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Adam Lindsay Gordon - Ashtaroth: A Dramatic Lyric
Work rating: Medium

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For miles around that is worth the pillage? 
Will it pay the costs of my men or yours 
To harry the homesteads of German boors? 
Have we cause for pride in our feats of arms 
When we plunder the peasants or sack the farms? 
I tell thee, Rudolph of Rothenstein, 
That were thy soldiers willing as mine, 
And I sole leader of this array, 
I would give Prince Otto battle this day. 
Dost thou call thy followers men of war? 
Oh, Dagobert! thou whose ancestor 
On the neck of the Caesar`s offspring trod, 
Who was justly surnamed "The Scourge of God". 
Yet in flight lies safety. Skirmish and run 
To forest and fastness, Teuton and Hun, 
From the banks of the Rhine to the Danube`s shore, 
And back to the banks of the Rhine once more; 
Retreat from the face of an armed foe, 
Robbing garden and hen-roost where`er you go. 
Let the short alliance betwixt us cease, 
I and my Norsemen will go in peace! 
I wot it never will suit with us, 
Such existence, tame and inglorious; 
I could live no worse, living single-handed, 
And better with half my men disbanded. 

Rudolph: 
Jarl Osric, what would`st thou have me do? 
`Gainst Otto`s army our men count few; 
With one chance of victory, fight, say I! 
But not when defeat is a certainty. 
If Rudiger joins us with his free-lances, 
Our chance will be equal to many chances; 
For Rudiger is both prompt and wary; 
And his men are gallant though mercenary; 
But the knave refuses to send a lance 
Till half the money is paid in advance. 

Dagobert: 
May his avarice wither him like a curse! 
I guess he has heard of our late reverse; 
But, Rudolph, whether he goes or stays, 
There is reason in what Jarl Osric says; 
Of provisions we need a fresh supply, 
And our butts and flasks are shallow or dry; 
My men are beginning to grumble sadly, 
`Tis no wonder, since they must fare so badly. 

Rudolph: 
We have plenty of foragers out, and still 
We have plenty of hungry mouths to fill; 
And, moreover, by some means, foul or fair, 
We must raise money; `tis little I care, 
So long as we raise it, whence it comes. 

Osric: 
Shall we sit till nightfall biting our thumbs? 
The shortest plan is ever the best; 
Has anyone here got aught to suggest? 

Orion: 
The cornfields are golden that skirt the Rhine, 
Fat are the oxen, strong is the wine, 
In those pleasant pastures, those cellars deep, 
That o`erflow with the tears that those vineyards weep; 
Is it silver you stand in need of, or gold? 
Ingot or coin? There is wealth untold 
In the ancient convent of Englemehr; 
That is not so very far from here. 
The Abbot, esteem`d a holy man, 
Will hold what he has and grasp what he can; 
The cream of the soil he loves to skim, 
Why not levy a contribution on him? 

Dagobert: 
The stranger speaks well; not far away 
That convent lies; and one summer`s day 
Will suffice for a horseman to reach the gate; 
The garrison soon would capitulate, 
Since the armed retainers are next to none, 
And the walls, I wot, may be quickly won. 

Rudolph: 
I kept those walls for two months or more, 
When they feared the riders of Melchior! 
That was little over three years ago. 
Their Abbot is thrifty, as well I know; 
He haggled sorely about the price 
Of our service. 

Dagobert: Rudolph, he paid thee twice. 

Rudolph: 
Well, what of that? Since then I`ve tried 
To borrow from him; now I know he lied 
When he told me he could not spare the sum 
I asked. If we to his gates should come, 
He could spare it though it were doubled; and still, 
This war with the Church I like it ill. 

Osric: 
The creed of our fathers is well-nigh dead, 
And the creed of the Christian reigns in its stead 
But the creed of the Christian, too, may die, 
For your creeds or your churches what care I! 
If there be plunder at Englemehr, 
Let us strike our tents and thitherward steer. 


SCENE — A Farm-house on the Rhine (About a mile from the Convent). 

HUGO in chamber alone. Enter ERIC. 


Eric: 
What, Hugo, still at the Rhine! I thought 
You were home. You have travell`d by stages short. 

Hugo (with hesitation): 
Our homeward march was labour in vain, 
We had to retrace our steps again; 
It was here or hereabouts that I lost 
Some papers of value; at any cost 
I must find them; and which way lies your course? 

Eric: 
I go to recruit Prince Otto`s force. 
I cannot study as you do; I 
Am wearied with inactivity; 
So I carry a blade engrim`d with rust 
(That a hand sloth-slacken`d has, I trust, 
Not quite forgotten the way to wield), 
To strike once more on the tented field. 

Hugo: 
Fighting is all a mistake, friend Eric, 
And has been so since the age Homeric, 
When Greece was shaken and Troy undone, 
Ten thousand lives for a worthless one. 
Yet I blame you not; you might well do worse; 
Better fight and perish than live to curse 
The day you were born; and such has been 
The lot of many, and shall, I ween, 
Be the lot of more. If Thurston chooses 
He may go with you. The blockhead abuses 
Me and the life I lead. 

     Enter ORION. 

Orion: Great news! 
The Englemehr monks will shake in their shoes; 
In the soles of their callous feet will shake 
The barefooted friars. The nuns will quake. 

Hugo: Wherefore? 

Orion: The outlaw of Rothenstein 
Has come with his soldiers to the Rhine, 
Back`d by those hardy adventurers 
From the northern forests of pines and firs, 
And Dagobert`s horse. They march as straight 
As the eagle swoops to the convent gate. 

Hugo: 
We must do something to save the place. 

Orion: 
They are sure to take it in any case, 
Unless the sum that they ask is paid. 

Eric: 
Some effort on our part must be made. 

Hugo: 
`Tis not so much for the monks I care. 

Eric: 
Nor I; but the Abbess and nuns are there. 

Orion: 
`Tis not our business; what can we do? 
They are too many, and we are too few; 
And yet, I suppose, you will save, if you can, 
That lady, your ward, or your kinswoman. 

Hugo: 
She is no kinswoman of mine; 
How far is Otto`s camp from the Rhine? 

Orion: 
Too far for help in such time of need 
To be brought, though you used your utmost speed. 

Eric: 
Nay, that I doubt. 

Hugo: And how many men 
Have they? 

Orion: To your one they could muster ten. 

Eric: 
I know Count Rudolph, and terms may be made 
With him, I fancy; for though his trade 
Is a rough one now, gainsay it who can, 
He was once a knight and a gentleman. 
And Dagobert, the chief of the Huns, 
Bad as he is, will spare the nuns; 
Though neither he nor the Count could check 
Those lawless men, should they storm and sack 
The convent. Jarl Osric, too, I know; 
He is rather a formidable foe, 
And will likely enough be troublesome; 
But the others, I trust, to terms will come. 

Hugo: 
Eric, how many men have you? 
I can count a score. 

Eric: I have only two. 

Hugo: 
At every hazard we must try to save 
The nuns. 

Eric: Count Rudolph shall think we have 
A force that almost equals his own, 
If I can confer with him alone. 

Orion: 
He is close at hand; by this time he waits 
The Abbot`s reply at the convent gates. 

Hugo: 
We had better send him a herald. 

Eric: Nay, 
I will go myself. [Eric goes out.] 

Hugo: Orion, stay! 
So this is the reed on which I`ve leaned, 
 These are the hopes thou hast fostered, these 
The flames thou hast fanned. Oh, lying fiend! 
 Is it thus thou dost keep thy promises? 

Orion: 
Strong language, Hugo, and most unjust; 
 You will cry out before you are hurt — 
You will live to recall your words, I trust. 
 Fear nothing from Osric or Dagobert, 
These are your friends, if you only knew it, 
 And would take the advice of a friend sincere; 
Neglect his counsels and you must rue it, 
 For I know by a sign the crisis is near. 
Accept the terms of these outlaws all, 
 And be thankful that things have fallen out 
Exactly as you would have had them fall — 
 You may save the one that you care about; 
Otherwise, how did you hope to gain 
 Access to her — on what pretence? 
What were the schemes that worried your brain 
 To tempt her there or to lure her thence? 
You must have bungled, and raised a scandal 
 About your ears, that might well have shamed 
The rudest Hun, the veriest Vandal, 
 Long or ever the bird was tamed. 

Hugo: 
The convent is scarce surrounded yet, 
 We might reach and hold it against their force 
Till another sun has risen and set; 
 And should I despatch my fleetest horse 
To Otto —— 

Orion: For Abbot, or Monk, or Friar, 
 Between ourselves, `tis little you care 
If their halls are harried by steel and fire: 
 Their avarice left your heritage bare. 
Forsake them! Mitres, and cowls, and hoods 
 Will cover vices while earth endures; 
Through the green and gold of the summer woods 
 Ride out with that pretty bird of yours. 
If again you fail to improve your chance, 
 Why, then, my friend, I can only say 
You are duller far than the dullest lance 
 That rides in Dagobert`s troop this day. 
"Faemina semper", frown not thus, 
 The girl was always giddy and wild, 
Vain, and foolish, and frivolous, 
 Since she fled from her father`s halls, a child. 
I sought to initiate you once 
 In the mystic lore of the old Chaldean; 
But I found you far too stubborn a dunce, 
 And your tastes are coarser and more plebeian. 
Yet mark my words, for I read the stars, 
 And trace the future in yonder sky; 
To the right are wars and rumours of wars, 
 To the left are peace and prosperity. 
Fear naught. The world shall never detect 
 The cloven hoof, so carefully hid 
By the scholar so staid and circumspect, 
 So wise for once to do as he`s bid. 
Remember what pangs come year by year 
 For opportunity that has fled; 
And Thora in ignorance. 

Hugo: Name not her! 
 I am sorely tempted to strike thee dead! 

Orion: 
Nay, I hardly think you will take my life, 
 The angel Michael was once my foe; 
He had a little the best of our strife, 
 Yet he never could deal so stark a blow. 


SCENE — A Chamber in the Nuns` Apartments of the Convent. 

AGATHA and URSULA. 


Agatha: 
My sire in my childhood pledged my hand 
 To Hugo — I know not why — 
They were comrades then, `neath the Duke`s command, 
 In the wars of Lombardy. 
I thought, ere my summers had turned sixteen, 
 That mine was a grievous case; 
Save once, for an hour, I had never seen 
 My intended bridegroom`s face; 
And maidens vows of their own will plight. 
 Unknown to my kinsfolk all 
My love was vowed to a Danish knight, 
 A guest in my father`s hall. 
His foot fell lightest in merry dance, 
 His shaft never missed the deer; 
He could fly a hawk, he could wield a lance, 
 Our wildest colt he could steer. 
His deep voice ringing through hall or glen 
 Had never its match in song; 
And little was known of his past life then, 
 Or of Dorothea`s wrong. 
I loved him — Lady Abbess, I know 
 That my love was foolish now; 
I was but a child five years ago, 
 And thoughtless as bird on bough. 
One evening Hugo the Norman came, 
 And, to shorten a weary tale, 
I fled that night (let me bear the blame) 
 With Harold by down and dale. 
He had mounted me on a dappled steed, 
 And another of coal-black hue 
He rode himself; and away at speed 
 We fled through mist and dew. 

Of miles we had ridden some half a score, 
 We had halted beside a spring, 
When the breeze to our ears through the still night bore 
 A distant trample and ring; 
We listen`d one breathing space, and caught 
 The clatter of mounted men, 
With vigour renewed by their respite short 
 Our horses dash`d through the glen. 
Another league, and we listen`d in vain; 
 The breeze to our ears came mute; 
But we heard them again on the spacious plain, 
 Faint tidings of hot pursuit. 
In the misty light of a moon half hid 
 By the dark or fleecy rack, 
Our shadows over the moorland slid, 
 Still listening and looking back. 
So we fled (with a cheering word to say 
 At times as we hurried on), 
From sounds that at intervals died away, 
 And at intervals came anon. 
Another league, and my lips grew dumb, 
 And I felt my spirit quailing, 
For closer those sounds began to come, 
 And the speed of my horse was failing. 
"The grey is weary and lame to boot," 
 Quoth Harold; "the black is strong, 
And their steeds are blown with their fierce pursuit, 
 What wonder! our start was long. 
Now, lady, behind me mount the black, 
 The double load he can bear; 
We are safe when we reach the forest track, 
 Fresh horses and friends wait there." 
Then I sat behind him and held his waist, 
 And faster we seemed to go 
By moss and moor; but for all our haste 
 Came the tramp of the nearing foe. 
A dyke through the mist before us hover`d, 
 And, quicken`d by voice and heel, 
The black overleap`d it, stagger`d, recover`d; 
 Still nearer that muffled peal. 
And louder on sward the hoof-strokes grew, 
 And duller, though not less nigh, 
On deader sand; and a dark speck drew 
 On my vision suddenly, 
And a single horseman in fleet career, 
 Like a shadow appear`d to glide 
To within six lances` lengths of our rear, 
 And there for a space to bide. 
Quoth Harold, "Speak, has the moon reveal`d 
 His face?" I replied, "Not so! 
Yet `tis none of my kinsfolk." Then he wheel`d 
 In the saddle and scanned the foe, 
And mutter`d, still gazing in our wake, 
 "`Tis he; now I will not fight 
The brother again, for the sister`s sake, 
 While I can escape by flight." 
"Who, Harold?" I asked; but he never spoke. 
 By the cry of the bittern harsh, 
And the bull-frog`s dull, discordant croak, 
 I guess`d that we near`d the marsh; 
And the moonbeam flash`d on watery sedge 
 As it broke from a strip of cloud, 
Ragged and jagged about the edge, 
 And shaped like a dead man`s shroud. 
And flagg`d and falter`d our gallant steed, 
 `Neath the weight of his double burden, 
As we splash`d through water and crash`d through reed; 
 Then the soil began to harden, 
And again we gain`d, or we seem`d to gain, 
 With our foe in the deep morass; 
But those fleet hoofs thunder`d, and gain`d again, 
 When they trampled the firmer grass, 
And I cried, and Harold again look`d back, 
 And bade me fasten mine eyes on 
The forest, that loom`d like a patch of black 
 Standing out from the faint horizon. 
"Courage, sweetheart! we are saved," he said; 
 "With the moorland our danger ends, 
And close to the borders of yonder glade 
 They tarry, our trusty friends." 
Where the mossy uplands rise and dip 
 On the edge of the leafy dell, 
With a lurch, like the lurch of a sinking ship, 
 The black horse toppled and fell. 
Unharm`d we lit on the velvet sward, 
 And even as I lit I lay, 
But Harold uprose, unsheath`d his sword, 
 And toss`d the scabbard away. 
And spake through his teeth, "Good brother-in-law, 
 Forbearance, at last, is spent; 
The strife that thy soul hath lusted for 
 Thou shalt have to thy soul`s content!" 
While he spoke, our pursuer past us swept, 
 Ere he rein`d his war-horse proud, 
To his haunches flung, then to the earth he leapt, 
 And my lover`s voice rang loud: 
"Thrice welcome! Hugo of Normandy, 
 Thou hast come at our time of need, 
This lady will thank thee, and so will I, 
 For the loan of thy sorrel steed!" 

And never a word Lord Hugo said, 
 They clos`d `twixt the wood and the wold, 
And the white steel flickered over my head 
 In the moonlight calm and cold; 
`Mid the feathery grasses crouching low, 
 With face bow`d down to the dust, 
I heard the clash of each warded blow, 
 The click of each parried thrust, 
And the shuffling feet that bruis`d the lawn, 
 As they traversed here and there, 
And the breath through the clench`d teeth heavily drawn 
 When breath there was none to spare; 
Sharp ringing sword play, dull, trampling heel, 
 Short pause, spent force to regain, 
Quick muffled footfall, harsh grating steel, 
 Sharp ringing rally again; 
They seem`d long hours, those moments fleet, 
 As I counted them one by one, 
Till a dead weight toppled across my feet, 
 And I knew that the strife was done. 

When I looked up, after a little space, 
 As though from a fearful dream, 
The moon was flinging on Harold`s face 
 A white and a weird-like gleam; 
And I felt mine ankles moist and warm 
 With the blood that trickled slow 
From a spot on the doublet beneath his arm, 
 From a ghastly gash on his brow; 
I heard the tread of the sorrel`s hoof 
 As he bore his lord away; 
They passed me slowly, keeping aloof, 
 Like spectres, misty and grey. 
I thought Lord Hugo had left me there 
 To die, but it was not so; 
Yet then for death I had little care, 
 My soul seem`d numb`d by the blow; 
A faintness follow`d, a sickly swoon, 
 A long and a dreamless sleep, 
And I woke to the light of a sultry noon 
 In my father`s castled keep. 

And thus, Lady Abbess, it came to pass 
 That my father vow`d his vow; 
Must his daughter espouse the Church? Alas! 
 Is she better or wiser now? 
For some are feeble and others strong, 
 And feeble am I and frail. 
Mother! `tis not that I love the wrong, 
 `Tis not that I loathe the veil, 
But with heart still ready to go astray, 
 If assail`d by a fresh temptation, 
I could sin again as I sinned that day, 
 For a girl`s infatuation. 
See! Harold, the Dane, thou say`st is dead, 
 Yet I weep NOT BITTERLY; 
As I fled with the Dane, so I might have fled 
 With Hugo of Normandy. 

Ursula: 
My child, I advise no hasty vows, 
 Yet I pray that in life`s brief span 
Thou may`st learn that our Church is a fairer spouse 
 Than fickle and erring man; 
Though fenced for a time by the Church`s pale, 
 When that time expires thou`rt free; 
And we cannot force thee to take the veil, 
 Nay, we scarce can counsel thee. 

     Enter the ABBOT hastily. 

Basil (the Abbot): 
I am sorely stricken with shame and grief, 
 It has come by the self-same sign, 
A summons brief from the outlaw`d chief, 
 Count Rudolph of Rothenstein. 
Lady Abbess, ere worse things come to pass, 
 I would speak with thee alone; 
Alack and alas! for by the rood and mass 
 I fear we are all undone. 


SCENE — A Farm-house Near the Convent. 

A Chamber furnished with writing materials. HUGO, ERIC, and THURSTON 
on one side; on the other OSRIC, RUDOLPH, and DAGOBERT. 


Osric: 
We have granted too much, ye ask for more; 
I am not skill`d in your clerkly lore, 
I scorn your logic; I had rather die 
Than live like Hugo of Normandy: 
I am a Norseman, frank and plain; 
Ye must read the parchment over again. 

Eric: 
Jarl Osric, twice we have read this scroll. 

Osric: 
Thou hast read a part. 

Eric: I have read the whole. 

Osric: 
Aye, since I attached my signature! 

Eric: 
Before and since! 

Rudolph: Nay, of this be sure, 
Thou hast signed; in fairness now let it rest. 

Osric: 
I had rather have sign`d upon Hugo`s crest; 
He has argued the question mouth to mouth 
With the wordy lore of the subtle south; 
Let him or any one of his band 
Come and argue the question hand to hand. 
With the aid of my battle-axe I will show 
That a score of words are not worth one blow. 

Thurston: 
To the devil with thee and thy battle-axe; 
I would send the pair of ye back in your tracks, 
With an answer that even to thy boorish brain 
Would scarce need repetition again. 

Osric: 
Thou Saxon slave to a milksop knight, 
I will give thy body to raven and kite. 

Thurston: 
Thou liest; I am a freeborn man, 
And thy huge carcase — in cubit and span 
Like the giant`s of Gath — `neath Saxon steel, 
Shall furnish the kites with a fatter meal. 

Osric: 
Now, by Odin! 

Rudolph: Jarl Osric, curb thy wrath; 
Our names are sign`d, our words have gone forth. 

Hugo: 
I blame thee, Thurston. 

Thurston: And I, too, blame 
Myself, since I follow a knight so tame! 
                    [Thurston goes out.] 

Osric: 
The Saxon hound, he said I lied! 

Rudolph: 
I pray thee, good Viking, be pacified. 

Osric: 
Why do we grant the terms they ask? 
To crush them all were an easy task. 

Dagobert: 
That know`st thou not; if it come to war, 
They are stronger, perhaps, than we bargain for. 

Eric: 
Jarl Osric, thou may`st recall thy words — 
Should we meet again. 

Osric: Should we meet with swords, 
Thou, too, may`st recall them to thy sorrow. 

Hugo: 
Eric! we dally. Sir Count, good-morrow. 


SCENE — The Guest Chamber of the Convent. 

HUGO, ERIC, and ORION. 


Eric: 
Hugo, their siege we might have tried; 
This place would be easier fortified 
Than I thought at first; it is now too late, 
They have cut off our access to the gate. 

Hugo: 
I have weigh`d the chances and counted the cost, 
And I know by the stars that all is lost 
If we take up this quarrel. 

Eric: So let it be! 
I yield to one who is wiser than me. (Aside.) 
Nevertheless, I have seen the day 
When the stars would scarcely have bade us stay. 

     Enter the ABBOT, CYRIL, and other Monks. 

Hugo: 
Lord Abbot, we greet thee. Good fathers all, 
We bring you greeting. 

Orion (aside): And comfort small. 

Abbot: 
God`s benediction on you, my sons. 

Hugo: 
May He save you, too, from Norsemen and Huns! 
Since the gates are beleaguer`d and walls begirt 
By the forces of Osric and Dagobert; 
`Tis a heavy price that the knaves demand. 

Abbot: 
Were we to mortgage the Church`s land 
We never could raise what they would extort. 

Orion (aside): 
The price is too long and the notice too short. 

Eric: 
And you know the stern alternative. 

Abbot: 
If we die we die, if we live we live; 
God`s will be done; and our trust is sure 
In Him, though His chast`nings we endure. 
Two messengers rode from here last night, 
To Otto they carry news of our plight; 
On my swiftest horses I saw them go. 

Orion (aside): 
Then his swiftest horses are wondrous slow. 

Eric: 
One of these is captive and badly hurt; 
By the reckless riders of Dagobert 
He was overtaken and well-nigh slain, 
Not a league from here on the open plain. 

Abbot: 
But the other escap`d. 

Eric: It may be so; 
We had no word of him, but we know 
That unless you can keep these walls for a day 
At least, the Prince is too far away 
To afford relief. 

Abbot: Then a hopeless case 
Is ours, and with death we are face to face. 

Eric: 
You have arm`d retainers. 

Cyril (a Monk): Aye, some half score; 
And some few of the brethren, less or more, 
Have in youth the brunt of the battle bided, 
Yet our armoury is but ill provided. 

Hugo: 
We have terms of truce from the robbers in chief, 
Though the terms are partial, the truce but brief; 
To Abbess, to nuns, and novices all, 
And to every woman within your wall, 
We can offer escort, and they shall ride 
From hence in safety whate`er betide. 

Abbot: 
What escort, Hugo, canst thou afford? 

Hugo: 
Some score of riders who call me lord 
Bide at the farm not a mile from here, 
Till we rejoin them they will not stir; 
My page and armourer wait below, 
And all our movements are watch`d by the foe. 
Strict stipulation was made, of course, 
That, except ourselves, neither man nor horse 
Should enter your gates — they were keen to shun 
The chance of increasing your garrison. 

Eric: 
I hold safe conduct here in my hand, 
Signed by the chiefs of that lawless band; 
See Rudolph`s name, no disgrace to a clerk, 
And Dagobert`s scrawl, and Osric`s mark; 
Jarl signed sorely against his will, 
With a scratch like the print of a raven`s bill; 
But the foe have muster`d in sight of the gate. 
For another hour they will scarcely wait; 
Bid Abbess and dame prepare with haste. 

Hugo: 
Lord Abbot, I tell thee candidly 
There is no great love between thou and I, 
As well thou know`st; but, nevertheless, 
I would we were more, or thy foes were less. 

Abbot: 
I will summon the Lady Abbess straight. 
                    [The Abbot and Monks go out.] 

Eric: 
`Tis hard to leave these men to their fate, 
Norsemen and Hun will never relent; 
Their day of grace upon earth is spent. 
                    [Hugo goes out, followed by Orion.] 


SCENE — The Corridor Outside the Guest Chamber. 

HUGO pacing up and down. ORION leaning against the wall. 


Hugo: 
My day of grace with theirs is past. 
 I might have saved them; `tis too late — 
Too late for both. The die is cast, 
 And I resign me to my fate. 
    God`s vengeance I await. 

Orion: 
The boundary `twixt right and wrong 
 Is not so easy to discern; 
And man is weak, and fate is strong, 
 And destiny man`s hopes will spurn, 
    Man`s schemes will overturn. 

Hugo: 
Thou liest, thou fiend! Not unawares 
 The sinner swallows Satan`s bait, 
Nor pits conceal`d nor hidden snares 
 Seeks blindly; wherefore dost thou prate 
    Of destiny and fate? 

Orion: 
Who first named fate? But never mind, 
 Let that pass by — to Adam`s fall 
And Adam`s curse look back, and find 
 Iniquity the lot of all, 
    And sin original. 

Hugo: 
But I have sinn`d, repented, sinn`d, 
 Till seven times that sin may be 
By seventy multiplied; the wind 
 Is constant when compared with me, 
    And stable is the sea! 

My hopes are sacrificed, for what? 
 For days of folly, less or more, 
For years to see those dead hopes rot, 
 Like dead weeds scatter`d on the shore, 
    Beyond the surfs that roar! 

Orion: 
The wiles of Eve are swift to smite; 
 Aye, swift to smite and not to spare — 
Red lips and round limbs sweet and white, 
 Dark eyes and sunny, silken hair, 
    Thy betters may ensnare. 

Hugo: 
Not so; the strife `twixt hell and heaven 
 I felt last night, and well I knew 
The crisis; but my aid was given 
 To hell. Thou`st known the crisis too, 
    For once thou`st spoken true. 

Having foretold it, there remains 
 For grace no time, for hope no room; 
Even now I seem to feel the pains 
 Of hell, that wait beyond the gloom 
    Of my dishonour`d tomb. 

Thou who hast lived and died to save, 
 Us sinners, Christ of Galilee! 
Thy great love pardon`d and forgave 
 The dying thief upon the tree, 
    Thou canst not pardon me! 

Dear Lord! hear Thou my latest prayer, 
 For prayer must die since hope is dead; 
Thy Father`s vengeance let me bear, 
 Nor let my guilt be visited 
    Upon a guiltless head! 

Ah! God is just! Full sure I am 
 He never did predestinate 
Our souls to hell. Ourselves we damn — 
                    [To Orion, with sudden passion] 
 Serpent! I know thee now, too late; 
    Curse thee! Work out thy hate! 

Orion: 
I hate thee not; thy grievous plight 
 Would move my pity, but I bear 
A curse to which thy curse seems light! 
Thy wrong is better than my right, 
My day is darker than thy night; 
 Beside the whitest hope I share 
    How white is thy despair! 


SCENE — The Chapel of the Convent. 

URSULA, AGATHA, Nuns and Novices. 


(Hymn of the Nuns): 

Jehovah! we bless Thee, 
    All works of Thine hand 
Extol Thee, confess Thee; 
    By sea and by land, 
By mountain and river, 
    By forest and glen, 
They praise Thee for ever! 
    And ever! Amen! 

The heathen are raging 
    Against Thee, O Lord! 
The ungodly are waging 
    Rash war against God! 
Arise, and deliver 
    Us, sheep of Thy pen, 
Who praise Thee for ever! 
    And ever! Amen! 

Thou Shepherd of Zion! 
    Thy firstlings didst tear 
From jaws of the lion, 
    From teeth of the bear; 
Thy strength to deliver 
    Is strong now as then. 
We praise Thee for ever! 
    And ever! Amen! 

Thine arm hath delivered 
    Thy servants of old, 
Hath scatter`d and shiver`d 
    The spears of the bold, 
Hath emptied the quiver 
    Of bloodthirsty men. 
We praise Thee for ever! 
    And ever! Amen! 

Nathless shall Thy right hand 
    Those counsels fulfil 
Most wise in Thy sight, and 
    We bow to Thy will; 
Thy children quail never 
    For dungeon or den, 
They praise Thee for ever! 
    And ever! Amen! 

Though fierce tribulation 
    Endure for a space, 
Yet God! our salvation! 
    We gain by Thy grace, 
At end of life`s fever, 
    Bliss passing man`s ken; 
There to praise Thee for ever! 
    And ever! Amen! 


SCENE — The Guest Room of the Convent. 

HUGO, ERIC, and ORION. Enter URSULA, AGATHA, and Nuns. 


Ursula: 
Hugo, we reject thine offers, 
 Not that we can buy 
Safety from the Church`s coffers, 
 Neither can we fly. 
Far too great the price they seek is, 
 Let their lawless throng 
Come, we wait their coming; weak is 
 Man, but God is strong. 

Eric: 
Think again on our proposals: 
 It will be too late 
When the robbers hold carousals 
 On this side the gate. 

Ursula: 
For myself I speak and others 
 Weak and frail as I; 
We will not desert our brothers 
 In adversity. 

Hugo (to the Nuns): 
Does the Abbess thus advance her 
 Will before ye all? 

A Nun: 
We will stay. 

Hugo: Is this thine answer, 
 Agatha? The wall 
Is a poor protection truly, 
 And the gates are weak, 
And the Norsemen most unruly. 
 Come, then. 

A Nun (to Agatha): Sister, speak! 

Orion (aside to Hugo): 
Press her! She her fears dissembling, 
 Stands irresolute; 
She will yield — her limbs are trembling, 
 Though her lips are mute. 
                    [A trumpet is heard without.] 

Eric: 
Hark! their savage war-horn blowing 
 Chafes at our delay. 

Hugo: 
Agatha, we must be going. 
 Come, girl! 

Agatha (clinging to Ursula): Must I stay? 

Ursula: 
Nay, my child, thou shalt not make me 
 Judge; I cannot give 
Orders to a novice. 

Agatha: Take me, 
 Hugo! Let me live! 

Eric (to Nuns): 
Foolish women! will ye tarry, 
 Spite of all we say? 

Hugo: 
Must we use our strength and carry 
 You by force away? 

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