Men preserved from storm and tide
And fire and battle raging wide;
What shall subdue our steady faith,
Or of our heads a hair shall skathe?
Men preserved, in gladness weeping,
Praise him, who hath alway our souls in holy keeping.
And whereso'er, in earth or sea,
Our spot of rest at last shall be;
Our swords, in many a glorious field,
Surviving heroes still shall wield,
While we our faithful toils are reaping
With him, who hath alway our souls in holy keeping.
Aur. Speak to them, Bastiani; thou'rt a soldier;
Thy mind is more composed.—I pray thee do.
Bast. This Lady, noble warriors, greets you all,
And offers you such hospitality
As this late hour and scanty means afford.
Wilt please ye round this blazing fire to rest?
After such perilous tossing on the waves,
You needs must be forspent.
1st Knight. Lady, take our thanks.
And may the vessel of that friend beloved,
For whom you watch, as we have now been told,
Soon to your shore its welcome freight convey.
Aur. Thanks for the wish; and may its prayers be heard.
Renowned men ye are; holy and brave;
In every field of honour and of arms
Some of your noble brotherhood are found:
Perhaps the valiant knights I now behold,
Did on that luckless day against the Souldain
With brave De Villeneuve for the cross contend.
If this be so, you can, perhaps, inform me
Of one who in the battle fought, whose fate is still unknown.
1st Knight. None of us all, fair Dame, so honour'd were
As in that field to be, save this young knight.
Sir Bertram, wherefore in thy mantle lapt,
Stand'st thou so far behind? Speak to him, Lady;
For in that battle he right nobly fought
And may, belike, wot of the friend you mention'd.
Aur. (going up eagerly to the young Knight.) Did'st thou there fight?—then surely thou didst know
The noble Ermingard, who from this isle
With valiant Conrad went:—
What fate had he upon that dismal day?
Young Kt. Whate'er his fate in that fell fight might be,
He now is as the dead.
Aur. Is as the dead! ha! then he is not dead:
He's living still. O tell me—tell me this!
Say he is still alive; and though he breathe
In the foul pest-house; though a wretched wand'rer,
Wounded and maim'd; yea, though his noble form
With chains and stripes and slav'ry be disgraced,
Say he is living still, and I will bless thee.
Thou know'st—full well thou know'st, but wilt not speak.
What means that heavy groan? For love of God, speak to me!
My Ermingard! My blessed Ermingard!
Thy very living self restored again!
Why turn from me?
Er. Ah! call st thou this restored?
Aur. Do I not grasp thy real living hand?
Dear, dear!—so dear! most dear!—my lost, my found!
Thou turn'st and weep'st; art thou not so to me?
Er. Ah! would I were! alas, alas! I'm lost:
Sever'd from thee for ever.
Aur. Howso? What means such words?
Erm. (shaking his head, and pointing to the cross on his mantle.)
Look on this emblem of a holy vow
Which binds and weds me to a heavenly love:
We are, my sweet Aurora, far divided;
Our bliss is wreck' d for ever.
Aur. No; thou art still alive, and that is bliss.
Few moments since, what would I not have sacrificed,
To know that, in the lapse of many years,
I should again behold thee?—I had been
How strongly art thou moved!—Thou heed'st me not.
Ter. (to Aur.) Were it not better he should leave this spot?
