows the idol of my worship.
Mor. I know and love thee for it: but Oh!
my friend,

I cannot force this tyrant from my breast;
E'en now I feel her here, she sits enthroned
Within the foldings of my heart, and he,

Who tears her thence, must draw the life-blood from me.

My morning slumbers, and my midnight dreams, Are haunted by Matilda.

Siw. To be thus

Bend to the tyrant's yoke, whilst I alone Defend the cause of freedom and my country. Here let us part. Remove your loiterers, And join the usurper.

Siw. Mark the difference, now, Betwixt blind passion and undaunted friendship': You are impatient of the keen reproof, Because you merit: I can bear it all, Because I've not deserved it.

Enter an Officer.

Of. Good my lords,

Forgive this rough intrusion; but the danger,
I trust, will plead my pardon. As I watched
From yonder tower, a dusky cloud appeared,
As if from distant troops, advancing; soon
I saw their armour glitter in the sun;
With rapid motion they approached; each mo-

ment

We must expect them here.

Siw. Why, let them come!
Already I have ordered fit disposal

Of all our little force. Away, good Osmond,
Be silent and be ready.
[Exit Officer.
Now, my friend,

Thou art as welcome to thy Siward's breast,

Mor. I will bear

ward;

I will enjoy the glorious prize; she's mine,
By right of conquest, mine. I will assert
A victor's claim, and force her to be happy.

Siw. That must not be. It ill becomes the man,
Who takes up arms against a tyrant's power,
To adopt a tyrant's maxims; force and love
Are terms, that never can be reconciled.
You will not, must not, do it.

Mor. Must not! who

Shall dare oppose me?

Siw. Honour, conscience, love,

The sense of shame, your virtue, and your friend.
Whilst I have life, or power, I will not see
Matilda wronged.

Mor. You are her champion, then,
It seems, her favoured, happy friend, perhaps
Her fond admirer, too. Ill-fated Morcar!
I see it but too well. I am lost, abandoned;
Alike betrayed by friendship, and by love.

I thank you, sir, you have performed your office,
And merit your reward.

Siw. Unkind reproach!

With all a lover's ardour to his rescue;
His sorrows and his wants alone remembered,
And all his follies buried in oblivion.

Mor. Thou hast disarmed me now. This pierces more

Than all the bitter poison of reproach,
Which thou hast poured upon me. Oh! 'twas

treason

SCENE I-A Fortress belonging to MORCAR. EDWIN alone (in chains.)

Edw. IT is the will of Heaven, and must be
done.

The hard-fought field is lost, and here I am
A prisoner in my brother's camp: alas!
That fortune thus should guide me to a foe,
Whom most I wished to shun! We little thought
The troops, by Morcar led, had this way bent
Their ill-directed course: but Providence
Hath so ordained, perhaps, to heal the wounds
Of civil discord. Oh! unhappy Edwin,
For what art thou reserv'd? No matter what.
Since fate deprived me of my dear Matilda,
Whom I for three long years have sought in vain,
Life hath been irksome to me: this, perchance,
May end it-for, who knows, if nature yet
May live within the conqueror's breast, to plead
A brother's pardon! Yet he knows me not,
But soon he must-ha! who comes here? earl
Siward!

The second in command, to whom, o'erpowered
By circling foes, and fainting with my wounds,
I yielded up my sword. If fame say true,
He bears a mind too great to look with scorn
On the oppressed, or triumph o'er misfortune.

Enter SIWARD.

Siw. Stranger, whoe'er thou art, be comforted; Thy fate hath thrown thee into noble hands, Who know thy merit. May I ask thy name? Edw. I am a poor abandoned wretch, the sport Of fortune; one, whose least affliction is To be a captive, and from every eye Would wish to hide the story of my fate: Too soon my name and sorrows will be known. Siw. Respect is ever due to misery: I will not urge thee further; all, I hope,

That

generous pity could afford to sooth Calamity, like thine, by my command, Hath been extended to thee. Here, awhile, You must remain a prisoner. But, ere long, I hope to greet thee by a fairer name, And rank thee as our friend.

Edw. Your generous orders Have been obeyed, and I acknowledge it With grateful heart. May I not ask the fate Of him, who fought so nobly by my side, That brave old man?

Siw. The gallant Ranulph

Edw. Yes;

My fellow captive.

Siw. He is safe and free.

Edw. Ha! free! Thank Heaven!

Siw. The generous Morcar, urged

By my entreaties, pardoned and released him, Though much our soldiers murmured, and de

månded

His life and your's; a sacrifice, they said,
Due to the manes of their slaughtered friends;
But mercy has prevailed.

Edw. Whate'er becomes

Of an unhappy wanderer, like me,

For your kind treatment of the aged Ranulph,
Accept my thanks; it was a precious boon;
Morcar may find me not unworthy of it.
To-day I am his captive, but to-morrow
May see me his deliverer: for, know,
My royal inaster, the victorious William,
With eagle swiftness, soon will follow me
With twenty times your force. As this shall

With such a heart as thine, so nobly formed
To feel for the afflicted, satisfied,

For so thou seem'st, of William's royal right,
What could engage thee in this foul revolt,
This base rebellion?

Siw. What, but the great bond
Of kindred souls, inviolable friendship!
The only solid bliss on this side heaven,
That doubles all the joys of human life,
And, by dividing, lessens every woe.

Edw. Who knows but this day's sad event may prove

The happy means to heal a nation's wounds,
And sooth our jarring factions into peace?
Siw. Had Morcar thought with me, long since
that end

Had been obtained; but Morcar is

Edw. Inexorable';

So I have heard, and therefore little hope
To charge his nature. O! could he be wrought
To sweet oblivion of his wrongs; to bury
His deep resentment; mine should be the task,
A task, Heaven knows, I would, with joy, per-
form,

To reconcile offended majesty ;

To soften all his errors, plead his pardon,
And give my sovereign one brave soldier more.

Siw. When next we meet I trust it shall be so:
Mean time, let me prepare him for the change;
Retire a while-ere long we'll send for thee,
For every moment I expect him here:
Thy freedom and thy happiness shall be
My first concern, for thou hast well deserved it.
Edw. Farewell! Be quick in your resolves; the

time

Requires it; and be wise ere 'tis too late.

[Exit EDWIN. Siw. [Alone.] I hope we shall. This well-timed victory,