But none of all their kin are yet return'd,
No, nor shall ever.
Ter. Still run thy thoughts upon those hapless women
Of that small hamlet, whose advent'rous peasants
To Palestine with noble Baldwin went,
And ne'er were heard of more?
Aur. They perish'd there; and of their dismal fate
No trace remain'd—none of them all return'd.
Didst thou not say so?—Husbands, lovers, friends—
Not one return'd again.
Ter. So I believe.
Aur. Thou but believest then?
Ter. As I was told.
Ed. Thou hast the story wrong.
Four years gone by, one did return again;
But marr'd, and maim'd, and changed—a woful man.
Aur. And what though every limb were hack'd and maim'd,
And roughen'd o'er with scars?—he did return.
I would a pilgrimage to Iceland go,
To the Antipodes or burning zone,
To see that man who did return again,
And her who did receive him.—Did receive him!
Oh ! what a moving thought lurks here!—How was't?
Tell it me all:—and oh! another time
Give me your tale ungarbled."
Ulrick, the Lord of the Isle, loves Aurora; and, impatient of her inextinguishable Hope, has threatened to Terentia that night to quench the Beacon. On being told of that threat, the spirit of Aurora leaps up and she indignantly cries
"He does! Then will we have
A noble fire. This night our lofty blaze
Shall through the darkness shoot full many a league
Its streamy rays, like to a bearded star,
Preceding changeful—ay, and better times.
It may, in very truth. O, if his bark
(For many a bark within its widen'd reach
The dark seas traverse) should its light descry—
Should this be so—it may—perhaps it will.
O, that it might!—We'll have a rousing blaze.
Give me your hands."
Terentia, as well she might, mildly rebukes such wild fancies and warns her against the aggravated sharpness of disappointment.
"Aur. Talk not of disappointment: be assured
Some late intelligence does Ulrick prompt
To these stern orders. On our seas there sails,
Or soon will sail, some vessel which, right gladly,
He would permit to founder on the coast,
Or miss its course. But no; it will not be:
In spite of all his hatred, to the shore,
Through seas as dark as subterraneous night,
It will arrive in safety."
All the dialogue is full of exquisite touches—bold strokes of nature like these. As, for example, what can be more beautiful than these lines—yet we do not remember to have seen them quoted?
"Aur. Well, taunt me as thou wilt, I'll worship still
The blessed morrow, storehouse of all good
For wretched folks. They who lament to-day
May then rejoice; they who in misery bend
E'en to the earth, be then in honour robed.
O! who shall reckon what its brighten'd hours
May of returning joy contain? To-morrow!
The blest to morrow! Cheering, kind to morrow!
He were a heathen not to worship thee!"
Her soul is up, and she says to Terentia
"Ah! be not stern. Edda will sing the song
That makes feet beat and heads nod to its tune;
And even grave Terentia will be moved
To think of pleasant things."
SONG.
"Wish'd-for gales the light vane veering,
Better dreams the dull night cheering;
Lighter heart the morning greeting,
Things of better omen meeting;
Eyes each passing stranger watching,
Ears each feeble rumour catching,
Say he existeth still on earthly ground,
The absent will return, the long, long lost be found.
"In the tower the ward-bell ringing,
In the court the carols singing;
Busy hands the gay board dressing,
Eager steps the threshold pressing,
Open'd arms in haste advancing,
Joyful looks through blind, tears glancing;
