• Such are the groans of poor lamenting ghofts,
And fuch the howlings of the last despair.
Anon to founds of woe, and magic strings,
• They danc'd in wild fantastic measures round;
Then all at once they bent their ghastly visages
On me, and yelling, thrice they cry'd out, Aribert !"
I have endur'd their horrors - And at length,
See, the night wears away, and chearful morn,
All sweet and fresh, spreads from the rofy east;
Fair nature seems reviv'd, and ev'n my heart
Sits light and jocund at the day's return,
And, fearless, waits an end of all its fufferings.
Enter one of the Guards, he delivers a letter to Aribert.
Guard. From Ofwald, this, on peril of my life,
I have engag'd to render to your hands.

[Exit.

Ar. [Reads.]" Seofrid has been just to his word: he has delivered the fair Ethelinda to my charge: we have happily past all the guards, and hope in two hours to reach the Britons camp.

From your faithful Ofwald.",

Then thou haft nothing left on earth, my foul,
Worthy thy farther care. Why do I stay,
Why linger then, and want my heav'n fo long?
To live is to continue to be wretched,

And robs me of a great and glorious death.

· Enter Rodogune with an Officer; he speaks to her entering Of. Thus Offa to his beauteous fifter fends :

Depend upon a brother's love and care,

To further all you wifh.

Rod. 'Tis well; be near,

And wait farther order. my

[Exit Officer

'See, my heart,

See there thy dearest choice, thy fond defire.'
See, with how clear a brow, what chearful grace,
With all his native sweetness undisturb'd,
The noble youth attends his harder fate.

[To Ari..

I came to join my friendly grief with yours,
To curfe your tyrant brother, and deplore
Your youthful hopes, thus all untimely blasted;
But you, I fee, have learn'd to fcorn your danger;,
You wear a face of triumph, not of mourning,
Has death fo little in it?

D 3

Ar. Oh! 'tis nothing,

To minds that weigh it well: the vulgar fear it,
And yet they know not why. Since never any
Did from that dark and doubtful land as yet
Turn back again, to tell us 'tis a pain.

To me it feems like a long with'd-for happiness,
Beyond what ev'n our expectation paints;
'Tis comfort to the foul, 'tis peace, 'tis reft;
It comes like flumber to the fick man's
• Burning and restlefs with a fever's rage,
• All night he toffes on his weary bed;
• He tells the tedious minutes as they pafs,

eyes.

:

And turns, and turns, and feeks for ease in vain But if, at morning's dawn, fweet fleep falls on him, Think with what pleasure he refigns his fenfes, • Sinks to his pillow, and forgets his pain.'

Rod. Perhaps it may be fuch a state of indolence;
But fure the active foul fhould therefore fear it.

The gods have dealt unjustly with their creatures,
If barely they be ftow a wretched being,

And scatter not fome pleasures with the pain,

• To make it worth their keeping.' Is there nothing Could make you wish to live?

Ar. Oh, yes! there is,

There is a bleffing I could wish to live for,

To live, for years, for ages to enjoy it ;
But far, alas! divided from my arms,

It leaves the world a wilderness before me,
With nothing worth defiring.

Rod. Dull and cold!

• Or cold at least to me, dull, dull indifference.' [ What if fome pitying pow'r look down from Heav'n, And kindly vifit your afflicted fortunes?

What if it fend fome unexpected aid,

• Some generous heart, and fome prevailing hand, Willing to fave, and mighty to defend.

Who from the gloomy confines of the grave,

• Timely fhall fnatch, fhall bring you back to life,' And raise you up to empire and to love?

Ar. The wretched have few friends, at least on earth : Then what have I to hope?

Rod. Hope every thing,

• Hope

< Hope all that merit, fuch as yours, may claim,

Such as commands the world, exacts their hoinage,
• And makes ev'n all the good and brave your friends.
Ar. And can you then vouch fafe to flatter mitery?
T'enrich fo fall'n, fo loft a thing as I am,

With the fweet breath of praife? So pious virgins
• Rob the whole fpring to make their garlands fine,
Then hang them on a fenfelefs marble tomb.'
Rod. A burning purple flufhes o'er my face,
And fhame torbids my tongue, or I would fay,
That I―Oh, Aribert! I am thy friend.
Yet wherefore fhould I blush to own the thought?
For who-who would not be the friend of Aribert ?
Ar. Why is this wond'rous goodness loft on me?
Why is this bounty lavish'd on a bankrupt,

Who has not left another hour of life

To pay the mighty debt?

Rod. Oh, let me yet,

it."

Yet add to it, and fwell the fum yet higher;
Nor doubt but fate fhall find the means to pay
Kow, then, that I have pafs'd this live-long night
Sleepless and anxious with my cares for thee;
The gods have fure approv'd the pious thought,
And crown'd it with fuccefs; fince I have gain'd
Alfred, the chief of mighty Woden's priests,
To find a certain way for thy escape.

One of the facred habits is at hand,
Prepar'd for thy difguife; the holy man
Attends to guide thee to my brother's camp:
Myfelf-Oh, yet lie ftill, my beating heart-
Whatever dangers chance, myfelf will be
The partner and the guardian of thy flight.

[Afide.

Ar. Now what return to make -Oh, let me fink, With all these warring thoughts together in me, Blushing to earth, and hide the vaft confufion!

Rod. Ye gods! he answers not, but hangs his head In fullen filence-See! he turns away,

And bends his gloomy vifage to the earth.
To what am I betray'd? Oh, fhame, difhonour,
And more than woman's weakness! he has feen me,
Seen my fond heart, and fcorns the easy prize.

Blast me, ye lightnings, strike me to the centre,

6

Drive,

let me not think; ten thousand thousand, -Oh, my folly

• Drive, drive me down, down to the depths beneath;
"Let me not live, nor think-
• For I have been despis'd-
And yet ten thoufand curfes-
Ar. Thus let me fall, thus lowly to the earth,

[Kneeling

In humble adoration of your goodness;
• Thus with my latest accents breathe your name,
• And bless you ere I die.' Oh, Rodogune,
Fair, royal maid! to thee be all thy wishes,
Content and everlasting peace dwell with thee,
And every joy be thine; nor let one thought
Of this ungrateful, this unhappy Aribert
Remain behind, to call a fudden figh,
Or ftain thee with a tear. Behold I go,
Doom'd by eternal fate, to my long reft;
Then let my name too die, fink to oblivion,
And fleep in filence with me in the grave.
Rod. Doft thou not wifh to live?
Ar. I cannot.
Rod. Why?
Behold, I give thee life.

Ar. And therefore-Oh,

Therefore I cannot take it! I dare die,
But dare not be oblig'd. I dare not owe
What I can never render back. Ethelinda!
Rod. Confufion!'

Is then the bleffing, life, become a curse,
When offer'd to thee by my baleful hand?

Ar. Oh, no! for you are all that's good and gracious Nature, that makes your fex the joy of ours,

• Made you the pride of both; fhe gave you fweetness,
So mix'd with ftrength, with majefty fo rais'd,
To make the willing world confefs your empire.
And love, while they obey. Nor flay'd fhe there,
But to the body fitted fo the mind,

As each were fashion'd fingly to excel,

As if fo fair a form difdain'd to harbour

A foul lefs great, and that great foul could find

Nothing fo like the heav'n from whence it came,
As that fair form to dwell in.

Rod. Soothing sounds!

• Delightful:

Delightful flattery from him we love;
But what are thefe to my impatient hopes?

[Afide.

Ar. Yet wherefore fhould this mighty mafs of wealth Be vainly plac'd before my wond'ring eyes,

• Since I must ne'er poffefs it, fince my heart,
'Once giv'n, can ne'er return, can know no name
But Ethelinda, only Ethelinda ?

• Fix'd to its choice, and obftinately constant,
• It liftens not to any other call.

So rigid hermits that forfake the world,

Are deaf to glory, greatnefs, pomps and pleasures ;
Severe in zeal, and infolently pious,

They let attending princes vainly wait,

Knock at their cells, and lure them forth in vain."
Rod. How is the form'd, with what fuperior grace,
This rival of my love? What envious god,
In fcorn of nature's wretched works below,
Improv'd, and made her more than half divine?
How has he taught her lips to breathe ambrofia ?
How dy'd her blushes with the morning's red,
Andcloath'd her with the fairest beams of light,'
To make her fhine beyond me?

Ar. Spare the theme.

Rod. But then her mind! ye gods, which of you all Could make that great, and fit to rival mine?

What more than heavenly fire informs the mafs?'

Has fhe a foul can dare beyond our fex,

Beyond ev'n man himself, can dare like mine?
Can fhe refolve to bear the fecret ftings
Offhame and confcious pride, distracting rage,
And all the deadly pangs of love despis'd?
Oh, no! the cannot, nature cannot bear it ;
It finks ev'n me, the torrent drives me down,
The native greatnefs of my fpirit fails,

[Weeping

Thus melts, and thus runs gushing thro' my eyes,
The floods of forrow drown my dying voice,
And I can only call thee-cruel Aribert !

Ar. Oh, thou, just Heav'n, if mortal man may dare
To look into thy great decrees, thy fate,

• Were it not better had never been,

Than thus to bring affliction and misfortune,

• Thus curfe what thou hadit made so good and fair ?

Rod