Serves but to root them firmer. 
210 
Princes are pamper’d with such soft obedience, 
That suddenly to thwart their resolutions, 
I have 
hopes 
That when his wounded pride begins to heal, 
At my entreaty, Edward takes again 
Thy father into favour. 
Edi. Plead with zeal, 
Thou wilt be heard. The monarch has a 
heart. 
Hf.” He has a form, Editha, like the gods, 
Edi. Be the soul worthy of it! 
H. ] SUSPECT, 
That thy mere wishes, maid, would more 
avail 
my entreaties 
monarcy. 
Edi. Shall I, when Edward comes, throw 
at his feet 
The daughter’s woe; with words and teats of 
prayer, 
Attempt to soothe his soul. into forgiveness ; 
And tlasp his knees, and plead with him for 
mercy? 
H. Thou wilt not ask in vain. 
Edward saw thee, 
fis tongue dwells often on thy beamy eye, 
‘Thy golden tresses, and thy lily bosom. 
@fc, o’er the sparkling cup, with throbbing 
pulse, 
Me names Editha; and no courtier’s voice 
Blay now presume to warble ferth thy praise. 
Has le not hinted to thyself his passion ? 
idi. In Goodwin’s hall, where Edward 
‘ chane’d to see me, 
Than with our youthful 
Since 
Oft, when the chace was vecal on the heath 
4 3 
He chase to linger in the women’s room, 
_Woo'd me to paint him flowers upon his 
shield, 
Or. trifled with the scarves that I was pur- 
mast 
At times he courted-me to shady walks, 
And, shewing me my figure in the stream, 
Would question me if Frea stoop’d from 
heaven, 
To view her image in that waveless rill. 
H. ?Jis well, sweet niece; I trust he is 
unchang’d. 
Methinks he might be here: he said his 
train 
Sheuld tread upon the heel of Harold’s 
haste. 
Do I not hear the trampling of his horses ? 
‘These sounds of minstrelsy announce the 
king. 
Edi. (aside.). Why dol tremble? 
coward awe 
With whica tne slave looks up toa superior, 
‘The common portion of all them that bear 
She name of king ? Lie still, my busy heart. 
i sce I have not.bound my hair with flowers. 
HB. Return, Editha, soon, (de goes.) On 
thy own head, 
Go, apa abe victim, bind the garland; 
For thou lov’st Edward to thy  wacle’s 
eee 
Is the 
Harold and Tosti, a Tragedy. 
‘And scream aloud 3 
Tosti, there’s woe enough in store fox thee, 
To glut my hatred. 1 cannot forget 
My. Siegwin’s reddening when I nanvd my 
brother: 
I love him for it; heseems to know his sire; 
And feel like him ; but has not learnt as yet 
To veil abhorrence with the smile of loves 
Minstrels sing, during which EDWARD entersy 
and EITHA returns. 
When from. his iren throne 
The king of siaughter starts, 
Uprears in darken’d air his shield, 
And to the shuddering world 
The yell of onset roars; - 
"Tis thine to hear with ‘gladden’d soul ? 
For, Edward, of thy head 
The Nornies, from unmeasur’d stores, 
Pour’d the resistless flood of boldness downy 
The noblest gift of gods. 
When high the tide of battle date 
And wice the cloud of carnage lours, 
Andon the helmet rings the arrowy hail; 
’Tis thine, among the waves of war, 
To gladly bathe thy strength, 
Deep in the sea of wounds 
Rejoicing plung’d: 
For, Edward, on thy head 
The Nornies, from unmeasur’d stores, 
Pour’d the resistless flocd of boldness downy 
The noblest gift of gods. 
The raven, at thy march, 
Exulting flaps his wing ; 
_ The famish’d wolf forbears 
To bay the midcight moon: 
‘They soll the alisteni ing eye 
O’er steaming heaths of food. 
Behold yon lovely maid ! 
Three nights she watch’d to hear - 
Her conquering lover’s tread 5 
At length in slumber’s arm she sank : 
But night-mares throng around her couchs 
And to her sleeping ear 
Bewray her lover’s iall. 
She wakes—to rest no more, 
Save in pale Hela’s lap. ; 
Behold the widow by her once-lov’d hearths 
In speechless sorrow sit: 
No more she hears, with silent joy, 
Her husbend with his sons converse. 
Ci freedom and of fame. 
Who now shail teach her hoy: the a 
That after-times record ? nd 
She sinks to endless night ! 
Her orphan-children live, ital ta 
The bold oppressor’s slaves. pes 
Behold, amid a pitying throng, 
Upon her slaughter’d son 
The sobbing mother hang, 
The tearful-smiling father boasts, ‘eh 
- How nobly bled the youth. 
But long in secret Coth shall piney ~~ ‘e 
And cath ie? hide their hoary heads, | 
Beneath the clay-cold turf. a a 
