The Wars of Mercia.

From "Ethwald," a Tragedy.

SCENE I.

JOANNA BAILLIE.

A small cavern, in which is discovered a Wizard, sitting by a fire of embers, baking his scanty meal of parched corn, and counting out some money from a bag; a book and other things belonging to his art are strewed near him on the ground.

Wiz. (alone). Thanks to the restless soul of Mollo's son!
Well thrives my trade. Here, the last hoarded coin

Of the spare widow, trembling for the fate
Of her remaining son, and the gay jewel

Of fearful maid, who steals by fall of eve,
With muffled face, to learn her warrior's doom,
Lie in strange fellowship; so doth misfortune
Make strange acquaintance meet.

Enter a Scout.

Brother, thou com'st in haste; what news, I pray?
Scout. Put up thy book, and bag, and wizard's wand
This is no time for witchery and wiles.

Thy cave, I trow, will soon be fill'd with those,

Who are by present ills too roughly shent

To look thro' vision'd spells on those to come.

Wiz. What thou would'st tell me, tell me in plain words. Scout. Well, plainly then, Ethwald, who thought full surely The British, in their weak divided state,

To the first onset of his arms would yield

Their ill defended towers, has found them strengthen'd

With aid from Wessex, and unwillingly

Led back with cautious skill the Mercian troops

Meaning to tempt the foe, as it is thought,

To follow him into our open plains,

Where they must needs with least advantage fight.
Who told thee this?

Wiz.

Scout. Mine eyes have seen them. Scarcely three miles off, The armies, at this moment, are engaged

In bloody battle. On my way I met

A crowd of helpless women, from their homes
Who fly with terror, each upon her back

Bearing some helpless babe or valued piece

Of household goods, snatch'd up in haste. I hear
Their crowding steps e'en now within your cave:
They follow close behind.

(Enter a crowd of women, young and old; some leading children and carrying infants on their backs or in their arms, others carrying bundles and pieces of household stuff.)

Wiz. Who are ye, wretched women,

Who, all so pale and haggard, bear along

Those helpless infants, and those seeming wrecks,

From desolation saved? What do you want?

First Wom. Nought but the friendly shelter of your cave, For now or house, or home, or blazing hearth,

Good Wizard, we have none.

Wiz. And are the armies there so near your dwellings? First Wom. Ay, round them, in them the loud battle clangs. Within our very walls fierce spearmen push,

And weapon'd warriors cross their clashing blades.

Second Wom. Ay, woe is me! our warm and cheerful hearths, And rushed floors whereon our children play'd,

Are now the bloody lair of dying men.

Old Wom. Ah woe is me! those yellow thatched roofs,

Which I have seen these sixty years and ten,

Smoking so sweetly 'midst our tufted thorns,
And the turf'd graves wherein our fathers sleep!

Young Wom. Ah woe is me! my little helpless babes!
Now must some mossy rock or shading tree

Be your
cold home, and the wild haws your
No cheerful blazing fire and seething pot
Shall now, returning from his daily toil,
Your father cheer; if that, if that indeed
Ye have a father still-(bursting into tears.)

food.

Third Wom. Alack, alack! of all my goodly stuff
I've saved but only this! my winter's webs
And all the stores that I so dearly saved!
I thought to have them to my dying day!

(Enter a Young Man leading in an Idiot.)

Young Wom.

(running up to him.) Ah, my dear Swithick! art thou safe indeed ?

Why didst thou leave me?

Young Man. To save our idiot brother, see'st thou here? I could not leave him in that pityless broil.

Young Wom. Well hast thou done! poor helpless Balderkin! We've fed thee long, unweeting of our care, And in our little dwelling still thou'st held The warmest nook; and, wheresoe'er we be, So shall thou still, albeit thou know'st it not.

(Enter Man carrying an Old Man on his back.)

Young Man. And see here, too, our neighbour Edwin comes, Bearing his bed-rid father on his back.

Come in, good man. How dost thou, aged neighbour?

Cheer up again! thou shalt be shelter'd still;

The Wizard has receiv'd us.

Wiz. True, good folks;

I wish my means were better for your sakes.
But we are crowded here; that winding passage,
Leads us into an inner cave full wide,

Where we may take our room and freely breathe;
Come let us enter there.

[Exeunt, all following the Wizard into the inner cave.

SCENE II

A field of battle strewed with slain, and some people seen upon the background searching amongst the dead bodies.

Her.

Enter Hereulf and Ethelbert.

(stopping short and holding up his hands.)

Good mercy! see at what a bloody price
Ethwald this doubtful victory has purchased,
That in the lofty height to which he climbs

Will be a slight step of but small advantage.

Eth. (not attending to him, and after gazing for some time on the field.)

So thus ye lie, who, with the morning sun,

Rose cheerily, and girt your armour on

With all the vigour, and capacity,

And comeliness of strong and youthful men.

Ye also, taken in your manhood's wane,

With grizzled pates, from mates, whose wither'd hands

For some good thirty years had smooth'd your couch
Alas! and ye whose fair and early growth

Did give you the similitude of men

Ere fond mothers ceas'd to tend you still,

your

As nurselings of their care, ye lie together!

Alas, alas! and many now there be,

Smiling and crowing on their mother's breast,
Turning, with all their little infant ways,
Around her hopeful heart, who shall, like these,
Be laid i' the dust.

Her. Ay, so it needs must be, since Mollo's son
Thinks Mercia all too strict for his proud sway.
But here come those who search amongst the dead
For their lost friends; retire, and let us mark them.

(they withdraw to one side.

Enter two Cairls, meeting a third, who enters by the opposite side.

First Cairl. (to third) Thou hast been o'er the field?
Third Cairl. I have, good friend.

Second Cairl. Thou'st seen a rueful sight.

Third Cairl. Yes, I have seen that which no other sight Can from my fancy wear. Oh! there be some

Whose writhed features, fix'd in all the strength

Of grappling agony, do stare upon you,

With their dead eyes half open'd.—

And there be some, stuck through with bristling darts,
Whose clenched hands have torn the pebbles up;
Whose gnashing teeth have ground the very sand.
Nay, some I've seen among those bloody heaps,
Defaced and 'reft e'en of the form of men,

Who in convulsive motion yet retain

Some shreds of life more horrible than death:

I've heard their groans, oh, oh!

(A voice from the ground.) Baldwick !

Third Cairl. What voice is that? it comes from some one

near.

First Cairl. See, yon stretch'd body moves its bloody hand: It must be him.

(Voice again.) Baldwick!

Third Cairl (going up to the body from whence the voice came). Who art thou, wretched man? I know thee not.

Voice. Ah, but thou dost! I have sat by thy fire,

And heard thy merry tales, and shar'd thy meal.

Third Cairl. Good holy saints! and art thou Athelbald? Woe! woe is me to see thee in such case!

What shall I do for thee?

Voice. If thou hast any love of mercy in thee,
Turn me upon my face that I may die;

For lying thus, see'st thou this flooded gash?
The glutting blood so bolsters up my life
I cannot die.