[In giving the first of a series of Dramatic Scenes from English History, written expressly for this work, the Editor desires to prefix a few observations as to the general purpose, both of the original and the selected scenes. Coleridge has a fine poetical dream of the advantages of rendering our National History popular through the stage :-"In my happier days, while I had yet hope and onward-looking thoughts, I planned an historical drama of King Stephen, in the manner of Shakspere. Indeed, it would be desirable that some man of dramatic genius should dramatize all those [reigns] omitted by Shakspere, as far down as Henry VII. Perkin Warbeck would make a most interesting drama. A few scenes of Marlowe's Edward II. might be preserved. * It would be a fine national custom to act such a series of dramatic histories in orderly succession, in the yearly Christmas holi days; and could not but tend to counteract that mock cosmopolitism which under a positive term really implies nothing but a negation of, or indifference to, the particular love of country." That "some man of dramatic genius should dramatize all those reigns omitted by Shakspere," is, the Editor fears, a vain hope. That managers of our theatres should "act such a series of dramatic histories in orderly succession, in the yearly Christmas holidays," is scarcely to be expected, even if they had the dramas at hand to act. But it is possible that this beautiful illusion of Coleridge may be realized to a limited extent, by collecting together a series of historical SCENES "in orderly succession." The real difficulty in fully carrying such a series through the history of England, before and after the reigns to which Shakspere has given an unfading lustre, consists in the painful inferiority of most of our historical dramatists, as compared with Shakspere, rather than in the total want of dramas having relation to those reigns which he has not touched. We chiefly allude to the dramatists after the Restoration—the poets of the so-called Augustan age, who saw the value of English historical subjects, but dealt with them in a prosaic spirit. Dryden and Rowe, we fear, are scarcely exceptions; the revival of Hughes, or Rymer, or Ravenscroft, or A. Hill, or Bancroft, or Lord Orrery, or A. Phillips, or Crowne, or Jerningham, or Banks, or Brooke, would not be a propitious advent for poetry or patriotism. But although, as a whole, no existing drama (perhaps with the exception of Marlowe's Edward II. considerably altered) could take the highest rank in such a series of dramatic histories as Coleridge contemplated, there are some which supply detached Scenes of great merit, and which may be selected to exhibit some continuous pictures of English history. The wonderful series of histories which Shakspere has left us of the "division and dissention of the renowned houses of Lancaster and York,"- —a series written, most probably, upon a plan of connexion, has no gaps to be filled up. For nearly a hundred years the course of events rolls on in almost unbroken succession, exhibiting the most striking actions and characters which our history can supply. But even in a selection of Scenes from other dramatic poets of various periods, imperfect as it may be, the true life of history may be preserved; and the end may be steadily kept in view which Coleridge has described as tue chief object of the historical drama which Shakspere realized,—“ that of familiarizing the people to the great names of their country, and thereby of exciting a steady patriotism, a love of just liberty, and a respect for all those fundamental institutions of social life which bind men together." The Editor will necessarily have obligations to recent historical plays, without which this selection would be somewhat meagre. These afford some Scenes, which, in many of the essentials of poetry, may be placed, without disadvantage, side by side with passages from the earlier dramatists. The nature of this work, as well as the Editor's respect for the rights of literary property, will prevent him abusing the privilege of quotation from these sources. In the original Scenes he has the especial aid of his friend the REV. JAMES WHITE, from one of whose dramas an extract has been given in "Half Hours with the best Authors." The subjects which will be thus treated, are chiefly those which have been passed over by dramatic writers of adequate power, or wholly neglected. These new passages will aim at conveying the broad historical truth in a picturesque form.] Hardicanute, son of Canute the Great and Emma of Normandy, died in 1042, leaving Edward Atheling, his half brother, afterwards known as Edward the Confessor, heir to the English crown. At this time almost all the wealth and power of the kingdom were in the hands of Earl Godwin and his sons. Little was wanted to their ambition but the name of king; and Edward who was of a weak and superstitious character, would willingly have resigned his pretensions and immured himself in a monastery. But opposition was made to Godwin's designs by some of the other nobles, (particularly by Leofric, Earl of Mercia), and he suddenly changed his plans. When Edward sought an interview, on Hardicanute's death, and begged his protection, and license to depart for Normandy, where his youth had been passed,—the English Earl insisted on his taking possession of his inheritance, and promised to support him against all enemies, on condition that he would marry his daughter, Edith the Fair, and so become connected with his family. This agreement was fulfilled, and Edward mounted the throne. A Hall in Godwin's House. A crowd of his adherents-Harold, Leofric, Thurkell, Godwin. Godwin. The passing bell is heard-it stops. So sleeps the king; the last of foreign kings! The Dane shall squeeze no more the English grape Into his cup. In Hardicanute's tomb Lies English slavery, never on this soil To plant its pestilental foot. With your wild locks still powder'd by the salt Of Baltic waves, and your rough throat still dry Thurkell. Aye; for the Baltic wave that dashed its foam The pirate cry has ceased; I have a home On English ground; the land that gives me food Is all I own for country. Dane no more I'm English all, and so-God save the Eari! Adherents. The earl the earl! God save the English earl! Leofric. There is not a pulse in it all That thrills not like a harp-string at the name. Honour I owe you; gratitude I owe ; Respect and truest service-but no more. Godwin. Well man, they'll do till we make further claimI heard no words that took a higher flight Than blessings on my head; and you are silent. My fair-hair'd Harold, Leofric is your friend But not your father's friend. He shared your sports Swept the same seas with you, with emulous flag; Drank with you, sung with you, laughed and frowned as you did; And now he grudges to these grizzling locks A blessing, a poor blessing. Oh not so! Leofric. Nor the dear household thoughts that nestle here On bended knee, with hand held up to heaven, God bless Earl Godwin,-guard of the English throne! Thurkell. Guard of a few crossed sticks and a plain board Covered with red brocade,— -a noble State! Heaven send a joiner, for the poor old chair Is ricketty grown. Leofric. It grows to nobleness Son of our English Ethelred, with blood Ripen'd to redness in the veins of Kings, Since Ella's forehead throbb'd beneath the crown. Harold. A likely king, if dancing earn'd a throne. Why man this scented, feather'd popinjay Scarce knows the stiff old Saxon for a king, But clips in French ;-a mongrel tongue it is- A lady he is, for never a beard has he Or a lean friar, for after trying an hour To pinch his waist, and step on his toe points Like his French kinswomen,-down he'll fall in ashes And look, says he, how brown this hand hath grown I'm subject of a man ! Leofric. I'm true to Edward. Be false who likes Leofric. A coward's tongue grows bold in a king's service. When duty bars the door and guards the threshold. Harold. Look you, Earl Leofric, a poor scholar am I, And having never passed to foreign courts, Nor listed Norman poets, or sage men, I'm deaf to figures of speech, and never can tell But this I know; that if this realm of England And cross the threshold it pretends to guard. Leofric. There may be swords as true of steel as your's, And arms as strong-I've cleft a Norseman's helm As deep as Harold. To the throne Godwin! to the throne, to the throne. Godwin. Ile who would bend the Go, Leofric, go in peace. [drops Harold's hand. Chafe not, son Harold, bow must hold his breath- What has been said, unheard what has been heard Find Edith in the garden bower she raisel When summer brought the flowers, and you gave help Godwin. Earls! Franklins, and true friends! if we have won By honest toil and a stout English spirit A foremost place in your brave English breasts, I pray you give your love some breathing space Like slot-hounds that outrun the game they'd follow. Adherents. Godwin! Godwin!-We shall be true to Godwin! With but one holy priest to be his guard. Thurkell. 'Gainst witchcraft, and the evil eye, and the spit Of toads; and to exorce him of the fiend, An excellent body guard, a holy priest. Godwin. Hush Thurkell, there's a corner of your heart Where Thor still swings his hammer. Leave me, friends, I'd see this youth alone. [Exeunt Adherents.] Bid him approach And leave that holy priest outside the gate. His reverence has a trick to raise the devil [Exit Attendant Godwin. What life was that? I thought that royal blood Gave mounting thoughts. A |