Her Majesty

Prepares for her devotions, and bade say
She waits the Princess.

Bthilda.

[Bxit.

For this night adieu.

[Exit.

Blgiva. Adieu, good night, sweet kind Ethilda!
Bdwin.

Yes;

Kind is she always; she is kind to stay
Ever, when you are absent, by my side,
And also kind to go when you are here.
Blgiva. Your Majesty
Edwin

Edwin. And can they not repeat themselves? Again
Let us, though grown, be children in our hearts.
Then with the freedom and the innocence
Which led our childish steps we'll wander on
Through after life, but with a fuller joy.
Let recollections of the past, if sweet,
Plead sweetly for the present.
Elgiva.

You are a King.

Edwin.

Edwin, Edwin!

Now, see! I've summon'd up,
Like a magician whose strong spell evokes
A beautiful spirit, the spirit of the past,
And bid it speak and prophesy and plead;
And lo! it nothing answers but the words
The herald spoke when o'er my father's grave
He brake his wand of office. I am a King,
But may not Kings be happy? Nor not love?
Elgiva. Oh they are most unfortunate in that!
For when their hearts would rise from earth to heaven,
Leaving low aims, which can but be through love,
Then strangers intermeddle with their joy.
And strangers such as those that thee surround
Are opposites to joy and love not more
Than they are to all monarchy malignant.
The monks are enemies that Kings may fear,
Though of the bravest, and my father's house
Is hateful in their sight.

And earls not few and many a gallant thane
Would gladly in that cause their hearts' best blood
Pour out like water. Athulf is but one,

Yet if you knew him is he many's worth.

Bdwin. If more of him I know not, yet that much I amply know. Then surely with his aid

We may defy the monks, or better still

We may forget them, ay forget the world,
Its cares, its kingdoms, and unbank the hours
To that soft overflow which bids the heart
Yield increase of delight. Beloved Elgiva,

We are alone, Elgiva; Thy beauty o'er the earth a passion breathes

Oh how I hate my title in your mouth,
Whence every other utterance is a charm.
Rather than speak as in the audience-chamber,
Let us be children once again, to rove

O'er hill, through vale, with interlacing arms,
And thrid the thickets where wild roses grow
Entangled with each other like ourselves.
Can you and will you those sweet days remember,
And strive to bring them back?

Elgiva.
Those days-Oh Edwin!
Can I remember? when can I forget them?
When flowers forget to blow and birds to sing,
And clouds to kindle in the May-day dawn,
And every spring-tide sight and sound shall cease,
Or cease for me, then too for me shall cease
The sweet remembrance of the tender joys,
The smiles, the tears of those delightful days.

Which softly sweeping through me, brings one tone
From all this plural being, as the wind
From yonder sycamore, whose thousand leaves
With lavish play to one soft music moved
Tremble and sigh together.